#it feels like the horizon is only getting further away

[dvchvnde]

You tell him your name in the first three minutes of clambering into his truck. 

It's rattled off between where you’re going (wherever he'll take you), where you'd like to be (the ocean, the sea, the ocean and the sea and the mountains; a place where both meet—), and sits, nestled, in the heart wrenching travesty of where you ended up. In a truck with just a stranger for company, destination unknown.

Your whole life packed up inside of a box resting on the rusting bed of his truck. No one knows you left. They'll figure it out in the morning, you're sure. A ant that escaped the colony. Left for something better and got stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a few hundred dollars to your name, and a box filled with junk.

(stupid, stupid girl—)

It's quiet in the cab. The only sound cutting through is the crunch of gravel and dirt under his tires. The noises his engine make.

The sound of his truck is not too dissimilar to an old, sick cat. It doesn't quite purr. It sputters. Sickly. Hacks through corroded lungs, spitting up plumes of thick, black smoke into the air. You grip the worn, threadbare seats until your nails ache, feeling each jerk and dip of the road acutely in your chest. Thump, thump, thump.

This might have been a mistake, you think, eyes staring firmly ahead. Through the streaks on the windshield, the horizon a smears a pale pink beneath powder soft blue. Cloudless. The sun is to the west. Maybe. Your knowledge of the world outside of the box is rooted in a weathered textbook printed back in 1935.

(A dumb girl, mamma always said. But at least you have your pretty face.)

Embarrassment needles in—that familiar knife of shame cutting into your seams. You swallow it down. It doesn't matter. Not here. Not in this truck. You'll go somewhere else. A big city where the books are based in fact, and you'll read and read and read until you're not just pretty face. Empty space. Something to gawk at but not engage.

an ornament girl.

It makes you itch to say something. To fill the air with whatever might impress him even if you don't think you like this man too much. But you don't. You bite your tongue because smart girls like silence, don't they? They like the time to think because that's what they do; think, and that's what you do, even if they race by like silverfish, too quick to catch: just think, think, think—

But as the winding back roads of the flat prairie yawn into thickened wheatfields and towering tussocks of corn deeper in the rural, unpopulated countryside, he speaks, voice rough. Gritty. It grazes over your neck like a sharpened blade, tip pressing against your jugular. 

"Don't care what your name is," he grunts, rummaging through the console for a pack of cigarettes—Pall Malls, he snorts; ain't even go’ Marlboros in this shithole. 

When you ask why he doesn't care to know your name, he snorts in way that rankles down your spine. Like it's obvious. Like you know the answer. But—derisively, droll—his eyes slant in your direction over the console of the old truck that sputters down the barren dirt road, drenched in something you can't name. Shouldn't name, maybe. Shouldn't think about. Shouldn't acknowledge.

"Dogs don't get to name themselves, do they?"

No, you think, settling back into the seat, mind reeling. Spinning in circles as he tosses the pack into your lap, grunting at you again to get ‘im one. Make yourself useful. 

As he drags you further and further out to the middle of the prairies, where the thick tussocks of grass away in the breeze like waves lapping over the surface of the rugged sea, you think of your mother and what she used to say about men.

(do you really think any of them want anything good with a girl like you?—)

Your fingers dig into the seat as your mind sputters like the old truck, spinning uncatchable thoughts of dogs and men.

Don't get to name themselves. Don't want anything good with a girl like you.

You suppose they don't. 

(You don't get it until you do. 

But that comes later. 

What comes first is a box.)

[phoenixkaptain]

I’m in a lot of pain, so I want to write sad stuff.

I want to write about Obi-Wan spending nearly twenty years watching his best friend’s, his brother’s, his favourite person’s kid and how he realizes, even as he watches, that Luke looks like Anakin and sometimes he acts like Anakin, but Luke isn’t Anakin and will never be Anakin. And Obi-Wan doesn’t want him to be Anakin, but a part of him does, a part of him wants that camaraderie and that easy affection and the boy he spent ten years watching grow to come back to him.

I want to write about Luke and how he loses so many people. He never had his parents, he loses his aunt and uncle, he loses Ben, and when he finally gets to meet his dad, which is the only thing he’s wanted for years (to meet and be like his dad), Anakin dies in his arms. Luke sees his aunt and uncle’s smoldering bodies and watches Obi-Wan die right in front of him and Yoda die right in front of him and Anakin die in his arms. Luke would only have a familial connection to his sister, and then he finds out Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachments and it must break a part of him. He spent so long trying to be like his father, to be a Jedi like his father before him, and his attachment to the one person he has left in the world would be enough to take that all away from him.

I want to write about Leia and the crushing realization that the man she’s hated her entire life, the man she has always seen as pure evil and nothing but evil, the man who tortured her and stood by while she had to watch her home explode, is her father. That she has that guy’s DNA, she’s blood relatives with the symbol of evil, in her mind. But, to throw away her father would be to deny that she and Luke are twins. And she depends on Luke as much as Luke depends on her, they’re a duo that’s nigh inseparable even before they know they’re related. But, Luke accepts their father, and Leia doesn’t want to accept their father, and it’s hard to get around that. Leia doesn’t know Anakin as a good person. She knows him as a murderer and a torturer and a kidnapper and the man who cut off her brother’s hand. It’s hard to think of him as anything else.

I want to write about Anakin. Anakin watches his mother die due to actions outside of his control, and he blames himself forever. He’s told by the only person he still trusts that he killed his own wife and their unborn child. Then, he stands there, watching as the child who should be impossible, who cannot possibly have been born, the child he’s spent years and years chasing after, watching his son is die, right in front of him. His son who is a twin. His son who is Vader’s only evidence that he and Padme loved each other. His son who begs him for help and believes that he’s still good even after the Jedi Order and the rest of the galaxy and Anakin’s own Master believe that all the good has died. His son who is stupid and reckless and came onto this ship with half a plan and hope.

I want to write about Yoda and how he watches his whole line fall apart. Dooku betrays the Order. Qui-Gon is killed by the Sith, who have been assumed dead for years. Obi-Wan is left as the only other Jedi Master who still lives, but he’s forced to hide on the desert planet where Qui-Gon died to watch the son of his Padawan who wants him dead. Anakin grew from a nervous but excited little boy into the most feared man in all of the galaxy. Ahsoka left the Order before it fell to pieces, and nobody knows where she is or what happened to her. Then, Obi-Wan dies, but asks Yoda to teach Anakin’s son. A Skywalker who is impatient and rash and angry, just like his father. But, what else can Yoda do? And the more time he spends with him, the more he realizes that Luke isn’t like Anakin. The more he realizes that Luke is strong in ways Anakin was not. Strong in ways none of the Jedi were. And for the first time in over two decades, he feels hope that the galaxy can be saved. That the Jedi Order, his family, can be saved.

Luke Skywalker and the heavy burden placed on his shoulders. To be a Jedi and a General the likes of Anakin Skywalker. Maybe destined to fall and become evil like Darth Vader. He stands at a crossroads where he barely knows what it even means to be a Jedi and he doesn’t want to hurt his father, the man who he’s always aspired to be, but the other path is death and betrayal and pain and destruction and slavery to the Emperor. And Luke forges his own path, even though the Jedi warn against it. He tries to save his father or die trying. He knows Vader might kill him, but he’s willing to bet on the most infinitisimal odds that Anakin is still there, somewhere. Luke saves his father with the power of attachment, with the love that Anakin tried to use to save his mother and Padme and everyone he’s ever loved.

The Skywalkers are so depressing. The Disaster Lineage is depressing. Star Wars is depressing. And I am still in horrible pain

[teamred]

focus on me

✩‌ qimir x acolyte!reader | smut | fluff | 2.5k

SUMMARY | in which the tension finally breaks between you and your master when you train together one afternoon.

WARNINGS | smut, s*xual force choking, knee foreplay, finger sucking, f*ngering, dirty talk, piv s*x, unprotected s*x, violence (fighting and choking)

RATING | explicit

NOTES | i'm simply a girl who's fallen to the dark side for qimir!!! qimir's lowkey a softie in this, which might not be canon, but idc!!!

You stumble back with your palm soiled wet. 

Thankfully, you grounded the rest of your weight with your makeshift wooden staff. Panting, you drag yourself upward, readying yourself for what’s to come next. 

Sweat drips down your forehead as the sun begins to dip into the horizon beyond the abundance of trees and overgrowth, the heat felt by your exposed arms and through your thin sleeveless wrap top.

It's been more than two hours of training, but your master knows your limit. Pushes you until you break–and he knows you’re far from your breaking point. 

Perspiration also stains his forehead. Master Qimir wipes it away with the back of his hand, moving his hair aside too. 

Moments like these, you pride yourself in knowing his identity after years of him preserving his anonymity behind that intimidating, powerful mask. He’s gained followers over time since you've known him, but you’re his one and only acolyte. 

Your mind wanders further. Why does he choose to wear his mask in public when he can make nations fall to their knees just with a flash of his smirk? 

Said smirk is plastered on his face as he twirls his two batons between his fingers with ease. Beyond his smirk, there was also the ordeal of seeing his glistening, gorgeous arms every day and– 

Your master calls out your name playfully, “I hope you’re focusing on me.”

“You know I am, Master.” You’re not exactly lying. You inch closer, holding your staff firmly with both hands and pointing one end of it in his direction. 

He tsks and lets out of a deep chuckle. It always bothers you how his chuckles make your heart skip a beat, among the other things it does to the rest of your body.  

“You're focusing on things about me, Acolyte. Not on me directly, nor on my presence,”—he paces in a circle around you, with you tracking his every step—“If this was a real fight, you’d be dead.”

“Well, I can’t help it that my master can be so distracting!” you grit out, taking the opportunity to lunge towards him. 

Weapons clash. Loud echoes continually reverberate throughout the forest, along with your occasional grunts. 

Master Qimir’s style is aggressive and swift, always on the offense, so you’ve become accustomed to defend his moves well. He comes in with one baton towards your side, and the other towards your head. You deflect both smoothly, and without much thought, you decide to attack him. 

However, your confidence blinds you.

Too close. 

He elbows your arm and slams into your side, causing your staff to drop.  

Then, Qimir shoves you far with the Force, distancing you from your weapon, and gets close again to hook his foot around yours. Your back stings as you fall down. 

In the blink of an eye, he pins you down with both batons tightly pressed against your throat, cutting off your air supply. You struggle under him, trying your best to smack him away with your diminishing strength. 

“Breathe, think, and focus,” he calmly orders, despite the agonizing scene in front of him. 

You take a second to compose yourself, inhaling as much as you can for a second.

Suddenly, you feel his knee move up between your legs, spreading them.

And you feel him moving upwards again, but this time brushing against your core. 

Your sparring composure absolutely shatters–a gasp and small moan release, and you’re back to struggling once more. 

You assume it was a mistake, but you’re relishing in the pleasure nevertheless, even in your current state of distress. 

“Focus, my acolyte,” Master Qimir barks, and he presses the batons harder into you. “Focus!” 

Your vision begins to blur alongside the increasing pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Gathering all your might and wanting to avoid disappointing Qimir, you breathe as much as you can and drown out everything to focus on how to get out of the situation. 

With a sliver of consciousness left, you will yourself to use the Force and seize your staff. Your fingers clutch around it and you thwack Qimir hard on the head, disorienting him for a moment. Without hesitation, throughout your excessive gasping, you skillfully maneuver yourself to switch positions. 

Now, your staff is pressed against his throat. 

“Is this better, Master?” you pant and cough with a grin, basking in your success. “Am I focused now?” 

He grants a brief nod, but you notice an unusual look in his eyes. 

It reads as a rare time he’s overly impressed, but there’s something else. 

Qimir raises his hand and gently curls it around yours, wordlessly asking you to lower your weapon. You ruffle your eyebrows, unsure why he’s letting down his guard against you during training.

“Master Qimir,” you whisper, still holding your staff to the side with a relaxed but guarded grip, “is this another test of yours?”  

He shakes his head, his touch now carefully grazing your forehead and cheeks. Your staff rolls away as your eyes flutter, savoring this foreign feeling from him–tenderness, affection, warmth. A hand softly cups your face. 

“Training’s over for today.” 

The warmth fades into familiar roughness with a sharp pull by the back of your neck downwards. 

His mouth drives into yours, each kiss igniting fire within you, sparking every inch of your body. Desire is bursting at the seams. He kneads your neck and body intently, mirroring you as you clutch onto his face and sturdy frame. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you had never fantasized kissing Qimir before, but this is everything you dreamed of and better.  

“Master–” you gasp sharply at the sensation of him pressing his knee up against you again. Reflexively, you writhe as your body screams for more. 

“You like this a lot…” His tone drips of arrogance. Further pressure is added and he happily inhales your moans between his teasing chuckles.   

You manage to muster the following amidst the rising pleasure, “So it was intentional before.”

“Of course.” His words are muffled as he leaves open-mouthed kisses upon the side of your neck. Your fingers dig further into his shoulder and scalp as he cups your breast. “You need to learn to push aside your desires when training.” 

“Should we stop then?” The neck kissing sears you, especially when he tugs skin between his teeth to bite and suck. “To teach me a lesson?” 

He shakes his head and removes himself from your neck, coming back up to drag your lower lip between his teeth. 

“It doesn’t mean I want to push aside my desires.” 

You catch a fleeting glimpse of his signature smirk before his lips are on yours again. Kisses become more electric as he dips his tongue into your mouth.

Hands fly erratically and grasp everywhere. His arms. Your ass. Fingers running beneath his top, feeling up his abs. His harsh grips of your thighs. 

Unexpectedly, he holds you close and flips you over; you’re back on top of him again and you can surely feel his prominent desire against yours. 

In a rush, you bunch up his thin shirt and attempt to pull it off him. He sits up with you in his lap and, with a fluid flick of his wrist, he rids you of your clothes and they are tossed to one side; his follow suit. Qimir promptly draws his nearby robes closer to be placed underneath you both, covering yourselves from the soiled forest. 

The look in his eyes is unmistakably lust-filled, completely insatiable. He wastes no time in taking your tit into his mouth, tongue flicking and lips puckering, while one hand holds you by your back and the other dips two fingers into your desire, wet and ready for him. 

You arch into him, leaning your head back and letting yourself go. Wanting to reciprocate, you reach out to stroke his cock. Relishing in the pleasure, he draws back his head, eyes closed, and leans his forehead against your chest.

The forest may be filled with the rustling of the wind against the trees and the odd bird cawing, but all you can focus on is Qimir’s throaty groans and every obscene squelch when he slides his fingers in and out of you. 

He glances up and attempts to open his eyes as much as he can to give you his full attention, despite the heavenly strokes you’re giving him. 

Eyes shine back at you with the utmost vulnerability–a sight you never see. A sight that you want to etch into your memory forever, knowing you, his Acolyte, could make your Master weak and let his guard down with just your touch. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve held myself back…”

The vulnerability dissipates as he darts his tongue against your untouched nipple. 

“...wanting to see you like this for me.” 

You two become one for a while as he plays with you like a toy he just received as a gift. He tries you out, sees what you like and what you can handle. How sensitive you are with your breasts. How many fingers you can take. How much noise you make when he thumbs your clit. 

At one point, he eventually removes his fingers from you, evidently drenched from your bliss. He holds out his fingers in front of you, and you realize what he’s suggesting.   

Obediently, like you always are with him, you open your mouth and let his fingers lay on your tongue. You wrap your mouth around them, and finally let yourself suck on them a bit, tasting yourself and treating his fingers as if it were his cock. 

When you finish, to your surprise, he sticks his fingers into his own mouth, sucking off the remnants of you. He then kisses you deeply. Tasting yourself in his mouth excites you, riles you up again and back to wanting the next step with Qimir. 

As if reading your mind, he adjusts himself to lay back down vertically, and takes you by your wrist to lead you to sit onto him. 

You hold his possession against you between your legs, teasing his tip by not quite sitting onto him fully, indulging in your control over him. However, at this point, Qimir lacks patience, so he grasps you by your waist and forces you to ease onto his length.  

The guttural moan you release could easily be heard at all ends of the forest. 

He fills you deliciously, stretches you in the sweetest way possible. Using the strength of your thighs and your hands to keep you steady, you bounce at a comfortable pace, not wanting this to end just yet.

When you find a good position to balance your weight, you allow yourself to stroke his perfect body. His chiseled abs. The solid planes of his chest. His strong forearms. The sharp jawline that you dream of kissing almost every night.

“You take my cock so well.” 

A more familiar look flashes through his eyes, one that you normally see him flash prior to slaying Jedi or when he's in a bad mood. It’s drenched with darkness and dominance, almost bordering on fury.   

You freeze, and then you feel it.

The constriction around your throat, created by the Force. He can easily kill you within seconds. He's done this only once to you, and that was when he was testing your loyalty to him years ago.

But this is different. Different than that time, and most definitely different than before with his batons. This is more controlled; the hold is mostly against the sides of your windpipe and it isn't overtly harsh. 

On top of that, your entire body is on fire, becoming wound up by this act.  

“Do you enjoy this?” he asks, tone teetering between curiosity and being threatening.

“Yes,” you mentally scream.

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“Yes,” you manage to croak. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Master.” 

“Nu-uh,” he says. “Say my name, my beautiful acolyte.”

You're too distracted to be caught up in the fact that he called you beautiful. Instinctively, you want to ride this new sensation to lead you to another high. But you know that if you don’t reply, he might not let you get there. 

“Yes, Qimir.”

His signature smirk takes up his whole face and your pussy clenches tighter at the sight of it. He may have the upper hand with his strength around your neck, but so do you when you notice the flickering of his eyes.

“And how does my cock feel?” He tightens a little more around your throat, and you're affected further. Qimir's collectedness can only take much longer too.

“Feels good, feels so fucking good…” 

Intoxication rises from your abdomen and to all ends of your body. Your eyes begin to roll, and you're so close— 

And it's gone. The tightness on your throat stops, and so is your near-high.

You're about to complain, but Qimir quickly hauls you in close to his body. Face to face, forehead to forehead, your breaths fan one another.

“Before I let either of us finish, I want to hear you say my name as you come on my cock.”

That smirk will be the absolute death of you, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

“Can you do that for me?” 

You nod breathlessly.

Your master holds you by your waist and immediately thrusts over and over, deep and fast into you. Desperate to reach his climax, and to ensure you get to yours too.

“QimirQimirQimir–” 

And so you unravel, voice rising with every iteration. Saying his name like you’re praying for forgiveness from all ends of the universe. 

Qimir then brings his mouth to yours once more, swallowing all your pretty whimpers and allowing himself to chase his own release moments later. 

Laying on his bare chest, you glance up at him and wonder how the relationship between you will be from now on.

You couldn’t just go back to what you were before; you would now be a master and acolyte intertwined sexually at least, romantically at most. Would it not be complicated? 

But of course, Master Qimir can hear what’s going on in your mind, and he doesn’t even need the Force to do so. Being his enigmatic self, he merely answers your thoughts by speaking the Sith Code: 

“‘Peace is a lie. There is only passion…’” 

He meets your eyes, strokes your face with a small smile. Affection blooms in your chest.

“‘Through passion, I gain strength.’” 

Holds your hand against his beating chest. 

“‘Through strength, I gain power.’” 

His grip tightens. 

“‘Through power, I gain victory. And through victory, my chains are broken.’” 

Qimir leans in and kisses you deeply as the darkness of the night sky engulfs you, the sun saying its goodbye for the night.

And with that, you realize that no matter what will happen from here on out, he’ll always care for you. 

That despite all the blood, sweat, and tears shed through training, stealing, and all the killing, he’s just as loyal and devoted to you as you are to him.

[pseudowho]

Fire and Iron

Forced to stay the night with Nanami Kento, the town's blacksmith, after tending to his wounds, you find yourself smouldering in his irresistible flame.

Warnings: 18+, fluff and smut, loss of virginity

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Your boots cracked through the ice-topped slurry puddles scattering the mud path in the village. The shawl bundled over your shoulders was not enough, and the biting cold wind whipped your cloak back, stripping its usefulness off your shivering shoulders.

Townsfolk waved to you, nodding, smiling; greetings for a familiar face, many of them grateful for your travels to their icy town over the years, lacking even a basic healer of their own, let alone one so talented.

Passing by the blacksmith's hut on your way, you paused out the front, feeling the heat bellowing forth like dragon's breath. You tipped your head back, the smell of ash and steel filling your nose. As you paused, moments after, so did the clang of hammer on anvil.

You opened your eyes, stinging in the brutal cold and smoke. You, once more, like a hundred times before, had caught the eye of the blacksmith. He, whose name you did not know. He, who looked but never touched. He, to whom you had passed so many thousands of hours of your life, and his life to you, through gaze alone.

Stood proud at the anvil, shadowing the forge like the door to hell behind him, his broad shoulders wore only an open-chested white linen shirt, and a thick brown leather apron. With his ashy blond hair, and the lines of his face filled with soot, he was ageless and unknowable. He looked to you, his sharp face quiet and impassive; expression always somewhere between fury and tranquility.

Your lips parted once, as if to speak, and it jumped the blacksmith to life. With a barely perceptible nod, and a grunt, he swung his hammer back, brought down in beautiful accuracy, shaping smouldering steel. The clang rung through you, your chest jolting with a short gasp, and you collected yourself, stepping onwards. You were sure you could feel his cool gaze through the back of your head.

Another patient; another healed. Another grateful family; another life prolonged. The days were short now, and as you stepped out of the house of rough-hewn wood and stone, the forest pines were bathed in dying light, netting the low winter sun above the horizon. It was a punishing journey home, on foot, and the horses were long since put to bed.

The blacksmith's hut held its own sunset, the forge open but unattended. You heard stamps, heavy feet and cursing. You paused in the burst of warmth, illuminated, listening. Curiosity carried your feet into the hut, the heavy wet hem of your skirts collecting ashes, absorbing the blacksmith's domain.

"Are you...are you alright?" You called, uncertain, "Sir?" The footsteps, the swearing, had stopped. You stepped further in, feeling the forge belch at you, almost excruciatingly hot now.

"Get away from there!" The bark, deep and commanding, made you squeak and stumble. Darting through the side door, the blacksmith looped one thick arm round your waist before you fell towards the forge, effortlessly lifting you round, his back to the furnace, his face in shadow.

He was close; close enough that you could smell the soft sweat, the tang of fire and metal. He hissed as your hands dropped to his forearm, and you felt a cold dripping cloth draped over it.

"Do you often wander into places uninvited?" He snipped at you. You recognised the cadence in his low voice-- pain.

"I-- ...you're hurt," you insisted, voice barely above a whisper. Looking up, your eyes tried to gauge his unreadable face in the gloom. You felt him huff, warm air across your cheeks. His arm loosened, releasing you. As he stepped back, turning away to close the forge, you saw the blacksmith's mountainous shoulders tense, twitching.

"It's nothing," he retaliated, brisk. You stepped forwards again, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. At first, he flinched, then begrudgingly allowed you to turn him, and lift the damp rag covering his forearm. A thick welting burn, running the length of his forearm, lay weeping and angry on his skin, already nicked with so many little scars. You heard his teeth grit as the air hit his wound.

"Nothing," you scoffed, "this needs dressing. Let me help you." You felt him flinch beneath your hands, hesitant. He felt his skin prickle under yours, finding such curious pleasure in your touch alongside his pain. Your beseeching eyes took him the rest of the way, and he found himself accepting you.

"I...not here," the blacksmith toned, his eyes flitting to the town around him, "if they believe me injured, I'll lose business." You nodded, rummaging in your overburdened satchel, until he took you gently by the hand.

"My home," he began, hesitant, your hand so soft and small in his broad calloused palm, "you'll...you are welcome. It is clean. Quiet. I...I will not harm you. I promise."

Aware of his size and strength, aware of the air of mystery surrounding him amongst the townsfolk, the blacksmith was quick to reassure you. Your eyes softened, and his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles at your words, electricity crackling up your arm.

"I know you won't," you assured. The briefest smile graced his severe face when you offered your name. You felt it warm you from the belly downwards. As he pulled encouragingly on your fingers, leaving the forge to die naturally with the approaching nightfall, you were led through the back of the hut, seeing a newly revealed sprawling cabin of wood and stone, at the edge of the forest. You felt the first kiss of snow upon your cheek.

"Nanami Kento," the blacksmith replied, welcoming you over the threshold. You smiled up at him, taking in his home; barely lit, at first, until he struck a lantern to life. You placed your bag upon a table, rummaging for salves as Kento began to build the fire, skilled and efficient.

You basked in the homely room; autumnal tapestries lining the walls, skin rugs on the floor and furs on the chairs, hanging herbs above a countertop, circled with hung skillets and pans. You relaxed easily into the sincerity of Kento's welcome. A frigid wind slapped the windows, rattling the door.

Before long, an enormous cast iron pot boiled with water, and you knelt before Kento, appraising his wound in the orange glow. Cleaning your hands, wetting a rag with clean water, you moved to clean the ash from his arm before pausing.

"This will hurt," you apologised, looking up to him. Kento's heart stuttered; how many hours had he spent, imagining those sweet eyes, those gentle fingers? Too long. Too many words unspoken over too many years. He was not used to such tenderness.

"I am used to pain," he hushed, smooth and barely audible above the crackle of flame, "my job has certain...hazards, after all." You hummed, swiping the cloth gently, removing dirt and debris.

"Still," you hummed, "I don't like to hurt a friend." Kento chuckled, and you felt yourself blush from hairline to toes at the rich mirth of it.

"We are...friends, are we?" His voice was low and conspiratorial, and you felt it stir a hunger deep within you. You smiled back, mulish as you dabbed salve onto his burn. His knees were parted, with you knelt between them, and your elbows rested on the thick muscle of his thighs. You felt safe, warm, held.

"All those years, passing back and forth," you sighed, teasing, "and not one hello? Just lots of nods," your stomach swooped as Kento laughed again, "and our friendship is just that. An accumulation of nods."

"Would we have stopped at 'hello'?" Kento retaliated. He caught the brief pause in your bandaging, before you continued. You spoke, uncertain again.

"Well," you hummed, testing the water, "offer me one now...and we shall see where it goes." Looking up, you gasped to find your face just inches from Kento's. He smiled at you, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips and back up again.

"Hello," he whispered, quiet and mischievous, "and thank you."

Your breath fluttered out; Kento could feel it against his lips, beckoning him.

"I...it's getting late," you started, and Kento blinked out of his reverie, glancing to the inky black outside his windows, "I should go."

Kento grasped your fingers once more, rising with you as he stood, your shawl shushing against his chest, barely covered by his soft linen shirt. Kento hummed, sounding grave, stepping to the other side of the room.

"It is night," he said, hands cupped around his eyes as he squinted out of the windows, "and the woods are barely safe in the day. I...I cannot allow you to travel. Alone, in the snow. You must stay."

His tone broached no argument, yet still you tried, packing your bag, your cheeks aflame.

"I...it isn't..." you stuttered, and Kento turned to you, chin inclined to the floor, one fine eyebrow raised. You took a deep breath, certain that if you didn't leave now, you may fall too deeply into Kento's insistent heat. Yet...you knew he was right. The path was treacherous. The snow would take you before the dawn.

"Would you like a bath?" Kento offered, turned away to save you your blushes; a gentleman.

"I-- please don't go to any trouble--" Kento swiftly ignored you, beginning to grasp the enormous iron pot, lifting it with stunning ease. His voice didn't even hitch.

"It's no trouble. I bathe every night. You can go before me." Kento carried the pan, stepping behind a folding wooden screen, and you followed him as if to argue, watching him begin to fill an enormous copper bathtub. Your hands shook as you began to remove your shawl, still blushing, so briefly overwhelmed before squashing it down.

Kento glanced up at you, pausing as he poured hot water, "This will take me some time," he said, apologetic, "please make yourself comfortable. I'll call for you."

You nodded, clearing your throat, hands twisting in your removed shawl. Kento chastised himself for admiring the soft curve of your breasts into your waist, the hidden delight of the swelling of your hips beneath your heavy skirts. He did not see how the steam rose fast, dampening his white shirt, how you could see all the way to his navel as he leaned over the bath. Neither of you knew how the other stirred within.

As you walked the length of the room, your fingertips brushing tapestries and grazing over warm furs, your curiosity drew you to a wide, flat trinket box, inlaid with mother of pearl, the colours an aurora in the rolling firelight. You stroked the box just once, before lifting the lid.

Your eyes crinkled immediately with joy at the treasures within; the box was full of lovingly crafted necklaces of gold, silver, pearl and gem, the chains finer and softer than any you had ever seen. You did not feel Kento approach as you admired them.

"I'd like for you to choose one," he offered, sincere, as you spun to face him. He raised his hands placatingly, a smile at the edge of his mouth, "not in lieu of payment, of course. A gift, I...made them with no real aim as to who should receive them."

"You made these?" You gaped, unable to fathom how such enormous hands crafted such intricate delights, "Kento, I-- they're beautiful, I couldn't possibly..."

If Kento had held any reservation, after hearing his name tumble from your lips, he was filled with the burning certainty that the jewellery should be for you, and you alone. His hand closed over yours as you moved to shut the box.

"Please," he breathed, so close, "choose one, or I shall give you them all." Swallowing, your hand hovered over a fine chain of silver and emerald, your fingertips brushing the gem. Kento hummed his approval, before picking it up, his calloused fingers all softness and grace.

"My favourite, too," he rumbled, brushing your hair off the nape of your neck as he clipped the necklace into place. You shivered at the feeling of his fingers on your neck, and almost ran as he whispered beside your ear, "Your bath is ready."

Stripping behind the wooden screen, hearing Kento amble around the room beyond, you sighed as the hot water enveloped you. Washing yourself with a soft sponge, cleaning off the grime of the day, your hand wandered absentmindedly downwards, fingertips grazing through your folds, naturally moving to relieve yourself of the building tension--

"I've left you a shirt." Your hand darted upwards with a guilty splash, Kento's voice only meters away behind the screen.

"Thank-- thank you," you squeaked, blushing, before climbing out, so naked apart from your exquisite new necklace. Drying on a soft towel, your hand hesitated over the shirt draped over the screen, before pulling it on over damp skin. It reached down your thighs, but left little else to the imagination.

Kento remained outwardly stoic, unreadable, averting his gaze as you crept out, arms holding yourself and squashing your breasts together, the colour of your nipples as faint as a ghost under the white linen shirt. He cleared his throat, coughing lightly before skirting past to the bath. You felt heat creep up your neck at the gossamer hush of his clothes hitting the floor, the shifting water as he stepped in, the way he sighed in relief, almost as if--

"I shall sleep in the chair tonight," Kento said, slow and considered, "and you shall have my bed." You felt indignation roll within you.

"Don't be ridiculous," you scolded, "you're injured, and this is your home--"

'-- and you are my guest," he grumbled.

"I won't allow it," you insisted, almost forgetting yourself as you approached the wooden screen, "I'll put some furs on the floor and--"

"You believe I would let you sleep on the floor?" He growled, furious at your suggestion, "I should rather you have me share the bed with you over that--"

"Fine. Then we shall share the bed. And there will be no more argument." You clapped a hand over your mouth as the words tumbled forth, unbidden. Mortified by your own suggestion, you removed your hand to speak again.

Kento stepped round from behind the screen, his towel draped lazily round his waist. You gaped up at him, stunned. He was...younger than you thought, his blond hair now soft and floppy, the ash removed from the lines in his face, taking ten years off him. You faced him, his towering form, the practiced rolls, peaks and planes of muscle belonging to a working man, his forearms so thick--

"Then...we should get to bed," Kento insisted, stepping past you, through a doorway to his bedroom, where you heard him rummaging for clothes, "it is late and I am up with the lark."

You hesitated where you stood, feeling your heartbeat between your legs, desperately curious, but paralysed.

"I don't bite," Kento called out, and you gulped down the sounds of soft fabric dropping over his body, still crippled with indecision and embracing yourself as he stepped out to put out the fire. You were lost momentarily in darkness before he stepped to you, the lantern between you, a beacon in the dark. You felt his hand close around your fingers again. You heard him whisper.

"It will become cold quickly, now the fire has died. Come. Stay warm."

You allowed yourself to be led to Kento's bedroom, hypnotised by the small swinging lantern. Kento led your hand downwards, placing it to the edge of the bed for you to feel your way, your fingers gliding through soft fur and cool sheets. With shaking hands, you crawled across to the head of the bed. Kento waited for you, flipping down the sheets, flipping them back up to your chin as you both slipped between them.

You heard nil but your own heartbeat. Kento faced you, the torch light embering behind him leaving him only just visible as your eyes adjusted to the light. The sheets had not yet warmed from your bodies, and you shivered. You felt Kento shift beside you.

"You...are cold," he stated as if in question. You remained quiet, gripping your hands to your chest lest they reach out for him.

"I'm...I'll warm up. Soon," you reassured yourself as much as him. You heard one doubtful grunt from him. Five minutes passed, and still, Kento felt you shiver against the sheets. Pulling a fur up to your chins, he felt prickles up his legs as one of your feet reached hesitantly out to touch him. He felt rather than heard you sigh.

"So warm," you whispered, your little voice soft with comfort in the dark. Kento's breath caught in his chest, feeling his cock twitch inside his soft trousers.

"Do you...need me?" He offered. He felt your other foot reach out in answer, cold toes wiggling against the downy hair on his leg. He felt a dangerous, needy arousal thread through him.

Reaching out his uninjured arm, he hooked it round your waist, chuckling as you squeaked when he pressed against you. You hummed in pleasure at the heat rolling off him, basking in his warmth, forgetting your awkwardness for a moment. Kento and you lay intertwined like that, with you softening like butter in his arms.

After a few minutes, you shifted against him, about to drift off to sleep. Kento must have been near sleep as well, groaning into your hair as you shifted, reflexively clinging you closer to him. Your bottom, completely bare with his shirt shifted up your body, pressed back to his groin. His clothed cock was hard and barely restrained in his loose trousers, and pressed between your thighs.

You felt a jolt run through you, feeling a warm trickle of arousal, so alien to you, seep out between your thighs. Kento almost saw stars as it dampened the trousers over his cockhead, and he frowned, his forehead pressed to your shoulder blade in apology and embarrassment.

"I-- I'm sorry, I--...it's been so long...since I've felt a woman-- shit, I'm--" Kento rested his nose against your neck, unable to stop himself from ghosting his lips there. You dropped your head back to him, and he growled in appreciation, nuzzling your neck, feeling your thighs clamp around the tip of his cock, your arousal seeping through his trousers and mixing with his own.

"I've never--" you whispered, blushing furiously, drunk on the feeling of his body against yours, feeling so curiously empty and aching to be filled. Kento understood immediately, and moved to pull back.

"No!" You squeaked, holding onto his arm, pushing yourself back to chase him along the bed, "Please, I-- I want--...you. I want you." Your words sat heavy in the air. Kento shifted behind you, at war with himself.

"You don't know what you're asking," he growled, fighting against you to remove his arm, "I am no boy."

"And I'm no girl, nor stupid," you reassured, "I'm not ignorant."

In an instant, Kento moved above you, on all fours, his arms caging you in, corseting you to his bed. He stared down at you, enormous chest heaving, eyes roving down your body, quickly intoxicated by your peaked nipples, beneath his shirt, the hem of it barely covering your sex, still feeling your arousal dampening his cock.

He leaned down, nestling his mouth against your neck again, tongue flicking out, tasting you. He felt you still under his lips, just a little mouse, in the jaws of a bear.

"And yet, all that knowledge is just academic, until you're crying out that my cock is too big for you," he growled, warning you away, barely able to stop himself. He felt you squirm beneath him, his head swimming with you. He was lost, then, to your tiny whisper in the gloom.

"Show me-- please." Kento shuddered, a drop of pre-cum seeping out of his cock, soaking through his trousers and your-- his-- shirt, to dampen your belly. You shivered, desperate to know Kento biblically, desperate for this fabled ecstasy.

Kento raised his mouth from your neck, reading your eyes, seeing such certainty in them. Tangling his fingers with yours beneath the sheets, he pressed the length of his body down against you as he kissed you, his other hand framing your jaw, gently encouraging it open to slide his tongue against yours. Your soft little moan was like music to his ears.

Kissing you deeply, learning your voice and your mouth, letting you learn the peaks and planes of his body with your free hand, Kento kept your other hand plaited with his own, fearful of leaving you to take this journey alone.

He felt himself shudder with the unbridled privilege of being able to worship you, jealously grateful that you had not been left to some boy. He was overwhelmed by the need to set your standards high at the first hurdle.

"Let me taste you," he murmured into your mouth, and you hesitated, unsure of what he meant. Swiping his thumb across your palm, Kento's mouth ventured downwards, sucking the skin of your neck, nipping before soothing the skin with his tongue, feeling you become pliable, supple as water. His fingers danced over the laces holding your shirt together, giving you opportunity to stop him, before untying them, freeing your breasts.

Laying his tongue flat over one nipple, Kento allowed it to curve to the shape of you, to know you, before drawing it into his mouth, sucking on your nipple while his hand toyed with and kneaded the other. He revelled in your whines, a high, keening mewl as you arched off the bed into his mouth. You felt his licks and sucks, curiously, between your legs, and you could not help but buck up against him.

Kento grunted at the feeling of your pussy pressing against his thigh, and moved one hand down to hold your hips still.

"Slow down-- let me show you," he ordered, gentle in his insistence. You trembled under his fingertips, your hips settling back to the bed. He rumbled his approval, rolling your nipple under his tongue again until you sighed, breathy and ecstatic, "Good girl."

In reward, his mouth continued to trail downwards, and your eyes fluttered closed, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, your fingernails scratching through his damp hair. Kento shivered at the sensation, feeling his cock leap against his thigh.

When his mouth reached your mound, you squeaked out in alarm, flipping the blankets down to see Kento, illuminated in the orange light.

"What are you-- your mouth, Kento--" Kento's eyes crinkled up at you, and two arms came to loop round the top of your thighs, pulling you down the bed towards him, your shirt being rucked up against the drag of the mattress to completely expose your glistening pussy to him.

Maintaining eye contact with you, you trembled with anticipation as Kento poked his tongue out into a point, first grazing your folds, before stroking from side to side to ease in between them. The sound that broke out from you as his tongue stroked over your clit, hot and wet, was one Kento masturbated to for years to come.

You felt as though you had been lifted from earth and dropped amongst the clouds as he licked at you, sucking, stroking, tasting, the pleasure so otherworldly compared to what your own hand could achieve, that you felt yourself being rushed towards your peak at speed.

Twisting and squirming against his mouth, you reflexively tried to pull your pussy away from Kento's attentions. His arms tightened around the tops of your thighs, growling into you, pulling you back as you tried to scoot away. Your hand tugged at his hair as you arched, whimpering, coated in a fine sweat. As Kento groaned into your cunt, you watched his hips roll and hump against the bed, the sight alone enough to send your orgasm crashing through you, and you worshipped his name in a long, keening cry.

Kento let his laps and sucks become softer, languid, letting you float through the haze of your pleasure. Nuzzling at you, tasting you as you trailed lazy blissful fingers through his hair, Kento planted soft kisses to your inner thigh.

Moving back up, stroking his nose against your neck, Kento felt your hand move down his shoulders and back, before coming round to ghost over the front of his trousers. Kento shuddered, kneeling above you to remove his shirt, skin prickling with the need to feel yours against his own.

Gazing down at you, his eyes like whiskey in the flickering light, he grazed a palm from in between your breasts, down to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head in one swift tug, exposing you completely to him.

Your hand still trailed over his groin as he knelt, and you were captivated, obsessed with the shape, weight and length of his cock in your hands, blissfully unaware of what you were doing to him. As you grasped the lace at the front of his trousers, undoing it, and squeezing the head of his cock between your fingers, Kento moaned, ragged, leaning one hand sideways to support himself.

"Fuck-- I haven't-- not for so long," he moaned, low and husky, feeling your inexperienced fingers explore his cock and balls in a way that felt almost abusively naive. As your thumb glided beneath his foreskin, collecting the wetness of his pre-cum, exploring his slit, Kento hissed, panting and grabbing your hand.

You broke out of your reverie, blushing with mortification, tears pricking in your eyes as you began to apologise. Kento interrupted, shushing you, one hand still gripping your fingers around his cock, the other coming up to cup your face, his thumb swiping across your cheek.

"Not you," he huffed, stroking your cheek, smiling down at you with fevered eyes, "me, it's-- I-- I'll cum in your hand if you carry on." Your eyes glimmered, hungry to see how he looked as you pleasured him, and you moved yourself, leaning close, squeezing him again beneath his own hand, and he cried out in pleasure. You felt another drip of his arousal across your fingers, and you gulped, your tongue darting out across your lips.

As you lowered yourself to his lap, Kento's eyebrows raised in shock, and desperate awe, as you licked the weeping cockhead sticking out from your joined enclosed hands.

A low rumble ebbed through Kento, his eyes suddenly dark and hungry as he looked down at you, wordlessly using your hand inside his own, to pump the length of his cock. Feeling the intoxicating glide of soft skin over woody hardness, you let him use your hand to masturbate himself as you took the head of his cock into your mouth, licking, tasting the musty pre-cum there.

Every instinct screamed at Kento to chase his orgasm, to press your head further down his cock so he could use your little hand to jack off into your mouth, and he felt overwhelmed by the innocent licks and sucks you gave him, eyes cast upwards to see what effect they had on him. Kento moaned desperately, twisting on his haunches, fingers in turn tangling into your hair and coming away, clenching and unclenching at speed.

He felt the approaching rush of divine ecstasy, thrumming up his back in waves, his balls tightening up against the base of his cock--

Snapping, Kento pulled your hand and mouth off him, heaving you up the bed and back onto the pillows, before pinning you down with his body, panting into your neck, trying not to spill his seed over your belly. You were thrilled, ecstatic with Kento's pleasure, eager to see more of it.

You crept your hips up to his, trying to ease his cock into you. Kento huffed, his hand shooting down to press your hips down again.

"--going to kill me-- I swear-- no idea...you have no idea what you're doing to me--" Kento panted, quaking above you, one forearm planted above your head. As his peak ebbed away, Kento plaited his hand with your own again, above your head. He felt his cockhead resting against the smooth resistance of your entrance, and he suddenly felt so responsible for you.

"I don't want to hurt you," he huffed, aware he was bigger than average, but knowing from the fevered look in your eyes that he could not dissuade you-- not that he wanted to, at this point, his cock throbbing with urgent need.

"Please," you begged, "please." You felt Kento's hips press forwards into your soaking wet heat, feeling a slight sting as it met resistance. Kento rested his nose to yours, his eyes still feverish, his body still smelling of iron and ash and smoke.

"On one condition," he pressed, authoritative as his cockhead pressed deeper against your stinging resistance, breaking past thin membrane, gripping your thigh up to his hip as you trembled, biting your lip, tears in your eyes as you nodded-- anything, you thought, anything.

"Marry me," he whispered against your lips, and you squeaked as you felt a twang of pain, his cock suddenly nestled deeply inside you. Kento rocked his hips gently, shushing you, soothing you, his thumb stroking your palm. Not moving, just holding you as you adjusted to feeling so full, Kento waited for an answer.

"Y--yes...yes," you mewled, and Kento growled his approval against your neck, slowly pulling out of you before rutting back into your wet, tender pussy again, so intimate and deep that you cried out for him.

Kento rolled his hips, like a boat on the waves, whispering into you, certain he wouldn't last long; "First-- I'll cum inside you-- then I'll treat you like a queen...haaah...for the rest of my days."

You clung to Kento, lost in the ecstasy of him plowing into you, delighted by his rumbling groans in your ears, blissfully proud of being able to make such an unflappable man fall apart inside you. When his grip on your hip faltered, his shaking hand dropping to stroke quick little circles around your clit, Kento growled and bit into your neck to feel you rock your hips upwards to meet his own.

The sting almost completely eased, you felt quick pangs of pleasure, rising with every beat of your fast little heart, completely carried along by the eroticism of Kento's frantic groans and mumbles into your ear.

"My love I-- you feel so good...so good...god, I need to cum, need you to cum I-- aahhhh, fuck--" Kento felt your pussy clench around him, and he came inside you as you drank down his moans, fascinated by how they matched up with the bounding twitch of his cock, how his hips juddered into you involuntarily, how his face contorted, jaw clenched, somewhere between rage and serenity.

You were famished, starved of him, immediately desperate for more, and you felt him crumple into you, caging you in, shoulders heaving and spent. Kento chuckled as you peppered him with kisses, gripping your thighs round him and rolling him over so you lay above him, straddling him as his cock softened within you.

With his chin on his chest to look down to you, and a lazy lopsided smile across his face, Kento played idly with your hair, stroking your nose, your cheeks. He proudly fingered the beautiful necklace, resting against your breasts, squashed and plush against him.

"You meant it?" He asked, eager, concerned.

You hummed in delight, pressing a tender kiss to his chest as you nodded; "You had me at 'hello'."

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Would the anon who requested Blacksmith!Kento PLEASE STAND UP so I can credit you for breaking my brain.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: A fight about a rumor, a confrontation, an admission, and suddenly your in the back of your car with no pants on.

Word Count: 4.7 k

Warnings:

“Get back ‘ere,” Lt. Simon Riley’s deep voice bellows angrily at the back of your quickly fleeing head as you storm clench fisted out of his private quarters before it disappears from his sight for a moment as you slam his door behind you so hard that it bounces off the frame and swings back open. He has no clue where you’re off to, but by the direction you’re headed, it looks like you’re going straight towards the parking lot. 

God dammit, this isn’t how this is supposed to go. He curses himself for the way his emotions get the best of him sometimes and especially right now.

A mess of heavy breaths and barred teeth, you try to ignore the boot steps barreling towards you from behind. Nothing and no one is going to stop you from getting out of here and away from him, so you keep your face down, eyes staring at the long shadow of your body splaying out in front of you as the sun slips down further to the horizon. When you do finally look up your car is close and getting closer; good. You need to get off this fucking base to calm down before you explode in rage and do something stupid…like put your fist through a wall.

Again the lieutenant calls out your name to your fading figure with no luck and watches as you reach your vehicle without even acknowledging him anymore. It’s no use, you’re gonna take off no matter what he does, so finally he gives up with a loudly growled “fuckin’ hell” in agitation just as you reach out for the handle, storming back into the room with another loud bang as the door shuts and stays closed this time. 

The noise makes the tension in your chest ease as you get in the driver’s seat and buckle up; at least he’s decided to actually leave you alone for now. Risking a quick glance back at the bare front of his closed door one more time you harshly turn the key in the ignition and peel out of the parking lot, screeching wheels and a flurry of gravel the only sign of your exit. 

“God dammit,” you mutter to yourself under your breath, your knuckles gripping into the steering wheel until they are white as you make your way up to the security booth to get cleared to leave. “What the fuck was that? Christ, he was angry. Has he lost his goddamn mind? Why does he think I have to put up with his shit?”

The guards at the stand can see the fury in your eyes as you roll up to the gate and they are quick to guide you through, not wanting to be on the receiving end of whatever has got you in a mood. They share a look between them after you drive off as somehow it feels like they’ve dodged a bullet, but that relief is short lived as not even ten minutes later the next person to come up to their gate has the same sour expression, except this one is partially shielded inside a jet black motorcycle helmet and black balaclava. 

Those eyes though…if looks could kill, the guards know they would have already dropped dead.

“Lieutenant,” one of them nods briskly as the motorcycle comes to a stop and the visor on the helmet is aggressively opened to reveal its occupant, “y-your good to go.”

Simon flips the visor back down with a single flick from his hand and revs the engine on his bike to peel away from the booth like a rocket towards the setting sun, headed in the same direction you had just gone minutes before. Faster and faster he pushes the engine; thank fuck there’s only one way you can go and if he makes sure to speed, he’s confident that he’ll catch up to you quick enough.

And then what? Simon’s anger is still blinding and he hasn’t thought that far ahead. All he knows is that he can’t just leave it like this and until you listen, he isn’t going to give up.

Your eyes are locked on the road, but it feels like you’re driving more by instinct rather than by sight as the only thing you can see right now is red. Simon’s harsh accusations swirl about in your head on repeat; not a good soundtrack to quiet your anger. This is not how you thought this day was going to end.

He had caught you headed back to your barracks and asked to speak. If you knew it was going to be an ambush for him to unload on you about something that was none of his business, you would have done everything to get out of letting him lead you inside his room. He didn’t even give you the chance to get a word in, to defend yourself, just kept spewing his heated thoughts about what he believed you were doing until finally you were able to get out.

If only he knew the truth… whatever, it didn’t matter now. You wouldn’t be kept on a short leash by someone who didn’t care.

You aren’t sure how many miles you’ve gone before you notice a motorcycle driving right behind you. They seem to be glued onto your bumper, keeping pace with you as you switch lanes, and when you make a sudden right and another directly after, they are still behind you and now you’re sure; you know that bike and its rider. 

How the fuck did he get behind you so fast? 

Simon flashes his lights at you before throwing on his blinker to indicate that he wants you to pull over, but you aren’t on base and don’t feel like following his orders right now. Let him chase after you for a little while more, that’s what he deserves. Who knows, maybe he’ll realize that this is a fucking stupid idea and he should really head back. Wishful thinking; you know him too well to even pretend that he’ll give up when he has his mind set on something. 

A few more miles and again he hits his lights; he’s not going to stop following you until you give him what he wants. He knows he came at you too strong before, but he isn’t done with the conversation. He is compelled to put a stop to this before it gets any more out of hand, he has to. One more time, he flashes his lights.

“Really, Simon? I don’t want to fucking do this,” you curse him in a mumble with a scoff. Looking into your rearview mirror, you throw up your hands in defeat to silently indicate you’re ready to get this over with, wherever he decides to take this. It’s almost dark now anyway; you can get this done and then immediately head down to the bar to grab a much needed drink.

Up ahead is the abandoned parking lot of an old grocery store that looks like it has been closed for some time. Simon speeds up to get ahead of you to act as a guide and you throw your blinker on and turn in. He leads you towards the back of the store and away from the street and the traffic; more privacy for you to ‘talk’. 

Great, more yelling, you think as you put the car in park before coming to a full stop. You scramble out in a huff and slam the door shut so hard that the windows vibrate.

“What?” you say between gritted teeth, leaning up against your car as you wait for him to get off his bike; you’re gonna make him come to you. 

He removes his helmet, setting it carefully on the handlebars before stalking over to where you stand. “I said I wasn’t going to talk about this anymore,” you continue on in the same heated tone, “so why are you following me? What the fuck do you want now?”

“That’s really how you’re gonna talk ta me?” he questions, matching your energy. “I’m still your fuckin’ lieutenant.” 

“That’s how I talk to assholes so stick their fucking noses where they don’t belong and then get mad when they don’t like what they find,” you return, crossing your arms across your chest to hide how labored your breathing is from your anger. You don’t want him to know just how much he’s gotten under your skin, even though you know your face is probably giving it all away anyway. 

He told himself to stay calm, but there is no helping the emotional reaction he has that causes him to immediately match your energy and the fight picks right back up as if it never stopped. “Oh, is that right?” he growls. “I’m tha asshole? And what the fuck does that make ya, princess?”

“Don’t turn this back on me,” you press the matter. “I didn’t do anything; you’re the one that has the problem. I just don’t understand why you can’t let it go. Do you not have anything better to do than get in my personal life?” 

Simon licks his lips behind his mask to keep him from losing the shred of composure he has left. “Better watch it, luv.”

You’re done with him, his attitude, and this conversation. “I will say it again, so maybe you’ll finally get it through your thick skull. What I do in my free time is my business. You have no right to confront me about anything.”

“I think I do,” he returns.

“Why? Because we hooked up a couple of times? That doesn’t give you the right to act like we’re a couple,” you say heatedly. “We agreed that it was we needed at the time to let off some steam, that the couple times it happened meant nothing. Now you’re acting like a fucking child just because I enjoy having company?”

Your blood is boiling now because he’s doing all this without having the facts. This supposed company you are entertaining isn’t even real, it is all a rumor started by a rejected private with nothing better to do, but you aren’t about to tell him that. He doesn’t need to know because it shouldn’t matter; you’re not together, never were, and he has no right to any knowledge about what you do behind closed doors. 

This is the type of arrangement he wanted after all, no strings attached. His idea, not yours, so why the possessiveness all of a sudden? After all you had done to make sure your feelings on the matter never got out it only makes you more irate to feel like a caged animal; damned if you do, damned if you don’t. 

Because what you really want is standing right in front of you and you can’t have it.

“Ya couldn’t even tell me ya were screwin’ around?” he says, stepping up in intimidation. “Ya don’t think that makes it sound like ya knew it was a problem?”

His entitlement feels like an attack and you won’t stand for it. “You can’t keep me on a leash like this when you don’t even have a claim,” you bark, getting in his face. “You might be my lieutenant, but what I’m doing or not doing outside of military business isn’t for you to worry about. And once again, we aren’t together. Stop acting jealous.”

He stares you down, menacing glare locked to your eyes as his chest heaves up and down exasperatedly. “Neva said I was fuckin’ jealous,” he starts, but you promptly cut him off.

“Yeah, right,” the accusation spills out like acid, finger poking into the middle of his chest. “And the fact you can’t fucking drop it is because you’re concerned, right? Bullshit. But you know what? I don’t care. I promise you, this is the last we will ever speak about it. You hear me? Just leave me the fuck alone.”

You shove past Simon as he stands there silently fuming to walk off somewhere along the building, clearly hoping that he will turn back for the base. His heart is beating out of his chest as he stares daggers into the back of your head…because you actually guessed right. He is jealous and it is eating away at him. 

Blinded by his overwhelming emotions, he moves without thinking about the repercussions of his actions. Taking fast steps, he catches up to you as you walk along by the brick wall of the store and takes you by surprise. He reaches out with his large, strong hand and wraps tightly around the back of your neck to pull you backward to him, turn you around, and pin you against the brick by your throat.

Simon blocks your body with the bulk of his, trapping you so you can’t get away again. His grip is firm, but not painful and you look up into his masked face as if trying to read his eyes. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, the residual anger pumping through your veins so it’s still in your voice.

There is a pause, more silence, before he speaks. “Handlin’ something,” he says with a growl.

“You clearly can’t handle anything, Simon,” you comment with an agitated chuckle. 

“Shut it,” he demands in a harsh bark. “Ya think ya know every fuckin’ thing, don’t ya?” He shakes his head, jaw visibly clenching even behind the mask. “Ya can’t even see what’s right in front ‘a your face.”

Your brow furrows; what the hell is he talking about? His remark catches you off-guard and you stand silently in confusion as you contemplate what the hell he’s trying to say, but he’s gone completely silent, just breathing heavy breaths into your face. Enough, he needs to just spit out so this can end. 

“Since I’m so fucking stupid, why don’t you spell it out for me. Stop playing these fucking games with me, Simon.”

Fine, no more games. His skin tingles with the heat from the adrenaline flooding his limbs and all at once everything happens in a flash. Only inches remain between you and in that moment they suddenly feel as wide as the ocean; it makes him ache and the urge to close the distance overwhelms every sense. Reaching towards his face with his free hand his mask is wrenched above his lips before he pulls your head forward by your throat and leans in to catch your mouth with his. The kiss is so full of aggression that it knocks the air out of your lungs. 

There is nowhere for you to go, nothing you can do, but hold on as he takes what he wants from your mouth. He steals kiss after frantic kiss as if he has been starved for them, not evening pausing to give you a second to come up for breath.  

All that anger that had just been bubbling inside you is redirected and suddenly instead of wanting to push him away you want him as close as possible. Your fingers claw into his shoulders through his leather riding jacket as you try to pull him into you, but they are immediately ripped off as he grabs them and pins the wrists to the wall above your head. Between the breaks in your mouth’s connection, he gasps out the words he should have said back in his room. 

“Ya need ta understand. Can’t just have ya a few fuckin’ times and tha’s it. Can’t get enough a ya. Was a goddamn fool not ta speak up sooner. Want ya for myself an’ I don’t share what’s mine. An’ you’re mine, luv,” he gasps into your parted lips, giving your neck a squeeze for emphasis. “Ya hear that? Mine.”

He nips at your bottom lip, sharp teeth cutting into the plump flesh to make you moan at the delicious harshness. God, your desperate sounds are like a drug; he can’t get enough and the more needy you become, the better they get. Pulling back just as you try to go in for more, he stares into your eyes, his gaze darkening within the confines of his mask still clinging to the top half of his face. “Can’t ‘ave anyone else tryin’ to get at what’s mine. Any prick that tries ta take ya away from me, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill ‘im.”

Admission finished Simon’s eyes flutter closed as he dives right back into your lips, this time shoving his tongue into your mouth, parting through your lips as he forces his way in until the muscle has filled you full. It plays against the roof of your mouth and over your tongue, tasting you, devouring all he can like a beast ravenous to take all that it can get. 

All that pent up desire being released onto you.

His bulky muscles against your chest crush your body into the wall and you can barely breathe, but you would gladly suffocate if it meant your curves could stay molded into each other like this for longer. Then you feel it, that bulge straining against the zipper of his jeans, and the walls of your pussy involuntarily clench. Suddenly you need it inside you. 

As if he has read your mind, Simon wrenches himself from your lips. “Unless ya want me ta fuck ya on the side ‘a this buildin’, get to tha car,” he growls, his voice husky. “Now.”

It only takes  a few seconds before you’re both jostling into the back of your car and slamming the doors shut, Simon’s jacket discarded on the ground right outside the door. His massive size takes up most of the cramped interior of the vehicle, but still he manages to maneuver onto his knees over top of you as he lays your back down against the seat. With one hand he undoes your pants, clasp first and then zipper, and pulls them down just under the curve of your ass and forcefully rips them off your legs as he rips his shirt off over his head with the other. The mask is taken with it and all the clothes get tossed somewhere into the floor of the car as he hikes one of your legs up to rest on his broad shoulder.

“Need it,” he says, feverishly kissing down the length to your thigh. “Need ta be inside ya right this second.”

“Yes, Simon,” you whimper as he undoes his jeans and pulls out his cock. It bobs up and down with the beats of his heart and he moans at the sensitivity as he takes it into his hand.

“Ya said I didn’t ‘ave a claim, well I’m ‘ere to claim ya now. But I need ta say it, sweetheart,” he returns as his fingertips hook into the crotch of your panties to pull them to the side before he angles himself against your pussy and starts slipping himself through your petals with agonizingly slow thrusts of his hips. “Say you’re mine.”

You swallow to coat the dryness in your throat. “I’m yours Simon,” you say, but the measured nature of his strokes don’t stop.

“Again.”

The tip of his cock prods against your clit and you whimper at how swollen it is and how much you need something to take the edge off. “I’m all yours Simon!” you whimper so pathetically as the throbbing intensifies the more he repeats the same. 

His hand digs harder into your hip as he leans in closer to your face. “I. Said. Again.” 

You close your eyes tight, clenching as you pant and gather the strength to reply with everything you have. “Simon, baby, please. I fucking need you so bad. I can’t fucking take it. I swear that I am only yours; there won’t ever be anyone else.”

The heat of his lips near yours makes you shiver. “Look who can’t handle things now,” he says with a smugness that makes goosebumps raise over your skin. “ Now, arch ya back a little more for me.” His command is direct and you follow without hesitation, presenting yourself to him like you are in heat, begging to be filled.  

“Fuck sweetheart, jus’ tha thought of ya with anyone else gets me so god damned riled up,” he says with a grunt as he positions himself at your entrance, your panties nearly ripping still laced in his fingers. “No one can ‘ave ya like this ‘cept me. Understand?”

You give him a vigorous nod, praying that soon the agony will end. “No one.” Your repeated words are a plea.

Simon’s heart races at how you say it. “You’re neva’ gonna stray, are ya?”

“No,” you whine.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” 

With that he shoves in just the tip through the threshold, instantly feeling the stretch of your core by the girth of it, groaning through a chuckle as you mewl taking him in. He doesn’t give you time to adjust and snaps his hips to thrust all the way down to the base of his shaft. The wind gets knocked out of you, but again he doesn’t pause and the axle of the car creaks as his desperate strokes overwhelm everything from you to the vehicle with the force.

“Ya think anyone else can make ya feel like this?” he asks through gritted teeth as he pounds into you hard and rough over and over again in rhythm. “Some manky bastard gonna make ya moan like this?”

There’s no way you can answer him with how full your mouth is with moans, how numb your mind is as everything in you focuses on the sensation of his thrusts reaching deeper and deeper inside. It only gets worse when he decides that one leg on his shoulder isn’t enough; it needs its twin on the opposite one. From here you swear you can feel him in your stomach with how deep he penetrates.

“Ya think he would even know what ya like? How to play with your clit, how to suck on your tits till you’re vibratin’ and your toes curl?”

How the fuck did he remember all that? You’ve only been together a few times and yet it’s obvious that he’s paid so much attention to detail that he’s memorized everything of those intimate details that make you a mess. As if right on cue his hand slips down between your bodies and parts through your petals to massage the nub at the top of your pussy.

“Ya think I wouldn’t care ta know what ya like?” he asks, the gravel in his voice delicious and yet menacing as you throw your head back and release a loud moan. “How else am I gonna make sure ya belong ta me? I need ta fuckin’ ruin this sweet little pussy so no one else can compare. I wanna be the only fuckin’ thing in that pretty head ‘a yours.”

As if you’d ever have the strength after this to even think of another man that isn’t him. The fictional man that got you into this predicament didn’t even exist and yet somehow you still feel guilty about him. There is only Simon, your Simon, that you can’t get enough of; no one else can ever come close. 

The lights in the parking lot kick on just as the last bit of daylight slips under the horizon and you can see now just how fogged up the windows are as Simon rips up your shirt and bra together, stuffing the clothing up around your neck and popping both breasts out of their cage before letting your legs slips from his shoulders to fall and wrap around his hips.

“Can’t forget about these beauties,” he growls before diving in face first and catching one with his mouth. 

Hot lips latch on as he braces a hand against the steam-covered window to hold himself steady so that he can continue to pump in and out of your tight hole and play with your clit as his tongue teases the nipple until it’s stiff and you can feel the pleasurable sensation down between your thighs. The moans filling the car come faster and faster as the heat gathering in the pit of your stomach grows. Simon doesn’t even come up for air, just switches sides to play with the other nipple until it too is hard; he wants a matching set before you come and he is gonna get what he wants. 

Your thighs squeeze down on his hips as that heat violently gathering in the pit of your stomach starts to come to a head and a devilish idea floods your thoughts. It won’t be long now and your orgasm will be coursing through you, but that’s not enough. If he wants to claim you, he is going to claim all of you…and fill you full. 

“Don’t pull out,” you stammer out and he falters in his thrusts. 

Simon quickly releases your breast from his mouth.“What did ya say?” 

You lock your ankles together tightly behind his back so he can’t escape. “Don’t you dare pull out,” you repeat and he nearly comes right then and there just from how the request makes his heartbeat pound. “God, I’m so close, baby. Please, I need you to come in me.”

Fuck, what a request. How the hell could he possibly refuse? He made a declaration after all and he intends to keep it; he is going to ruin you and he is more than willing to breed you to do it. His hands move to your hips and he buries his fingers in the muscles. 

“Then you’re gonna get what ya fuckin’ want, sweetheart,” he says as he strikes up into you with a newfound vigor that makes your body bounce. “You’re gonna take every last goddamn ounce.”

“Right there,” you moan, the pressure euphoric, “stay right there.”

He grunts. “Come for me. Come on my cock. Let me feel that fuckin’ clench.”

He struggles to repeat the same exact movements, his own release about to pop off at any second, but with a bit of effort his hard work pays off and that heat reaches its peak. The tension snaps harshly and tears through you until your body is jerking as you ride out wave after wave of ecstasy.

God, the way your walls are fluttering around him as you let go is heaven and he loses himself in the sensation. All that tight, wet, heat sends tingles through his cock and he can no longer remain sane. 

“My pretty girl…” he murmurs, his thrusts slowly getting more sloppy… “mine…” he repeats,  nearly there, preparing to make sure you take every ounce of his cum and coat your walls… “all fuckin’ mine.”

That’s it, he can’t take another thrust and with an open-mouthed moan he comes hard. Cum shoots up inside you as he milks himself with your body until he has nothing left to give and kneels there resting inside you. You watch the muscles along his abdomen contract and release as he slowly comes back down from that high. 

Such a masterpiece of flesh.

Minutes pass until he feels like he can pull out and he spends that time peppering your lips with tender kisses. Finally he carefully removes your legs from around him and sets them down on either side of his thighs, holding them open so that he can lean back and watch his cum and your slick dribble out of your cunt onto the cushion beneath you. What a beautiful mess he’s made; he can’t stop staring at it as if he’s in a trance. 

A visual sign that his claim is finally complete.

“Tha’s a sight that could do me in,” he breathes. “Ya did so good for me, sweetheart.”

He releases your panties so that they fall back into place and you can feel everything starting to gather in the crotch. You sit up and he pulls your face in for one last kiss; you’ve been here long enough that if you don’t get out of here soon it’s gonna draw unwanted attention. 

“Now get your ass back ta base and make it quick,” he says as he pulls slowly from your lips, “I want ya in my room, in tha shower; ya got exactly 20 minutes so ya best not stop. I’m not done with ya just yet.”

[eightmakesonebraincell]

ateez as pirates who fall for you (maknae line)

read hyung line here

genre: pirate!ateez x gn!reader (fem!reader for jongho), fluff, angst, continuation of the pirate trope brainrot (but i must say i went all out for the plots this time)

length: 14.4k

c/w: heavy and mature themes - mdni, explicit language (swearing), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, illegal acts (piracy, attempted murder), alcohol, near-drowning, angst bc i mean angst, specific c/w for mingi’s au: hurt/comfort, allusions to depression

a/n: i’m very sad i never got to use this joke somewhere so - why are pirates called pirates? because they just arrrr 🙈🙉🙊 also to those who like connecting dots and whatnot there are a few easter eggs related to hyung line 🥚 big thanks to yumi @sorryimananti-romantic for getting me through the last three months of trying to work and write bc it’s been a ship time ha ha 😬👍

taglist: at the end

san

pov: you run away with san and the cromer

through your waning breath, you reach a trembling hand up to cup san’s jaw

“s-san, don’t do it”

he lets out a racking sob as he shakes his head, expression marred with agony and torment that you can physically feel in his white-knuckled grasp that covers your own hand

the tears that drip off his jaw become lost to the ground, which is damp from moisture and your blood

you swallow the metallic taste in your mouth, “the cromer isn’t meant for changing fate.” it hurts to take a breath and you wince as you stutter. “it never goes th- the way you want it to…you know that by now”

san’s voice is broken and pained, “i don’t fucking care. it’s not going to stop me from trying”

he grips your hand even tighter when he starts to feel it fall away from his cheek

it’s becoming tiring to keep your eyes open

maybe you can rest…just for a little bit

san will forgive you, right?

you close your eyes

just for a little while

just until the pain stops

faintly, you think you can feel your body being jostled against something warm

but it’s far away

far away

far

san clutches your limp body as he lets out a primal wail of anguish

you cannot die

you will not die

he snatches the glowing hourglass and flips it with desperation screaming in every cell of his body

and then his world goes white.

you don’t notice when the footsteps behind you suddenly fall silent

you’re too busy reasoning with the captain, whose back you are facing as he walks ahead and leads your crew further into the dim tunnels of the cave

“it’s much safer if we go over the mountain. we’ll have the advantage of higher ground to ambush the horizon”

your captain, taesung, doesn’t look at you when he answers over his shoulder, “it’s much quicker through the tunnels. we don’t have the luxury of time if we want to attack their crew before they leave the island”

“and what if they attack - the horizon can easily ambush us as long as they’ve got the cave’s exit guarded”

you immediately turn around to look at san, knowing that he’ll support your argument

only to find that he’s not there

he’s several metres behind the back of the group and frozen to the spot

even in the shadowed darkness of the musty cave, you can clearly see the ashen and shaken features of his face

approaching him slowly, your fire torch held out in front of you, you gently call, “san?”

at the sound of your voice, his eyes lock onto yours

he looks terrified

san is lost in a distorted warp of visions

he can’t make sense of nor connect what he’s seeing

but there is blood

there’s so much blood

it’s everywhere

you’re there

it’s your blood

there’s someone screaming; raw with despair

he’s screaming

the ground digs into his knees and he feels wet and sticky from your blood but also his tears and there are so many tears and the walls are cold from moisture and it’s so dark and musty even with the smell of iron in the air and god you’re dying

you’re going to die

“san?” you repeat, now in front of him and tenderly cupping his jaw

and san has to stop you from dying

his pupils focus on you once again before he desperately tries to gain his bearings

he looks around with increasing franticness

he’s in a cave and the only light he can see comes from the torch you’re holding and the others shared amongst the crew

water drips from the ceiling and along the rugged walls towards the damp ground, filling the cave with a stale and mouldy smell

all his senses scream the same thing to him

it’s just like when you died

his own voice sounds foreign to him when he manages to choke out, “let’s listen to captain”

your eyebrows pinch together at san’s sudden compliance, especially more so when he lowers the volume of his next words so that you’re the only one who can hear his soft don’t argue with him

there’s something about the way he silently pleads with his eyes that makes you nod numbly

you slip the hand that isn’t holding the torch into his and prompt him to walk again with a light tug forward towards the rest of the crew, who are not too far ahead

when the both of you have nearly caught up, san readjusts his hand in your grasp so that his is atop of yours

and so you two walk, san leading you with a sturdy hand; a line of defence between you and the rest of the crew…and the depths of the cave

the thin sheet of cotton that you lay upon does little to soften the discomfort of the cave’s floor as you and the crew prepare for a few hours of sleep, but your pillow makes up for it

your head is cushioned by san’s thigh, who’s seated upright against the wall after offering to keep watch

he’s gazing down at you with a tender smile as he slowly runs his fingers through your hair like a soothing lullaby

your eyes scan his, still trying to catch any changes in his expression that could possibly explain his strange demeanour from earlier

you want to ask him what’s wrong but there’s only so much privacy you can get in a cave with the rest of your crew

instead, you give his hand a squeeze

san’s smile fades a little and you wonder whether it’s the illusion of the light and shadows from the torches that makes his face look so gaunt

his eyes flicker around guiltily and then he looks at you whilst reciprocating your squeeze

he’s mouthing something, you realise

do you trust me?

you tighten your fingers around his in reassurance

with my life

the dimpled caverns return to san’s cheeks, and then he’s whispering to you softly, “sleep”

you don’t recall dozing off, but you must not have been asleep for very long before you’re woken by a light shake to your shoulder

the groggy mumble that starts to leave your lips is hushed by a warm kiss on your forehead

you’re met with the sight of san holding a finger against his lips when you open your eyes and your brain struggles to comprehend what’s happening

there’s a faint glow coming from under his bulging shirt, which could only be one thing

the cromer

as your neurons start firing again, you come to the realisation that apart from you and san, nobody else is awake yet

quietly, he helps you up to your feet

the silent question he asked before you fell asleep replays in your head, and although it does nothing to clear up your confusion, it helps to ease your anxiety because you meant it when you mouthed your response

you trust san with your life

so you turn away from your crew members and start walking, each step deliberate and careful, your hand clutched safely within san’s while he retraces your steps from today

and when san deems you two far enough and out of immediate danger of being caught, he pulls the cromer out of his shirt to use as a makeshift torch

you both make a run for it

when you emerge out of the cave’s entrance hours later, thighs burning from the strain, you almost stumble to your hands and knees from the blinding brightness of the afternoon sun

san tightens his hold on you and urges, “this way, love”

together, you climb the outcrop on the left and disappear further into the mountains because you can’t afford to rest near the cave

few words are exchanged as san nimbly navigates the rickety ledges and overgrown roots, muscles flexing as he pushes forward and helps you with an extended hand

you realise soon after that whilst he leads you two away from the cave, he travels parallel to the edges of the mountain trees - a guideline that keeps the long port of the island just within sight

“san,” you finally break the silence to point towards an overhang you spot, “we should take a break”

he’s sweating from exertion and lack of sleep, so he nods with a grateful smile and leads you towards it

the rock provides a decent amount of shade and conceals you two well enough with the surrounding greenery

only when he sits with a sigh does he finally let go of your hand after hours of holding on

you know that he’s one for constant physical affection, but this…this feels different

it’s like he’s afraid that you will slip away the moment he lets go of you

you turn to look at him

“san, what exactly is going on?”

he’s quiet

he doesn’t know how to tell you - is there even a way to package his next words prettily?

letting out a stuttering breath, san puts it blankly on the table, “i saw you die in my arms”

you’re stunned into silence and your throat feels even drier than before

“was it…” you dare to ask, “was it going to happen in the cave?”

he nods, “i just suddenly saw it and it felt so real. it- it was dark and wet and the smell - the smell was just awful and-”

“hey, hey, san. it’s okay, we’re not in the cave anymore,” you soothe, pressing your forehead to his

you feel him relax under your touch before he tilts his head to kiss your lips

“yeah,” he sighs against you, “you’re right”

when you pull away, the faint glow under his shirt catches your eyes

“why did you bring the cromer?”

if it had only been you and san missing from the crew, taesung might not have bothered going after the two of you

but with the missing cromer too, the captain will spend the rest of his life tracking it down - tracking you two down - if that’s what it will take

taesung isn’t stupid enough to just let go of the cromer and the inexplicable power it holds to travel between dimensions

san shimmies the hourglass out of his shirt and holds it carefully in his hands, “i need a fail-proof safety net, just in case something goes wrong and…i still don’t end up saving you”

“a safety net?” an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach, “san? what are you not telling me?”

he runs his fingers along the metal casing over and over again as he avoids looking at you

“i…i’ve used it before,” san finally admits, “i used the cromer to bring you back to life”

without thinking, you blurt, “it’s only meant for travelling between dimensions. nobody knows what the repercussions are if you try to mess with fate!”

“well, i did it.” he snaps, “you’re here, alive, and i would do it again and again to save you”

at his words, you soften

because san didn’t just see you die

he lived through seeing you die

you can’t even begin to imagine if you had been the one to experience san die in your arms

“i’m sorry,” you apologise. “thank you for saving me, and for loving me”

san’s eyes are red when he looks at you, “i’m sorry, too, for snapping at you. i know this is a lot for you to process”

you shake your head with your own watery smile

“i’m alive, and i promise i’ll stay alive”

“and i promise i’ll keep you alive,” he nudges your cheek with a playful peck

you laugh, because san makes you happy even in the most uncertain of times, and you ask, “what’s the plan now?”

“find a ship that’s willing to get us the hell out of here”

he makes a move to stand and you place your hand on the ground to push yourself up to your feet too

except your hand shifts with your weight and you end up cutting your palm open on the sharp edge of the rocks

hissing, you draw your hand back towards your chest

“shit, let me have a look,” san drops to his knees and takes your hand in his

he gently blows away the soil and rubble around your wound as you wince

it’s nothing too serious, but it’s deep enough that blood immediately begins to pool in the broken skin and seep further out onto your palm

the glow of the cromer pulses

“san,” you start when you see the cogs moving in his head

he removes one hand to pull the cromer out and presents it to the both of you

“i’m not losing you to infection from a cut, not after everything that we’ve done so far to get to here,” he quips

there’s only time to let out an exasperated sigh before he’s taking your good hand to turn the cromer together

your world goes white

the next moment when you open your eyes after blinking, you’re still there resting under the overhang in the mountain forest

san’s sitting next to you, the only sign of the cromer a faint glow under his shirt

and your hand…

there’s no cut

your head whips towards san and his eyes widen when he sees the unbroken skin of your palm

san makes a move to stand, but this time, he gathers your hands and pulls you up with him

“it worked,” you breathe out once you’re on your feet

“it worked!” san repeats, engulfing you into a crushing hug

the amount of relief he feels is uncontainable, because the cut is reassurance that he can change fate with the cromer

in high spirits, san tucks it back into the safety of his shirt after wrapping it in a length of sash and then he secures it snugly under his belt

you two need to look the part of inconspicuous travellers, and a glowing hourglass would most definitely draw unwanted attention

you and san cut through the back streets and alleyways of the small village that separates the mountain and the coast, keeping an eye out for not only your crew members - or ex-crew, you suppose - but also the members of the horizon

“remember,” san whispers into your ear as you both approach port, “if anyone asks, i’m your husband and we’re travelling merchants”

you’re too nervous to answer but you nod anyway, letting san take the lead once again

with the confidence of somebody most definitely not lying, san strides up to a sailor who is yelling at his men to load the crates faster and spins a story right out of his ass

somehow, san manages to concoct a convincing recount of how your goods were stolen by thieves, leaving you both without any means of making money, so now you are left with no choice but to go back to your hometown which happens to be on the way to the ship’s destination, which you know because you overheard the sailors talking earlier

when the sailor glances in your direction, you try to nurse your expression into one of simultaneous distress and gratitude in hopes of selling the story even further

he simply stares at the both of you and you think that he’s going to turn down your request, but then the sailor gives a sweet smile and extends his hand out in greeting, “daeho. welcome aboard”

that’s how you and san find yourselves in the ship’s hold, legs crossed side by side on the wooden floor and surrounded by a multitude of crates and barrels

neither of you realise that you’re holding your breaths and it’s not due to the stale air in the poorly ventilated hold

only when the shout of “anchors aweigh” is heard and the ship slowly starts to pull away from the dock do you finally relax, the feeling of hope slowly seeping into your bodies

because all that’s left now is to wait for the ship to dock at the next port and then you and san can disappear and start a new life

at the notion of safety, your stomach finally calls for attention with a grumble

san teases, “sounds like someone needs a bit of food,” just as his stomach answers with a growl of its own

you break out into laughter and pull him up with you to snoop inside the crates for something edible

lifting the lid to one of the crates, you peer inside to find what looks like a layer of burlap

you reach down with a hand to remove the covering and dig deeper, only to jerk your arm back when you feel the burning pain of a cut

“oh fuck, what?” you hiss as you look into the crate again, “why the hell are there so many knives?”

san is beside you within a split second, already turning you around to cradle your hand in his

the cut extends across your palm and there’s something sickening yet eerily familiar about the way the blood rapidly starts to pool and seep past the broken skin

goosebumps spread across your body when it hits you

“san,” you look up at him with a trembling voice, hardly audible over the pounding of your heart, “it’s the same cut”

his eyes bore into yours with reflected horror when your words sink in

because if it really is the same cut, then that means-

san’s attention suddenly shifts to behind you and that’s the last thing you register before your head explodes with blinding pain

your world turns black.

there’s a ceaseless hammering in your skull when you regain some semblance of awareness and it takes all of your willpower not to let the throb drag you back into unconsciousness

you open your eyes with a groan, trying to clear your vision, only to find san still out cold on the floor beside you

you scrabble closer towards him and brush his fringe out of his eyes

“san,” you shake him a little, “san, wake up”

his mouth tightens into a grimace as he’s slowly brought back to consciousness at the sound of your voice

“fuck…they hit hard,” he props himself up with another curse before he asks you in a panic, “are you hurt?”

you start to shake your head but then think better of it, “my head hurts like a bitch, but i’m okay”

san pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms around you

you let yourself sink into the safety of his embrace, pretending that everything is okay even if just for a moment

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry,” san repeats the apology into the crown of your head

you can’t do anything but return hushed whispers of comfort and hug him tighter

a sudden clang draws you out of his arms as you both turn in the direction of the sound

that’s when you realise you’re no longer in the hold

you’re in a cell

the brig of the ship is much darker and the air is suffocatingly musty from the lack of ventilation and the perpetually damp floors and walls

damp from what exactly, you really don’t want to know

you hear the heavy thud of boots amplifying as the person approaches your cell, your eyes straining to make out their face in the dark

they squat in front of your bars

the sweet smile on daeho’s face makes him look crazed now and you shrink back to put some distance between you two

“did you have a good rest?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious

at san’s seething growl of anger, daeho raises his hands up in faux surrender and states, “i just want the cromer”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” san glowers

the other man wriggles his fingers at san’s waist, “you’re not very good at hiding it in your shirt”

almost as if it knows it is being talked about, the cromer flashes from under the layers of cloth

“why didn’t you just take it from us earlier,” you bite out

daeho clicks his tongue with a disappointed smile, “but then where’s the fun in that?”

he stretches a hand out and waits with his palm upturned just outside of the cell bars

“now give it to me,” he demands

san stares in retaliation, not once looking away as he slowly reaches for the cromer

he takes it out of his shirt and unwraps the sash from around it, then starts to extend the hourglass out towards daeho’s hand

as you watch with bated breath, you notice the subtle tightening of san’s grip around the metal casing and you realise he intends to flip it

except you’re not the only one who comes to the same conclusion

you see the exact moment the facade drops from daeho’s face and is replaced by his true derangement

the hand by the pistol at his side starts to move

but so do you

this time, everything turns red as the scorching heat of pain paralyses your entire body

the cromer falls to the floor at the same time as you do

from outside the cell, daeho laughs viciously, but it’s drowned out by the agonising cry that comes out of san’s chest

san desperately gathers you in his arms, hands pressing against the bullet hole to stem the blood flow

but there is so much blood

it’s everywhere

the ground digs into his knees and he’s wet and sticky from your blood but also from his own tears and there are so many tears and even with the pungent smell of iron in the air he can still smell the mustiness of the cell and he can’t get enough oxygen into his lungs because god you’re dying

and he’s suddenly struck with the heart-wrenching thought

did he unwittingly condemn you to your own fate?

or is it like the cut on your palm - is he unable to change fate no matter what decisions he makes differently?

the sob that wrenches itself out of san hurts you more than anything

“i love you,” you say, because your words are numbered and you want them all to be san’s

he shakes his head furiously, “shut up, you’re going to be fine”

your words come out effortfully, “please, i want to hear you say it one last time”

“fuck,” san buries his face in your shoulder, “i love you so, so much. i can’t live without you”

he pulls back heartbroken, “i can still change this”

through your waning breath, you reach a trembling hand up to cup san’s jaw

“s-san, don’t do it”

he lets out a racking sob as he shakes his head again, expression marred with agony and torment that you can physically feel in his white-knuckled grasp that covers your own hand

the tears that drip off his jaw become lost to the damp ground

you swallow the metallic taste in your mouth, “the cromer isn’t meant for changing fate.” it hurts to take a breath and you wince as you stutter. “it never goes th- the way you want it to…you know that by now”

san’s voice is broken and pained, “i don’t fucking care. it’s not going to stop me from trying”

he grips your hand even tighter when he starts to feel it fall away from his cheek

it’s becoming tiring to keep your eyes open

maybe you can rest…just for a little bit

san will forgive you, right?

you close your eyes

just for a little while

just until the pain stops

faintly, you think you can feel your body being jostled against something warm

but it’s far away

far away

far

san clutches your limp body as he lets out a primal wail of anguish

you cannot die

you will not die

he snatches the glowing hourglass and flips it with desperation screaming in every cell of his body

and then his world goes white.

mingi

pov: you're the crew's surgeon

you have all the time in the world to yourself

the recent raid was successful - the other vessel had surrendered quickly without putting up a fight and your ship is now well stocked up from the loot of supplies

hongjoong has promised the crew shore leave, a vacation of sorts, and so you and the crew are travelling to port malthov, a haven island for pirates

it’ll take about a week to arrive

and without a foreseeable raid or run-in with enemy vessels, there is no need for your medical duties

which is a good thing, really

but it also means that you have a lot of time

and time is your worst enemy

time is time alone with your own thoughts, time alone with your internal demons, and right now, your mind is a sinkhole of them and you are the very thing being pulled into its depths

you’re sprawled out on the upper deck, arms and legs splayed like a physical manifestation of your efforts to reach the edges of the sinkhole and hold on

you think to yourself that it’s reassuring when you can see blood

because it’s visible, physical, and you can fix it

step one, rinse the area with clean water

step two, disinfect the wound

step three, remove any foreign objects or dead skin

step four, suture as required for nastier injuries

step five, wrap a clean cloth over, under, over, under, then fasten

there’s a procedure and it makes sense

but when it’s invisible, what do you do?

there are no medical diagrams, procedures or journals that teach you how to heal your own hurt

you may be the crew’s surgeon, but you wonder how qualified you truly are if you can’t even fix yourself

the skies are clear today and the sun shines down directly on your exposed skin

it’s uncomfortable but you don’t move, limbs feeling just a little too strung tight to cooperate

you don’t think you have the energy to do much more than to just lie there and exist

and the burn of the sunlight is kind of nice

it tells you that you’re still alive - even if the feeling of living is pain

that’s where mingi finds you twenty minutes later, his face upside down as he leans over to look at your face-

only to very nearly drop a block of wood right onto you

“oh, shit,” he fumbles as the multitude of items he is carrying to his chest falls and clatters onto the deck around your head

you jolt up to save yourself from a bruised forehead and eye him, curiosity well and truly piqued

with a huff, he piles everything in front of you, followed by himself as he sits cross-legged in front of you

he looks suspiciously hopeful and expectant

“can you carve me another dolphin?”

months ago, you had tried carving ornamental animals out of small scraps of wood left over from a hull repair

most of your carvings had turned out hideous and you had tossed them overboard, but mingi had not stopped following you and begging until you gave him one

you could barely even call it a dolphin, but for some reason, he has kept it since like it’s something valuable

“i already made you one,” you start

but he protests, “i lost him!”

you blink

nevermind. maybe not so valuable

“...you lost it?”

you’re not sure whether you’re disappointed or relieved that it’s forever gone to the void

“i lost him, yes. so can you please carve me a new one?”

you blink once more and he looks back at you with wide, pleading eyes

“fine, pass me the knife,” you finally relent

he grins, handing something that feels quite familiar into your outstretched hand

“are these my scalpels?!” you clutch them defensively to your chest. “mingi, i am not carving wood with these”

mingi breaks out into pleased laughter, crescent eyes and gaping mouth as he produces a pocket knife that you can actually use

“you’re ridiculous,” you tell him, setting your medical instruments safely to one side, but you don’t really mean it

you bring the blade of the pocket knife to the edge of the wood and start whittling away

you expect mingi to get up and leave you to your devices, except he doesn’t

he stays and asks you question after question about the carving

which part are you working on now?

how do you shape the tail?

what was the first thing you tried to carve?

if you could carve something else after this, what would it be?

and it goes on for hours - as the wood gradually takes shape of the animal, as the harsh sun lowers and is replaced by the cool breeze of evening

…as mingi fills up your sinkhole and you are no longer grasping at the edges to stay afloat

it happens without you even realising, but he lets you take refuge in him from your own thoughts

and later that night, when the crew are preparing to sleep for the night, mingi will place the newly-carved dolphin at the head of his hammock

he will itch to rummage through the small chest that holds his personal belongings and treasures

he will want to unwrap the small object he has hidden away at the very bottom of his chest and put it side by side with the dolphin

but he won’t, because otherwise you’ll see the two dolphins and realise that he was lying about having lost the first one, so he’ll opt to keep it hidden

mingi thinks that he might even ask you to carve him something else tomorrow

he’ll say that his dolphin needs somebody by its side

what he won’t say though, is that he knows you need somebody by your side

and if he can offer you a few hours of mindlessness while you carve with him beside you, then he’ll ask you to make him a whole aquarium of animals

but that’s tomorrow

for now, he lets you rest on him, and you find that it doesn’t seem quite as hard to exist anymore

because sometimes, even surgeons need their own healers

you don’t have another bad day that week

technically, they’re all still bad days, but they aren’t as bad

but as it is with your luck, it all comes back to drag you underwater when the arriba pulls into port malthov and lowers its anchor

of all days, your head feels foggy, your body feels empty and your lungs feel laboured

you’re not even sad

you’re just…hollow

and the worst part is that you have absolutely no reason to be feeling this way

being up in the crow’s nest for once has given you the perfect vantage point to watch as the majority of the crew precariously run off the gangplank with whoops and hollers, splitting off to explore the town

their excitement is infectious - to everybody but you

instead, you had offered to take over yeosang’s lookout duties so that he could go to the town’s tavern

you’ve already rotted the morning and most of the afternoon away and your stomach grumbles in protest at having skipped both meals

it knows that you probably won’t be eating dinner either

“y/n,” a voice calls out to you from the deck, “are you not going into town?”

you peer over the edge of the nest and find mingi’s small form, his head craned upwards in your direction

“lookout duties,” you simply say

but mingi calls your bluff

“the whole point of shore leave is that we all get time off. captain’s still on board to make sure our ship doesn’t catch on fire or some shit, don’t worry”

when you still don’t make a move, mingi starts to climb up the rigging and you startle to your feet

“heavens, okay, i’m coming down”

he’s banned from rigging duties for a reason

when you land on the upper deck, he looks awfully smug with himself

he asks, “can we go eat seafood? not fish, but like the good stuff”

“since when did you like seafood?”

“always?”

mingi did not always like seafood but you let it slide

he guides you across the gangplank and towards the bustling streets of the town, keeping you tucked closely into his side

almost like he knows you’re feeling more fragile than usual

you two come across a market and he tells you to find a table in the outdoor seating area

when he returns to you after a while, both his hands are stacked with platters of shrimp, some crabs and even a lobster

“mingi, what-?” you break out into an astounded laugh

you can’t even find it in yourself to finish your sentence because it looks like he’s bought enough food to feed half your crew

he sets the plates down in front of you, one by one, until you can barely see the table itself

and you watch, still incredulous, as he picks up a steamed shrimp, meticulously peeling off the shells that he discards onto his plate

…before placing the peeled shrimp onto the plate in front of you

“eat,” he encourages

mingi picks up another shrimp to peel, looking away from you so as not to pressure you

but he can’t help but look and smile widely when you do eventually bring the food up to your mouth and take a bite

it tastes good

shrimp has always been one of the things you miss the most when you’re sailing and as the salty taste of the ocean spreads across your tongue, you start to feel your appetite returning

by the time you’ve swallowed, there’s already another shrimp on your plate, peeled and ready for eating

mingi smiles knowingly when you groan around your next bite

the sun may have already started to disappear into the horizon, but right now with mingi’s plate piling up with discarded shells and yours with juicy shrimp meat, the hollow cavity in your chest slowly filling with warmth, the sun is only just starting to rise for you

and mingi will keep filling your plate until your sun has fully risen into the sky

because sometimes, healing needs the help of an extra pair of hands

the day before your crew is scheduled to leave port malthov, you find yourself sitting on the sandy shores of the coastline, far away from where the arriba is docked

the wind tugs at your hair and the hems of your clothing in the direction of the ocean

you wonder what it would be like to just let yourself go and float along with the wind

your thoughts are interrupted by the soft squeaks of bare feet in the sand approaching you and mingi lowers himself down to sit by your side

no matter where you hide, he somehow always finds you

you give him a small smile when he calls your name in greeting, but it’s all you can really manage to do

it’s hard for you to talk today

but he already knows that

“can i tell you a story?” mingi isn’t really asking you

without waiting for a response he knows you can’t give, he starts to talk

“i don’t think i’ve told you about the time when yunho and i went skinny-dipping at night. i swear we saw the kraken that night”

he has told you this story before

more times than you can count on your fingers and toes combined - to the point where you have some of his exact phrases and expressions memorised

mingi knows he’s told you this story before

but he drones on anyway, adding his usual touches of dramatic flair and exaggerated details - words that he hopes keep you grounded to the spot so that you don’t disappear with the wind

(“did you know that yunho’s chest goes red when he screams in fright?”)

you want to make silly little comments about his silly little story

you want to laugh in harmony with mingi’s own rumbling sounds

except you can’t

it’s like whatever you want to say goes through a paper shredder right before it comes out of your mouth

and mingi knows

but he is willing to take all the time in the world to tape your words back together, shredded piece by shredded piece, until he can make you feel heard and seen

and even if you don’t talk, he is there to do enough talking for the both of you

some things don’t need to be said - he understands either way

because sometimes, healing looks like walking backwards on any progress that’s been made and that’s okay

after all…mingi’s been there before, too

the arriba sets sail again and hongjoong allows the crew one last night of rest before your usual duties resume

the stock of fresh produce and meat won’t last for longer than a couple of days anyway, so you all feast your stomach’s fill of food and alcohol

someone brings out an accordion and you all gather together on the upper deck as jongho sings to the music, background filled with the lively rattling of shared plates and mugs being passed around

the air is chilly but it’s crisp and fresh whenever you take a breath of it into your lungs

where being with the multitude of your crew usually makes you feel lonely, tonight, it feels okay

and from beside you, mingi sings along quietly to the music

his voice is not like jongho’s, which is soulful, emotional and powerful

mingi’s voice is deep, honest and raw as he sings the lyrics to the song of a man who is drowning and yearning to be saved

he looks at you during the last bridge, when the key changes from sorrowful to hopeful and the words tell of a man who is saved by his lover

you smile back at him, genuinely content in this moment

and even if it is only briefly, even if you will still have bad days in the future, you think that today is a good day

because healing takes form in all different ways, and being loved is one of them

maybe one day, mingi will be able to confess that he loves you

when he’s confident that you’ll be able to accept his love

not in the way where he expects you to reciprocate the same feelings for him, no

but in the way where you are able to accept the fact that you are worthy of being loved

there are no medical diagrams, procedures or journals that teach you how to heal your own hurt

but you have mingi and he is making one for you

it’s written with the ink of love on the very pages of his own heart and he will not stop writing until the day you are well and truly happy

and even if it takes forever?

well

mingi’s got a huge fucking heart

and it’s all yours

wooyoung

pov: you find a stowaway on your ship

“we’re headed off course again”

“again?” you look at your helmsman with furrowed brows

yunho nods, sighing out his next words, “i can’t get a read on north. the needle keeps flickering”

you look at the compass that’s mounted at the helm and true to his words, the tip of the arrow seesaws back and forth over the cardinal point

a quick glance down tells you that the newer compass you’ve got in your pocket is also behaving in the same manner, needle twitching despite the practised steadiness of your hands

so you know for sure that it’s not a fault in the instrument at the helm itself

but even if it were to be faulty, you would never replace it

not when it’s one of the only things you have remaining of your parents after they perished at sea

“maybe we should ask him,” yunho suggests, beckoning his head towards the deck

although seonghwa hums thoughtfully, having joined you both at the helm mid-conversation, you look at him incredulously

“you trust that person?”

yunho shrugs, “it’s not like he’s given us a reason to not trust him”

well

considering said man had been found stowing away in the cargo five days after your ship had left alcarres, who then also tried to plead for mercy by reasoning that he was ‘valuable’, you think that there’s plenty of reasons to not trust him

yunho rectifies his argument once he sees the pinched expression on your face, “as in, since we’ve found him on board”

you close your eyes and exhale

admittedly, yunho has a point

and there’s been one too many times where the man has flippantly suggested navigational changes or casually observed shifts in the winds and waters - which all turned out to be accurate - for it to be sheer luck

you open your eyes and call out to the upper deck

“stowaway”

yunho winces as seonghwa chides you with a slight elbow to your side at your choice of name, or lack thereof

said man looks at you from where he’s helping san and yeosang swab the deck, mouth tightening with wariness

the last time you had spoken the same word, it was along with an order to throw him into the brig with his wrists bound behind his back

but considering that that was the extent of his punishment for stowing away on your ship and he is now mingling amongst your crew with minimal security measures on your orders too, really, he’s gotten off scot-free

the stowaway approaches the quarterdeck with hesitant steps

you jerk your head towards the helm, “help yunho navigate the rest of the way to vlasgar. just until we can dock and work out what’s wrong with the compasses''

despite the curtness of your order, his face scrunches up into an enthusiastic grin

“of course, captain!”

you’re taken aback by his demeanour because you’re trying to find a reason to distrust him

but he’s not giving it to you

you watch as the stowaway makes himself comfortable against the helm rails and easily slips into conversation and banter with yunho amidst intermittent pointers to adjust the rudder

seonghwa nudges you from behind, “give him a little credit”

you scratch your neck awkwardly before calling out to your helmsman

“keep me updated on the ship’s course”

yunho nods and then you clear your throat, quickly glancing at the stowaway

“and thanks…wooyoung.”

you turn and leave the quarterdeck before you can fully catch a glimpse of the delighted smile the man beams at you

because if he’s not giving you reasons to dislike him, then you’re going to ensure he doesn’t start giving you reasons to like him

except…wooyoung attacks when you least expect it

it’s the night before your crew reaches vlasgar, and true to his claims when he was first discovered onboard, wooyoung has proven his value by navigating your ship through the waters without the aid of the malfunctioning compass

his innate sense for shifts in the wind and waters, combined with his understanding of celestial navigation and use of dead reckoning has meant that he is extraordinarily precise with his route

honestly, he’s freakishly accurate to the point where it’s a little unsettling

at least that’s what you tell yourself

you and hongjoong have given the crew the night off from their usual duties in preparation for a few busy days of maintenance and intel-gathering once your ship docks at vlasgar

wooyoung offers to cook in the galley and whip up a meal as fancy as he can from the select ingredients on board

you don’t have a good reason to deny him, not when the rest of your crew looks at you with eager faces at the thought of a meal that isn’t just the usual salted meat, so you send mingi along to help him locate the ingredients

also to keep an eye on wooyoung to ensure he isn’t using this as an opportunity to poison your crew, but you’re not about to admit that aloud

and that’s exactly when wooyoung chooses to attack

he attacks your heart with his cooking

granted, the standards are rock bottom, but wooyoung utilises a deadly combination of rosemary, thyme and bay leaves to prepare a hearty broth with preserved beef

he serves hardtack on the side to be softened and eaten with the broth, and jongho even manages to catch a few fish that wooyoung then scores and grills with lemon slices over the fire

mingi must also be in good spirits because he takes out the reserve of dried fruits and nuts that he’s usually pedantic over and allows wooyoung to arrange them artfully in a wooden bowl as nibblers to go with the profusion of rum that will inevitably be downed tonight

the impressive spread of food is placed on the upper deck where the entire crew sit in a rough circle together

you take one bite into the beef and curse without realising

“fucking hell, what did he put in this?”

wooyoung freezes mid-spoonful across from you in the circle

realising your words sound petrifying without context, you awkwardly amend them with your eyes glued to your bowl, “i could eat this every day,” before shoving another spoon of broth into your mouth to shut yourself up

there’s a chorus of teasing oooh’s at your words and somebody sing-songs, “captain likes youuu-r cooking”

“i don’t,” you scoff, completely ready to bite the bait and engage in this childish argument

but it’s him who comes to your defence

“it’s not my cooking, it’s just the spices that make a difference,” wooyoung insists

then he’s gesturing to the grilled fish and telling everyone to try, diverting the attention away from you

you accidentally make eye contact with him and initially flicker your eyes away out of embarrassment, but when you chance a peek back at him he’s still looking at you, his expression uncharacteristically calm and gentle when usually all you can hear these days is his raucous laughter bouncing across the deck

…not that you can recognise his laughter or anything

you stare at each other for a few more seconds before you lift up your bowl of beef broth and give him a little smile

you leave it up to him to interpret it however he wants

and just before you look away, you see the apples of his cheeks rounding with elation

wooyoung’s potentially earned himself a few points with his cooking (and perhaps with his unfailing happiness too), but maybe you’re just looking for excuses as to why you’re allowed to like him now

when you decide to take a walk in town long after midnight, your quarters having felt stuffy ever since you’d docked at vlasgar, you’re surprised to find that you’re not the only one still awake

“i’m going out for some air and maybe a drink, did you want to come?”

hongjoong shakes his head, “hwa’s gone out too, i’ll stay behind”

you pause, wondering whether it’d be rude if you didn’t extend the invitation to wooyoung, considering he’s literally two feet away

“what about you?” you end up offering

wooyoung excitedly hops up to his feet, “yeah, i’ll come with”

to your own surprise, you find that you’re not particularly disappointed by his response

the streets of vlasgar are empty, considering the late hour, and your leather shoes clack in unison against the cobblestones as you walk together

you’re not really sure what to say to fill the silence but wooyoung easily talks about anything and everything and you’re content to just listen

your feet eventually take you towards a small alehouse and you both settle down at one of the tables further away from the live music playing

the oil lamps flicker dimly along the wall, casting small dancing shadows on the surface of your mugs of ale

“my father never liked the taste of ale,” wooyoung suddenly muses after a swallow

you note the use of past tense

“is he…still around?” you ask tentatively

he makes a noise of refutation, the quietest he’s been tonight, before he reveals, “he took his own life”

“oh, wooyoung,” you breathe out

he curls his hands around his mug, “it’s already been two years, but it still hurts”

in a moment of empathy, you gently place your hand over his

your tone is bitter when you reply, “time doesn’t mean that it hurts any less, it just gets easier to pretend that it doesn’t”

he looks up at you, surprised by the touch of your hand but also by the sorrow reflected in your eyes

“have you also lost somebody?”

you nod at his question

“my parents,” you hesitate before adding, “their ship got swept under a rogue wave, the same night it turned into a tidal wave that destroyed the city of light”

wooyoung looks at you with wide eyes, “the one along the north coast? six- no, seven years ago?”

there’s not a single person who doesn’t know about it; when an apocalyptic wave had wiped out an entire city overnight

he places his other hand over yours when you nod again, creating a sandwich of comforting hands in the shared experience of loss and grief

you smile wistfully and he returns it

“well now that we’ve exchanged childhood trauma, care to tell me the real reason why you were on my ship, stowaway?” you half-joke

wooyoung laughs, each breath a pronounced cackle of joy, and you find the corners of your lips pulling themselves upwards too

“i’m being chased by a lunatic who’s out for my blood,” he deadpans

“that would have been nice to know before i let you join my crew”

wooyoung grins wickedly, “i’m part of your crew?”

“i’m definitely rethinking it,” you banter before you add on seriously, “only if you want to be”

he pulls his hands back to salute you loudly, “it would be my honour to be your human compass! jung wooyoung at your crew’s service!”

“shut the fuck up!” you hiss in embarrassment, but there’s no bite to your words and you’re laughing into your own hands

you tip back the remains of your ale and then beckon to wooyoung, “let’s head back, shall we?”

“yeah,” he gives you a dazzling smile

he pushes his chair back to stand up and you head towards the doors together

just as you walk past one of the tables, a man abruptly stands up and knocks into wooyoung’s shoulder harshly

your hand flies out to steady him as the man stares at wooyoung, then turns to leave without another word

“what’s his problem,” you mutter angrily. “are you okay?”

wooyoung reassures you with a placating squeeze to your arm before leading you out of the alehouse

as you retrace your steps back to the ship, you pass by a rickety stall that makes you falter

the wood of the table is rotting and standing on its last legs and there’s a roughly thatched roof propped up above its goods

even though the stall is enshrouded by the shadows of the clouded moonlight, you still wonder how you missed it on your way to the alehouse, considering it’s the only stall along the empty street, and with a vendor, no less

there’s an old woman bearing the burdens of living across her skin and in her posture, sitting hunched on an equally as weathered crate beside the table

you’re drawn towards it - by its ambience, seller or the familiar instruments lain on the table, you don’t know

the woman’s head is covered by a dusty shawl but you don’t miss the way her eyes bore beadily into wooyoung as you both approach

you reach out and skim your fingertips across the cool brass of the compasses on the table

a frown adorns your face when you notice there’s something strange about all of them

like the compass in your own pocket and the one mounted on your ship’s helm, the needles all swing indecisively over the north point, as if some unknown force is meddling with the magnetic field of the earth itself

you let out a little scoff of disbelief, “they’re all useless”

with a final glance at the table, you and wooyoung start to walk off

but then a raspy voice beckons at your backs, a ghost of a hand that tickles the hair on the nape of your necks, “the only time a compass is useless is when you have something better nearby”

unable to ignore the sensation, you look over your shoulder, “what do you mean by something better?”

a toothless smile; one that appears to know a secret that it doesn’t want to let you in on

“true north”

her cryptic answer alone is enough to tell you that you’re wasting your time

she doesn’t say anything else when you walk off for good this time after bidding her a tight-smiled farewell, not that you would have stopped either way if she did

wooyoung hurries to catch up to you

as he falls into step with you, he asks, “do you believe what she’s saying?”

“of course not, it doesn’t make any sense,” you glance at the tavern you’re walking past, telling you that the port is close now. “how can you have true north?”

wooyoung’s brows knit together, “well, there’s that old legend that says true north isn’t actually a direction, but a-”

he’s cut off by an amused voice behind you both

“so it really is you…jung wooyoung”

when you turn around, you’re met with the sight of a man donning a long, velvet coat and buckled shoes - articles of clothing very obviously pirated from the wealthy

it’s evident that he and wooyoung are acquainted in one way or another, but from the way wooyoung’s face loses its colour, they’re acquainted in a bad way

immediately, your hackles are raised

the man’s tone is saccharine as he continues, “when one of my men said that they had spotted you, i didn’t believe him”

“what do you want?” you snarl at the same time wooyoung murmurs next to you, “it’s the lunatic. jang hyunsoo”

hyunsoo cocks his head as he stares you dead in the eye, “i want him. dead.”

your face darkens, unwilling to back down, “and why are you so intent on killing him?”

“oh?” he raises an eyebrow in delight at your answer. “you must not know who he truly is”

sick of his bullshit, you reach down towards your belt to unsheath a throwing dagger and hold it in front of your body, “i don’t care who the fuck he is. he’s my crew member and that’s all that ma-”

“he’s the man that the legends speak of. blessed by the sea gods, bearer of the oceans’ wisdom - jung wooyoung is true north”

those two words again

you don’t understand why everyone you come across today seems to be so fixated on the idea of…

suddenly, you remember.

legends tell a story of true north - not a direction pointing to the earth’s axis, but a person

a man blessed by the gods of the sea with the power to be all-knowing when it comes to the waters

he possesses the innate ability to navigate without use of any instruments or celestial bodies; the wisdom of which passageways and courses to sail; the subconscious understanding of mother nature and her elements

the powers are passed down through his bloodline for generations, but the blessing does not stay sacred for long

human greed and coveting eventually lead to the murder of the bearer of true north at the time, and the powers are transferred to the murderer, permanently staining the bloodline and commencing the paradoxical cycle of sinning for a blessing

however, this does not go unpunished

the gods of the sea are enraged and in their uncontainable wrath they cause-

your memory ends there no matter how hard you try to recall the rest of the legend

wooyoung interrupts

“if you kill me, there’s no guarantee you’ll survive the consequences,” he tries to reason with the other. “just have a look at how close we are to sea”

you’re lost but hyunsoo sneers, “it’s not your power that i’m hungry for. it’s only fair that i spill your blood, after your father spilled the blood of my family”

at the mention of his father, wooyoung growls, “what the fuck do you think you’re saying”

“how do you think your father became true north? or better yet, let me jog your memory,” hyunsoo’s expression becomes hauntingly blank, “what happened seven years ago that wiped out a whole city because the sea gods had been angered?”

your breath hitches as you involuntarily whisper, the remaining piece of the puzzle slotting into memory, “...a tidal wave”

“yes,” he acknowledges your words but keeps his eyes drilling into wooyoung, “because true north - my father - was killed”

as were your parents by extension of the consequences

“killed by my father,” wooyoung concludes, voice frail as everything rapidly starts to reveal itself

one more revelation makes him look at you with a face of horror and remorse, “y/n…your parents…”

without hesitation, you push aside your own anguish for him

“wooyoung,” you warn, “it’s not your fault”

because you see it

the very moment his eyes start clouding over as he willingly takes on the burden of guilt wrongfully left behind by his deceased father - the same guilt that eventually took the man’s own life

wooyoung, who, with a heart and soul too pure, would rather take the blame himself than to push it onto somebody else

you step in front of him, knife raised in protection

because despite your best efforts, wooyoung had not only secretly stowed himself away on your ship but has also secretly stowed himself away in your heart

“what are you doing?” he tries to tug you behind him

there’s a teasing lilt in your voice as you stand steadfast, “stowaway, you’ve ruined navigating for me now - made it too easy for me and the crew. so you better fuckin’ take responsibility and be my compass for as long as i sail”

“how touching,” hyunsoo coos patronisingly before he draws the cutlass from his sheath, “looks like i’ll just have to kill the both of you”

you don’t stop wooyoung this time from stepping up to stand by your side, his own hands armed with dual daggers and his demeanour now iron-willed to fight

because if you’re prepared to fight for him, then wooyoung is prepared to fight twice as hard for you

tonight, either hyunsoo dies, or you both go down trying

the tension in the air is punctuated only by the slight scrape of your soles as you and wooyoung lower your stances and shift further onto your front feet

you had never believed in the sea gods until now, but you pray that they’re watching over you both

and indeed they are

they answer your prayers in the form of a deafening gunshot in the nearby tavern

hyunsoo flinches at the sudden commotion - only slightly, but the distraction in attentiveness is more than enough

now.

as you and wooyoung leap forward together in unison, weapons raised, the needles in your hearts’ compasses waver for one final time before they settle and point resolutely in one direction

your needle at wooyoung; wooyoung’s needle at you

because compasses will always point at true north and that’s exactly what you are to him and him to you

each other’s true north

jongho

pov: you're a mermaid who saves him

you follow the shadow of the ship’s hull, gliding effortlessly through the waters

you know that you shouldn’t be following so closely but it’s hard to refuse the temptation that comes hand in hand with storms

there’s a chance that vessels will toss cargo overboard as a last-ditch effort to save their ship from sinking

and if you’re really lucky, the vessel might sink entirely and you’ll be able to spend the next few days rummaging its ruins, scavenging for shiny treasures and intriguing objects

besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

no sailor or pirate in their right mind would think to cast a fishing net in this weather

you only have your carelessness and recklessness to blame, but regret won’t change anything about your current situation

you feel the strange lurch in your stomach as the fishing net you’re trapped inside is pulled out of the water, up along the side of the ship’s hull, until it levels with the gunwale

there’s someone standing there waiting

his face is still rounded and limbs still gangly with the telltale signs of youth

the fish around you jerk around desperately, a physical manifestation of your terror, while you lock eyes with the young teenager and grip at the net with white-knuckled fists

you are at his complete mercy

he stares in shock at your form, until you beg a single word

“please”

immediately, he draws a small pocket knife and starts to frantically cut through the net

there’s another questioning voice from somewhere on the deck that you can’t make out the words to, but from the way the boy in front of you picks up speed, you’re seconds away from being discovered

“come on, come on, come on,” the boy mutters through gritted teeth

there’s a slight jerk as he cuts through the strands of flax and a few fish slither their way out, the hole starting to become bigger

he lets out a hiss of pain when he accidentally slices through his own hand in his haste

but even then, he does not stop or falter

and then you hear it

the ripping of the material when the weight of yourself and the other fish tear the remainder of the net

you plummet into the ocean

and the last thing you see before the world above becomes blurred by the waters is the boy’s wide eyes peering over the ship’s edge as he watches you fall

jongho struggles to adjust his centre of gravity as the ropes stutter underneath him

he chances letting go of the rigging briefly with one hand so that he can wipe the rain out of his eyes, which is pouring down incessantly and obscuring his vision

overhead, the top sail continues to billow and flap in an angry dance as the rapidly shifting winds tangle it further

he swallows thickly and grips the rigging once again

he needs to climb up and untangle the damned sail, fast

one hand extending outwards to grab the running rigging, jongho supports himself on shaky legs so that he can unfurl the twisted edges of the sail from around the ropes

it’s difficult enough having to chase the mocking flits of the canvas in the gale, but it’s fucking hellish with the added lurching and pitching of the ship as it’s battered by the swells of the sea

he finally manages to get a good grip on the sail and tugs hard, feeling it give way and flush full as it catches the wind properly now that it’s free

except the force of it sends the material swelling right in his face and he slips

by some saving grace, the combined movement of another colossal wave sends his body careening through the air in a wide arch

he does not land on the upper deck in a heap of broken bones

instead, he plummets into the ocean

and the last thing jongho sees before he loses consciousness is the shimmer and flick of a tail

your body reacts instantaneously to the sudden intrusion of something plunging into the waters in front of you, your tail swishing to increase your distance

for a brief second your heart seizes up in fright at the thought of a harpoon

but then you see it - see him

apart from the young teen who had freed you years ago, you have never seen a human up close before

and certainly not one in the ocean; in your home

there is something about the man before you that is beautiful yet haunting

it is as if time and gravity have warped his very existence

you see a weak flail of legs, a desperate hand reaching for the surface, floating tendrils of hair, but even in the face of approaching death, his movements appear slow and graceful in the water

as the pockets of air and bubbles of foam dissipate from around him and cruelly escape upwards without him, the man stills - grand and slow as his form steadily starts to make a descent towards the sandy bottom of the ocean

in folklore amongst your merpeople, humans are as swift, sure and savage on land as they are aboard their monstrous vessels

and yet, watching the ethereal existence of this man before you, you realise that once humans are underwater, they are at the complete mercy of mother nature and her beings

you gingerly swim closer

when you wrap your arm around the man’s limp body, his skin is warm under your fingertips

you’re reminded of the fact that he is at your complete mercy

and so you swim.

the moment jongho regains consciousness, his chest involuntarily contracts in an attempt to take a huge, stuttering breath

he curls onto his side instead, one hand scrabbling in the wet sand and his other arm crushed between the ground and his upper body as he hacks up his lungs with retching motions

the salt water burns even more coming back up than it did going down and his eyes sting with tears

when the convulsions cease, jongho closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the cool sand, trying to regain his breath-

and bearings

the jarring clarity has him sitting up abruptly as he tries to recall where he is and what he’s doing

there was the storm

the tangled sail

him climbing up the riggings

falling down, down, down

and then…

you

your eyes widen when the man’s unfocused gaze suddenly sweeps the waters and lands on the small part of your face that is exposed and peering at him

instinctively, you duck underwater, the notion of hiding your existence from humans ingrained into you

but even though he only sees a glimpse of you, jongho would recognise you from anywhere

it’s hard to forget when he’s kept his eyes peeled on the waters since that day, hoping to see you once again

he can’t believe that the mermaid he once saved would end up being his saviour

but he guesses that’s what people call fate - an alignment of miracles

he glances around at his surroundings to find himself in the safety of a small cove

you dare to emerge your curious eyes again when you see the form of the man stand up with his gaze on the sand, seemingly in search of something

he fumbles along the edge of the coast, reaching down several times to grasp things too small for you to discern

it seems that he becomes satisfied with what he has found, because he then sets them all down in the wet sand - right where the tide kisses the shore in a teasing game of chase - and takes several steps backwards so that he is no longer close to the waters

the man scratches the back of his head as he gestures vaguely to the pile, appearing to want to say something before thinking better of it and turning around to pick at the driftwood further inland

you wait, trying to gauge his actions

but when it becomes clear to you that he is not attempting to catch you off guard, you cautiously swim closer to shore

you are able to rest your forearms comfortably on the shoreline’s sand from how close you get

and then you see it

a small pile of glossy pebbles and patterned shells

a peace offering of pretty things he could find that he thought you might like

you duck under the water again, but this time to hide your shy smile as opposed to an act of instinctual self-preservation

jongho looks at the hefty pile of dried wood that he has gathered in the meantime, deeming it enough to keep a fire going for the inevitable night he will have to spend at the cove

he’s tried his hardest not to look out to the waters, wanting to gain your trust

but he can’t help it this time when his eyes are drawn to the little mound of his sincerity in the sand

…only to find it untouched, and you nowhere to be seen

he tries not to feel disappointed

after all, you have no reason to trust him

so he sets his mind on starting a fire before the sun sets completely instead, trying to ignore the growing dryness in his throat

when he finally nurses a spark into a flame an hour later, jongho almost misses it in his fatigued state

but it’s unmistakable when he walks closer

gone is his own pile of pebbles and shells

in its stead is a jumbled collection of broken combs, rusted locks and a glass bottle

a peace offering of peculiar things you had found that you thought he might need

jongho doesn’t know it, but as he bends down to carefully gather every gift and safekeep them closer to his fire, he is not the only one with a bashful smile on his face

you tell yourself it’s purely curiosity and displaced familiarity that makes you linger and return to the cove the very next morning

you’re well aware what the risks are if you fall in love with a human

how many stories have you heard of mermaids and mermen alike, falling for a human, only for their love to be unilateral or rejected?

their tails slowly lose their lustre as gradual paralysis takes over until they lose complete control

quite literally drowning within their own body, they eventually sink to the bottom of the ocean to perish with the decaying wreckages of sunken ships…

and the countless corpses of sailors, pirates and other unfortunate souls alike

it’s ironic

no matter how much folklore makes out humans and merpeople to be different, you all end up the same in the face of death; buried in the soil of the earth or buried in the sand of the ocean bottom

side by side

jongho stands in that very ocean right now, sleeves and pants rolled up to keep them as dry as possible as he crouches over with the water up to his thighs

he would try to fashion a fishing hook or harpoon of some sort, but with the possibility that you may be close by in the waters, he doesn’t want to risk using anything that could hurt you

so he resorts to using his bare hands

you’ve been watching from the safety of the water for well over half an hour now, curious and slightly endeared by his clumsy attempts to grab at something

you’re not sure what, but you can see the fish as they dart teasingly through his legs and from out of his reach

for beings that are supposedly apex predators, this human doesn’t seem intimidating at all

so, very cautiously, you swim up closer to him

jongho feels himself freezing at the sight of you approaching - not because he’s afraid of you, but because he’s afraid he’ll scare you away

he holds his breath as you hesitate and linger just out of his reach, then swim up and bump his leg playfully with your tail as you circle around him once

he’s reminded of a puppy wanting to sniff out somebody unfamiliar and his eyes follow your form with rounded fondness

“hi,” he breathes out softly, “i’m jongho”

your tail swishes with sudden movement, splashing him with water and he giggles

you can hear it clearly even from under water and your heart nearly stops

if this man - if jongho - was a siren, the sounds of his happiness would be his song of calling

you want to hear it again

jongho sucks in a breath when you dare to emerge from the water’s surface, presenting him with a fish held carefully between your lips and one more in each of your hands

he’s a little dumbfounded at how easily you managed to catch them as he gently takes the one from in between your teeth

the still-flailing fish in his hands is peppered with two tiny neat rows of puncture holes where you had carefully bitten into it

he finds it so fucking cute, especially when you continue to peer up at him with expectant eyes, wanting to know if it was the fish that he was trying to catch this whole time

he wants to thank you, and not just for the fish

so he fumbles through his words when he asks, “would you like to eat with me? unless…” he trails off, “unless you don’t eat fish because…”

are mermaids technically fish?

did he really just offer you the mermaid equivalent of human flesh to eat?

before jongho can panic and try to salvage the situation, you give him a shy smile and nod

jongho makes a fire as close to the shore as possible without the wood at risk of becoming wet

as he spears the fish onto sticks so that he can hold them over the flames, you gather the courage to slide out of the shallow waters so that you can lay on the damp sand closer to him

whilst you can for short periods, you rarely ever fully emerge out of the waters because you leave yourself vulnerable without the full mobility of your body

but jongho makes you feel safe enough to do so

and he must at least partially recognise the amount of trust you are placing in him because he looks at you in awe, the unveiled beauty of your tail now in full display

your scales are a kaleidoscope of cerulean, mauve and periwinkle, reflecting onto the sand below you in a magical dance with each of your slight movements

he notices that the gradient peters out into shades of salmon and coral the closer the scales are to your waist and he cannot tear his eyes away from you

jongho thinks to himself that you were created by the hands of the sea god, who then named the word beautiful after you

and even then, the word does not seem to do you justice

“why are you staring?”

your voice is simultaneously bashful and teasing, yet jongho is utterly mortified that your first words to him are ones exposing his smitten behaviour

his brain kickstarts in panic and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind

“if your tail gets too close to fire, will you start smelling like grilled fish?”

for a split second, your expression contorts into one of pure horror, before the absurdity of his question breaks down the remainder of your reservations and you lose yourself in laughter

a pretty blush settles over the round of jongho’s cheeks and then he is also laughing with you

together, where the land and sea unite, the sounds of your shared happiness fill the air

his song of calling chimes melodiously in your heart even as you swim away for the night

but the dangerous thing about a siren’s song is that you don’t realise you’ve become captivated…

until it’s too late

you’re looking down at the object in your hands as you swim for the cove

it’s cream-coloured and smooth to touch, with several blunt tips extending from one side

you’ve always wondered what it is and so you decide to see if jongho will know

you don’t notice the large rock formation jutting out of the seabed until it’s almost right in front of you and at the last second, you flex your tail to manoeuvre yourself around it

except you must miscalculate your distance because you end up grazing yourself on the sharp edges of the rock

it doesn’t puncture your scales but it certainly catches you off guard - your organs and senses work in a way that ensures you never collide into anything so long as you are underwater

so then, why?

you look down and your heart drops

tentatively, you spin around once, eyes never leaving their focus

you realise it’s not a trick of the lighting or the water

your scales have started to lose their shimmer

jongho is beginning to think that you won’t show up today when you finally do, one of your treasures cradled in your hands and a smile on your face that doesn’t quite reach your eyes

(you weren’t going to show up, not after realising that you need to stop yourself from falling further in love with jongho if you want to live, but you decide to be selfish one last time and say goodbye, even if you’re the only one who knows it’s a goodbye)

“what’s that?” he gestures towards your hands with his chin as you slide your upper body out of the shallow waters, leaving your tail to be submerged when the waves come in

you uncurl your fingers with a shrug

“it’s a comb,” he answers his own question as he turns it over in his hand, “made out of animal bone, i think”

you look at him curiously as he sits down, unbothered about wetting his clothes, and you ask, “what’s a comb?”

jongho brings it up to his head and pretends to move it up and down

“you run it through your hair to untangle it”

he pauses as his eyes flicker to your hair then back to your face

“i can…show you how to use it…if you want?” he offers

just once, you’ll allow yourself to get close to him just this once

when you nod and sit up, jongho shifts himself so that he is behind you

you try not to shiver when you feel the heat of his chest enveloping your back as he reaches forward to gently gather the hair from around your face and neck

he steadies your head with one of his hands, the other bringing the teeth of the comb through the slight waves of your hair

his touch is soft and loving in the way he tries not to tug too hard when he encounters a knot

his fingertips skim against you intimately but with an innocence that betrays the fact that he has never brushed somebody’s hair before

you feel your shoulders relaxing into his touch and your eyes close, blissfully - and perhaps deliberately - ignorant to the fading radiance of your body

“are you feeling okay?” jongho’s voice sounds even more alluring when it’s right next to your ear and you can’t help but shudder this time. “you seem paler than usual”

he brings a hand down to your waist and turns you towards him so that he can see you better

you try to formulate an answer, “i…”

i think i’m in love with you

of course, you would never tell him that

but before you can tell him that you’re fine, you become distracted by the glimpse of something on his hand that’s still resting on your waist

a scar

“is that- how did you get this?”

you run your thumb lightly over the taut, white line that runs from his wrist to the knuckle of his index finger

as you’re suddenly reminded of the familiar memory of a teenager with rounded cheeks and gangly limbs, the man beside you with those very same eyes looks at you fondly

“i cut myself trying to free a mermaid from a fishing net”

your gaze is unfocused as you process the information

the effects of the shattering revelation are immediate and a terrifying numbness starts to creep up your tail

because what you didn’t know - what nobody in folklore knew - was that the effects of paralysis and onset of death are accelerated when you fall in love with someone again for the second time

years ago, your heart had been claimed by the young man who had freed you at his own expense

you had managed to survive the heartbreak due to the briefness of your encounter, your paralysis fading and tail regaining its beauty when you never saw him again

but the effects of your unilateral love have not vanished entirely as you and your merpeople have believed it to

they have simply lay dormant like a disease, waiting for the right time to resurface when your feelings are rekindled

and so now it snowballs and gains traction at a speed that cannot be stopped, racing to catch up on the numerous years that you have cheated death where you thought you did not love jongho

“why is your tail turning grey?” the voice of the man you love is pinched with muted panic

you never thought you would ever be afraid of your own tail; your own body

yet, when you look down to see the monochrome advancing up each layer of your scales, you are absolutely petrified

your tail is starting to look like a stone statue and you know it won’t be long until that’s exactly what you become - motionless and unmoving

“y/n! why is your tail grey?!” jongho repeats with a shout, in full blown panic due to your lack of response

you can’t- won’t die in front of him

your lower body is almost deadweight with immobility and you bite back tears as you’re forced to crawl pathetically towards the water with your arms

jongho scrabbles to his feet as he hovers next to you, hands wanting to help but not quite touching you because he’s not sure what’s happening and he doesn’t know what he can do for you and you look like you’re in pain but he doesn’t know why-

“don’t!” you bark out sharply

he freezes in shock

you’re frightened and angry and you want to yell at something, someone, but…

you could never yell at jongho

with a much softer, albeit shaky voice, you tell him, “don’t look for me”

and before you can hear the pained noise that escapes jongho’s lips, you drag yourself back into the water

except a few metres after you’ve submerge yourself, the unthinkable happens

you. cannot. breathe.

you’re drowning.

jongho doesn’t care if you’ll hate him forever, doesn’t care if this is the last time you’ll choose to see him, but he will not just stand and watch when it looks like you are leaving to die alone

his body moves with the decisions of his heart before his mind tells him otherwise

he dives into the water after you

the world distorts around him; a moment of weightlessness as the waters easily shift to accommodate his body; the bubbling sound of air pockets reverberating inside his very skull; the shock of cold that overrides every other bodily sense

jongho forces his eyes open with numerous blinks until he can see you

your form is eerily still, and yet, you remain bewitching

he kicks his legs desperately with one arm outstretched and as soon as you are within reach, he tugs you into his chest

you’re limp to touch, lips slack and parted as if the very essence of your soul is escaping through your mouth

jongho will not let you die

lungs starting to burn and heartbeat pounding in his ears, he presses his lips against yours

a kiss of life- 

he closes his eyes

-and love

but you don’t respond

jongho ignores his instincts even as his body screams to part from you and kick upwards for a breath

instead, he moves his jaws to kiss you even harder

and then he feels it

he almost sobs into you when your lips twitch weakly against his

with renewed vigour, you’re sealing your mouth around his bottom lip as you respond, capturing him in a real kiss

below your joined lips, your scales start to bloom with their full brilliance once again

your tail shimmers brighter than before, reflecting intricate patterns of fractals with each slight ripple of the water as you open your eyes to the sight of jongho’s face, beautifully swathed in the incandescence of the rainbow

you can move again

you flick your tail, jongho’s arms still firmly around your waist and you both burst upwards, breaking the water’s surface with spluttering breaths

he desperately treads you both backwards towards the shore even though you can easily hold your own now

“jongho, you-”

he takes one look at you before he cuts your words off and plunges himself back underwater, stunning you into stupor, until he re-emerges with another splutter

“your tail!” he yells with overwhelming relief, face still scrunched as he tries to sweep his fringe up and wipe the water from out of his eyes

“yeah…” voice muted as you process the fact that you’re still alive, “my tail…”

“fuck, you scared me”

jongho’s eyes are bloodshot as they stare into yours, and you know for a fact that they aren’t just red from the irritation of salt water

you bring up a hand to rest it on his chest, right where his heart still thumps rapidly under your touch, and you apologise with a small smile, “sorry…i scared me, too”

he huffs a little before looking at you earnestly

“don’t ever do that again”

the water is now shallow enough that jongho can stand, but it’s deep enough that you can still drift effortlessly

it’s the perfect harmony where land and sea unite; where a human and a mermaid interact

where you, the enchanter, and jongho, the enchanted, find a balance of love

“i won’t,” you promise

on land, humans tell a story of a mermaid who falls in love with a man

a mermaid who is ready to give up her voice in exchange for her happily ever after

but in the sea, merpeople tell a story of a man who falls in love with a mermaid

a man who is ready to give up his life in exchange for his happily ever after

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[jinkiezzsstuff]

Hello dear!! I have a request for the Radio Demon

Do you mind writing sub!Alastor? Imagine your in lobby of the hotel with your beloved Alastor (on his lap) and you decide to do some frisky cockwarming with him.. well in the beginning he has control but then maybe Charlie or Lucifer u walks in.. you decide to tease him until he can't take it anymore and ends up having to cover his moans as he gums in you..

Welp! That's my request🎀 you can delete this ofc but do as you will ~

from windigo anon🦌

i’m drooling, frothing at the mouth, going insane, i love this idea!!! eeeee thank you so much i hope this was good enough i struggled a bit with cockwarming so i hope i did well

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, cockwarming, SUB!Alastor/DOM!Reader, creampie, possible breeding kink, exhibitionism, Lucifer knows what you’re doing, he’s the devil, and you use him to tease Al, jealous lucifer, lucifer is a cuck lowkey, reader wears a dress but no gendered terms or anything, maybe threesome elements?, OOC ALASTOR, NOT proof read, LMK what i missed! xo

word count: 1.9K

You and Alastor have been a thing for a very long time, and throughout the years he’d become rather comfortable with sexual intimacy. Alastor always held the reigns no matter where in life he was, that is excluding the bedroom. Alastor had made a foolish deal with you long ago, he wanted your soul and you were a fairly powerful demon at the time so there was a sit down conversation about such endeavours. You agreed to sell your soul and tie yourself to him, complete all tasks he needed done, so long as he was your bitch. Well, that wording wasn’t used back then, nor was there any sexual innuendos in the mix.

Before it simply meant he couldn’t try to place fear into you, he always had to speak truthfully when it came to you, and if plan involved you, essentially to the outside world he was allowed to look like the boss but behind closed doors he wasn’t allowed to pull that stunt. You two ended up getting along quite nicely as the years went by, your magic side of the deal made it so if he broke his promises, the deal would be off and more then likely fatal to the both of you, so it wasn’t too surprising things went well.

What was surprising was the relationship you developed, Alastor was unable to lie to you about most things due to your deal and most of the time you approached him as a peer lacking judgement. Even when you disagreed with his plans you still still gave your genuine advice and thoughts which made him trust you. Slowly through this weird bond of trust and leaning on each other, Alastor developed romantic feelings and thank god you felt them back.

Alastor was slow to warm up to affections, which meant you normally took over, letting him keep his poise and smile you’d always make the first move, asking for consent to push further whether it was a simple hug, kiss, or a little more frisky. Eventually though, things got to the point they’re at now, where Alastor craves you like his lungs crave air. He is ravenous for your touch, your kiss, your head surrounding his cock. It’s a tough couple months during mating season because he begs and begs for you like a starved man.

Because of his eagerness for you, and to please you, he’s very kindly broadened his horizons leading to absolutely tasteful trying of kinks. Recently the two of you have been planted at the hotel, Alastor called upon you the day he got there, and privately when alone explained his plans with the Devils child, your man had always been an ambitious one, but you couldn’t say no to him. So of course you stood alongside his plans, and now you’re not only dealing with the Devils child, but the devil himself.

Lucifer moved himself in after the big ol’ brawl, and thankfully things have gone somewhat smoothly between Alastor and Lucifer, as in they haven’t killed each other yet, but Lucifer made it his absolute mission to try and “steal you away,” like he did with Adam. Obviously you were committed to Alastor, but your mind would wander to sinful places about all the ways you could show Lucifer how much you loved you deer man. Oh and you just knew how.

Alastor sat in the lobby, looking through a newspaper as he sipped his coffee, music humming softly in the background. The whole lobby was vacant, even Husk was gone for the moment, you made sure of it. Walking into the lobby from the kitchen, your dress flowing around your legs, you walked up to Alastor with a warm smile on your face. “What’re you up to my dear?” You ask softly, making him hum eyes shifting from his newspaper to you, dragging up your form. “Just a little bit of reading, nothing much my doe,” Alastor seemed sleepy almost in the state he was in, his voice was soft and lacking his usual enthusiasm, however it wasn’t a state you were unfamiliar with knowing him for so long.

Slowly you lowered yourself sideways onto his lap, he complied with your actions wordlessly by whisking his newspaper away with his magic, allowing you to scootch yourself right up on him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you played with the short hairs at the base, causing him to visibly shiver. Alastor smiled down at you softly, watching you tenderly. “I feel,” You whispered with a pause, mimicking somebody taking a thoughtful breath. “Needy.” You breathe out with a cheesy smile plastered on your face. Alastor jolts a bit still entirely not used to forward language such as that, but he didn’t say anything simply blinked at you.

“I think i’m gonna lift this dress up, and your gonna unbuckle these pants, and i’m gonna seat myself nice n comfy on ya,” You purred hands messaging all around his chest as you spoke, trailing down to the button of his slacks and back up to his shoulders. You felt him twitch against his pants, the blood obviously was already flowing to his groin. “Dear we’re in public.” Try as he may, Alastors words were wobbly and his smile looked more like a grimace.

“No baby, we’re in private, in our new home, at the hotel, where no one can see.” You cooed condescendingly, pulling your hands away to hike up your dress. Alastor dared to looked down as you bunched your dress at your hips. Alastor closed his eyes, head falling back at the sight of you bare, nothing but your dress skirt keeping you covered. Turning yourself around, you put your back to him, grinding yourself down on him teasingly.

“Y’know what to do, don’t make me say it dear.” Your voice was stern compared to the tone you held before, Alastor blew out air at your words, head still thrown back at rest on the back of the sofa. Finally he brought his hands from the resting position next to him, and freed himself from his slacks and boxers. You sighed happily as you slowly inched your way down on him, Alastors hands gripped your hips harshly, and his legs kicked out and spasmed every inch you took down.

Once buttoned out, you fixed your gown to flow around you, and backed yourself up against his chest, head rested on his shoulder. Brining his head up to gaze down at you, Alastor gave you a questioning look, sweat already gathering on his forehead. “Dear please-” Alastors words got caught off by a boisterous call, and the front door swinging open. Fixing his posture, Alastor snapped into position, positioning his legs up right feet on the floor, straightening his back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you up with him.

“Hellloooo everybody! Just had an amazing meeting, everything went in my favour, as always.” Lucifer waltzed in swinging his cane. He briefly paused scanning the room to see only you two sitting stiffly. You were more relaxed, eyes littled with an easygoing smile, Alastor however was tense; his smile was tight and unfriendly, with his eye twitching. “Well hello there you two, lovely to see you here.” Lucifer smiled happily plopping himself on the couch next to you, making you two shake.

The small bit of motion from Lucifer throwing himself down, made you clench, your arousal leaking down Alastors cock and onto his pants. Clearing his throat to suppress a moan, Alastor then gave a tiny ‘hello’ to the devil. Turning your body more toward the devil, you made sure to pick yourself up off Alastor a bit, and lower yourself back down, making him sink his nails into you.

Wrapping one arm around Alastors neck, you leaned sideways against him, facing Lucifer, your skirt successfully obstructing the entire view of your sin. “Do tell Luce.” You urge pretending to care, Lucifer caught on to the strange behaviour immediately however he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it yet, so he pushed on shrugging and explaining his meeting. You coyly moaned occasionally throughout his explanations playing it off as “oh”s and “ah”s to his story rather than Alastors twitching cock.

Leaning forward Alastor stuck his blushing face in your hair, breathing heavily into it. “Is he doing okay?” Lucifer asked suddenly, quirking a brow at Alastor. Around your waist Alastors arms tightened, and his legs once again spread and splayed out a bit allowing him more space. Alastor felt pitiful, but in a way he loved it, only you had this power and nobody else, he could live with that. Alastor was too blitzed out to realise he’d subtly humped up into you, needing some sort of release. Playing with Alastors hair, you shrugged your shoulders at the devil, your poise still in tacked.

“Yes, I do believe he’s a little sickly.” Lucifer noticed the twitch in Alastors hips now, his eyes growing in size every so slightly. “Yknow i just want to stay something Lucifer,” You begin to say, eyeing Al from your peripheral, seeing his eyes closed. “I really think we ought to stop with the battle, Alastor treats me very well, very good,” You purr fixing your posture, making Alastor groan into your hair.

“I think it’s time to stop with the whole ‘i could take your partner’ shtick.” You say sharply, with finality, Lucifers eyes at this point were flicking back and forth between the two of you, a prominent blush on his face. You grinned cheekily once again and shifted again trying to fix yourself to face forward again, as you did so you heard Lucifer take a breath to speak, but it got interrupted by a guttural groan from Alastor.

Without warning Alastors legs flexed his hips jerking involuntarily up against you, it caught you off guard and made you gasp and moan. It didn’t stop after one thrust, Alastor sunk his teeth into your shoulder jerking his hips up into you, panting and groaning without care. With one forceful thrust and growl, you whined feeling him force himself against you fully, cumming far up into you, stealing your breath. Lucifer watched bug eyed and taken aback, he never saw Alastor so pleasured, now he felt a ping of jealousy; before this moment he wanted to steal you away to show you how much better he can fuck you compared to Alastor, now he wanted you to fuck him and make him feel the way Alastor felt now.

Alastors form grew demonic, stretching and contorting, you still in his lap. You didn’t move an inch as he contorted, not afraid of Alastor what so ever. Alastors neck snapped inhumanely to Lucifer. “You are to never speak of this again.” Alastors voice didn’t sound like his own when he spoke, and whether or not Lucifer was truly scared didn’t matter as he fumbled, stuttered and then stumbled off covering his eyes and apologising. With the snap of his fingers, Alastor magicked the two of you in the safety of his radio tower, where no one dared to enter unwelcomed. “Dear, that was unacceptable. But amusing, you get away with this little fiasco only because it was Lucifer you did it in front of.”

Alastor growled at you demonic form on display, smile stretched, he had your cheeks tightly pinched in between his nails. Shrugging your shoulders, you tiptoed up to give his teeth a coy kiss. “Whatever maybe now he’ll leave us alone.”

[seafarersdream]

Thinking about Reader who has the ability to sleep everywhere and the cast always bothers her for that and they put things on her to see how long it takes her to wake up. But on one occasion she falls asleep on Ewan/Tom's shoulder and he's just a mess?? 😭

I don't know if it makes sense but the idea is there!! I love your work by the way

Out Of It (Ewan Mitchell x Y/N)

Y/N had always considered herself pretty grounded. Sure, she got to hang out with the cast, swapping jokes and stories like they were all old friends. But there was one little secret she kept tucked away, like a guilty pleasure—a huge, and she meant huge, crush on Ewan Mitchell. But, she reminded herself on the regular, it was just a celebrity crush. Nothing serious. A harmless little fantasy she kept to herself, because let’s be real—she was just the makeup girl, and he was, well, him. Then, one day, the universe decided to have a laugh at her expense.

TW // Strong language and profanities.

PS: I decided to take a different approach to the plot, hope it’s okay!

The sun was barely rising over the horizon when the makeup department bustled with activity, its team members moved with choreographed precision. The trailer was alive with the scent of coffee mingling with the chemical tang of latex and adhesive, the lifeblood of the team that assembled at ungodly hours to work their magic.

The door creaked open, letting in a gust of cool air, along with the unmistakable presence of Ewan Mitchell. He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, taking in the scene with a wry smile. Dressed casually in a worn leather jacket, another one of his band t-shirt, and dark jeans.

“Morning, sunshine,” Y/N greeted, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she glanced up from the prosthetic jaw she was carefully painting.

“Morning, Y/N. You look absolutely thrilled to be here,” Ewan replied dryly, his mouth curling into a smirk. He perched himself on a nearby chair, his lean frame relaxed but his gaze keen as it flicked over the team’s work.

Tom Glynn-Carney was already in the chair, his eyes closed as he tried to find some inner peace amidst the whirlwind around him. His usual charismatic energy was subdued, replaced with a resigned patience that only came from enduring this process multiple times. “Fucking hell, Y/N,” he muttered, peeking out from under his lashes. “Are we sure we need all this crap? It's just a flesh wound, right?”

Y/N laughed, a bright sound that cut through the tension like a knife. “Just a flesh wound? Sure, if you call half your face melting off just a flesh wound.”

He groaned slightly as one of the other makeup artists adjusted a piece of latex on his forehead. “Maybe just light me on fire for real next time.”

“I swear to God, Tom,” Y/N said, her voice cutting through the soft murmur of the trailer. She leaned in, squinting at the edges of the prosthetic around his left eye. “If you move your face one more time, I’m going to staple it in place.”

Tom’s laugh was muffled, careful not to disrupt the delicate work being done on his cheeks. “Sorry, boss. Just trying to keep the old face from going numb. Can’t feel my arse either, for that matter.”

“Is he behaving, or do I need to step in?” Ewan said from behind them.

“Barely,” Y/N replied without looking up, her hands steady as she pressed down the edge of the prosthetic along Tom’s jawline. “You can take him if you want, though. Maybe scare him into sitting still.”

“Fuck off,” Tom muttered, his voice laced with annoyance. “Last thing I need is Ewan glaring at me while I’m trying to get through this torture.”

Ewan chuckled as he stands up and walked further into the trailer, his boots making soft thuds against the floor. “Don’t worry, mate. I’m just here for moral support.” He glanced at Y/N, his eyes lingering a bit longer on her than the others might have noticed. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going,” Y/N said, her tone matter-of-fact. She finally glanced up, meeting Ewan’s gaze briefly before returning to her work. “This is a fucking beast of a job, though. Five hours minimum, and that’s if Tom doesn’t fidget.”

Ewan nodded, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the counter beside Tom. “You’re a miracle worker, Y/N. Don’t let this tosser tell you otherwise.”

“Hey, I’m the victim here!” Tom protested, though his grin betrayed the seriousness of his words.

“Victim, my ass,” Y/N shot back, a playful edge returning to her voice.

Tom chuckled, though the movement caused Y/N to pause and glare at him. He immediately stilled, raising his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll be good.”

Ewan watched the process with interest, his eyes following Y/N’s every move. He was always impressed by her skill, the way she could take something so gruesome and make it look so real. It was an art form, one that required patience, precision, and a bit of madness. And Y/N had all three in spades.

As Y/N worked, she could feel Ewan’s gaze on her, a constant presence that was both comforting and distracting. She ignored it as best as she could, focusing on blending the colors to create the perfect shade of burnt skin. But it was hard to ignore the way her pulse quickened whenever he was around, the way his voice seemed to vibrate in her chest whenever he spoke.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N finally leaned back, surveying her work with a critical eye. The prosthetics were in place, the scarring realistic and horrifying, just as it needed to be. She let out a small sigh of relief, wiping her hands on a cloth before tossing it aside.

“So, Ewan,” Y/N said, breaking the silence, “what do we think? Does our dear Tom look like he’s had a close encounter with dragonfire?”

Ewan stood, walking over to examine Tom up close. His face was thoughtful, eyes narrowing as he took in the horrifying sight. “You know, I think we could go a bit heavier on the singed eyebrows. Aegon doesn’t exactly seem the type to worry about grooming after this.”

Tom let out a groan. “Fucking hell, you two. I’m gonna look like I went through a meat grinder.”

Y/N laughed again. “Relax, Tom. You’ll be the prettiest corpse on set.”

Ewan smirked, stepping back to lean against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. “Gorgeous, really. You’ll be the talk of King’s Landing.”

Tom rolled his eyes, clearly fed up but too deep into the process to protest further. “Great. Just what I always wanted.”

As the final touches were completed, Y/N stepped back, her eyes scanning over her work with a critical eye. “Okay, you’re done. How does it feel?”

Tom slowly opened his eyes, his gaze meeting Y/N’s in the mirror. “Like I’ve been fucking roasted alive, which, I guess, is the point.”

“Perfect,” Y/N said, satisfaction in her voice as she began cleaning up her tools. “Alright, Glynn-Carney,” she continues, with a wave of her hand. “You’re done. Get out of my trailer before I change my mind and add a few more scars for good measure.”

Tom stood, stretching his arms and rolling his neck. “God, I can’t wait to see the reactions on set. Thanks, Y/N. You’re a fucking genius.”

“Don’t I know it,” Y/N replied with a grin. She watched as Tom exited the trailer. A spring in his steps.

Ewan stayed where he was, watching Y/N as she cleaned up her station. “You really are something, you know that?”

Y/N glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Just doing my job, Mitchell.”

“No,” Ewan said, shaking his head slightly. “It’s more than that. You’ve got a talent, Y/N. And a way of keeping us all in line.”

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. “Somebody’s got to keep you lot in check.”

Ewan’s smile was slow, genuine, and it made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “Lucky for us, we’ve got you.”

They stood there for a moment, the silence stretching out between them, thick with possibilities. Finally, Y/N broke the gaze, clearing her throat.

“Well,” she said, her voice a little softer now. “Off you go then.”

Ewan nodded, still watching her as she moved around the trailer, his eyes never leaving her. “Yeah… I’ll see you on set.”

“See you,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper as he turned to leave.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Y/N let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she continued to tidy up.

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A hush falling over the room as the cameras rolled. The bedchamber set was dimly lit, the heavy velvet curtains drawn to block out the sunlight, casting long shadows that danced eerily across the stone walls.

Y/N stood on the sidelines, her arms crossed loosely over her chest as she watched the actors take their places. Andrij Parekh, the director for this episode, was seated in his chair just a few feet away, his sharp eyes focused intently on the monitors in front of him.

On the bed, Tom, fully transformed into the broken and battered Aegon II, looked like a man who had been to hell and back. The prosthetics had turned his face into a grotesque mask of burns and scars, his once vibrant features now hidden beneath layers of latex and makeup. His eyes, however, remained sharp, flickering with a mix of pain and defiance as he prepared for the scene.

Ewan, in full costume as Aemond Targaryen, stood near the foot of the bed, his posture rigid, every inch the cold, calculating Prince Regent. His long silver hair cascaded over his shoulders, the eyepatch over his left eye adding to the menacing aura that surrounded him. There was something chilling about the way he carried himself, a quiet intensity that made even the most seasoned crew members uneasy.

“Action,” Andrij’s voice cut through the silence, a single word that set everything into motion.

Ewan stepped forward, his boots barely making a sound on the stone floor. “Brother,” he began, his voice low and smooth, almost soothing, though the underlying threat was unmistakable. “How fortunate that you are awake. I was beginning to think you might sleep through the entire war.”

Tom shifted slightly on the bed, his movements slow, labored, as if even the act of breathing was painful. “Aemond,” he croaked, his voice hoarse, almost a whisper. “What… what do you want?”

Ewan’s lips curved into a thin smile, the kind that never reached his eye. “Only to ensure your comfort, Aegon. You’ve been through a lot, after all. It’s a wonder you even survived.”

Tom’s gaze flickered, a mix of confusion and fear crossing his features. “I don’t remember,” he muttered, his brow furrowing as if trying to piece together fragments of a nightmare. “I don’t remember what happened.”

Y/N watched intently, her eyes following every subtle shift in their expressions, every carefully chosen word. This was the kind of scene that could make or break an episode—the tension between the brothers, the unspoken accusations hanging heavy in the air.

Ewan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, yet each word was laced with ice. “Good. Best you don’t remember. There’s nothing to be gained from dwelling on the past, after all. The future, however… that’s what matters now.”

Tom’s eyes darted to Ewan’s face, searching for something, anything, in the cold, indifferent mask that stared back at him. “I don’t… I wouldn’t…”

Ewan cut him off, his tone sharp, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You wouldn’t what, Aegon? Speak of things best left unsaid? Confess to some… imagined slight? No, I’m sure you wouldn’t.” He straightened, the threat clear in the deliberate casualness of his movements. “We’re brothers, after all. Blood of my blood. We wouldn’t want anything to come between us. Not now, not ever.”

Tom swallowed hard, his throat working as he tried to form words, but nothing came. The fear in his eyes was real, a reflection of the strained relationship that had been growing between the two of them, now laid bare in this moment of vulnerability.

“Good,” Ewan said softly, almost tenderly. He reached out, his hand hovering over Tom’s burned face, but he didn’t touch him, didn’t need to. The implication was clear enough. “Rest now, Aegon. Leave the burdens of the realm to me. You’ve earned your peace.”

With that, Ewan turned and walked away, the scene coming to a close as Andrij called out, “And.. cut!”

The tension in the room broke, the spell lifted as the crew sprang into action, adjusting lights, resetting props, preparing for the next take. Ewan relaxed his shoulders, the hard edge of Aemond’s persona slipping away as he returned to his usual self. Tom let out a long breath, his body sinking deeper into the bed, clearly relieved that the intense scene was over.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, impressed by the depth they’d brought to the scene. Ewan caught her eye as he walked over, his expression softening as he approached. “So, what do you think, Y/N?” he asked, his voice warm, a stark contrast to the cold menace he’d displayed just moments before.

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk playful. “Not bad, Mitchell. You almost made me believe you’re the cruel bastard you play on screen.”

Ewan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “Almost?”

“Hey, I know you too well,” she teased, crossing her arms as she leaned against a nearby prop table. “But seriously, you guys nailed it. That was intense.”

“Thanks,” he replied, his smile genuine, a hint of pride in his eyes. “It helps when you’ve got a good team watching your back.”

Y/N spied Tom’s hand moving from the corner of her eyes. “Fucking hell,” Tom muttered, reaching up to touch his prosthetic-covered face.

“Don’t even think about it,” she scolded, her voice carrying a mix of playful sarcasm and genuine concern. “You start messing with that, and we’ll be here for another few hours fixing it.”

Andrij approached them, nodding in approval. “Great work, everyone. We’ll take a short break before moving on to the next scene.”

As the crew began to disperse, Y/N caught Ewan’s eye again, her heart doing a little flip at the intensity of his gaze. There was something in the way he looked at her, something that made her pulse quicken, but before she could dwell on it, he was already turning away, slipping back into the role of Aemond, preparing for the next bit.

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The set was finally quiet, the last echoes of the day's filming fading into the background as Y/N, Ewan, Tom, Fabien, and Phia settled themselves near the steps of the Iron Throne. The towering seat of power loomed above them, but for now, it was just a backdrop to their impromptu snack break.

“God, I’m starving,” Tom groaned as he unwrapped a sandwich, his voice muffled as he took a massive bite. “You’d think they were trying to kill us with these hours.”

Phia laughed, shaking her head as she reached into a bag of crisps. “You’re such a drama queen, Tom. It’s only been, what? Twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours of torture,” Tom countered, wagging the half-eaten sandwich at her before taking another bite. “I deserve a medal, not just a bloody sandwich.”

Fabien grinned as he popped open a can of soda. “Maybe we’ll get you one shaped like the Iron Throne. Then you can lord it over everyone else even more.”

Y/N, perched comfortably beside Ewan, raised an eyebrow as she munched on a kebab. “Speaking of the Iron Throne, did you know that Emma and Matt tried to recruit me to Team Black today?”

That got their attention. Ewan, who had been quietly eating beside her, looked over with a curious glint in his eye. “Oh yeah? How’d they manage that?”

Y/N leaned in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “They promised me a seat on the Iron Throne, no questions asked. Said it’s about time someone else gets a chance, since someone” she shot a pointed look at Tom, “—has been hogging it all season.”

Tom feigned shock, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. “I’m just fulfilling my royal duties, Y/N. It’s not my fault you lot don’t have the je ne sais quoi to claim the throne.”

“Je ne sais quoi? Really? You’re so full of crap.” Phia repeated, barely containing her laughter.

“Exactly,” Y/N chimed in, leaning back on her hands as she eyed the throne. “But seriously, Tom, I need that selfie, okay? You’ve been banning everyone else from even getting close, and I’m not above switching sides to get my shot.”

Fabien smirked, leaning back against the stairs. “It’s true. You’re a tyrant, Glynn-Carney.”

Tom shook his head, his eyes narrowing playfully. “You all talk a lot of shit, but the throne belongs to me. You want a selfie? You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

“That can be arranged,” Ewan deadpanned, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

As the conversation continued, the weariness of the day began to catch up with them. The energy slowly ebbed away, leaving a comfortable silence in its wake. Y/N, who had been unusually animated, started to feel her eyelids grow heavy. The warmth of the room and the low murmur of voices lulled her into a drowsy state, and before she realized it, her head began to droop.

Without warning, she leaned over, her head coming to rest on Ewan’s shoulder. The sudden contact made Ewan go rigid, his eyes wide with shock. His pulse quickened, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to do. Should he move? Say something? Wake her up? But the last thing he wanted to do was disturb her, especially since he had been harboring a massive crush on Y/N for what felt like forever.

Tom, who noticed the situation first, nearly choked on his sandwich, desperately trying to stifle his laughter. He nudged Fabien, who quickly caught on and shot Ewan a wicked grin. “Looks like someone’s got a new pillow,” Fabien teased in a singsong voice, causing Phia to glance over and giggle.

Ewan’s face turned an impressive shade of red, his usual cool composure completely shattered. “Shut up,” he hissed, his voice low and tense as he tried to keep still, not wanting to wake Y/N. He could feel the warmth of her body against his, her hair tickling his neck, and despite his best efforts, his heart raced.

Y/N, oblivious to the chaos she’d unintentionally caused, snuggled a little closer, her breathing soft and steady. Ewan’s mind was in overdrive. Okay, don’t freak out. She’s just tired. She doesn’t even know she’s leaning on you. Just… act natural.

Tom, unable to resist, leaned over and whispered, “Careful there, Mitchell. Wouldn’t want her to wake up and realize she’s been cuddling with you.”

“Tom, I swear to God—” Ewan began, his voice a strained whisper, but he was cut off by Y/N shifting slightly in her sleep, making him freeze once more.

Phia, trying to be the voice of reason but failing miserably, leaned in with a grin. “Maybe she just knows you’re a softy, Ewan. Perfect for napping.”

Ewan shot her a death glare, his embarrassment only growing. “You’re all assholes, you know that?”

Fabien chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, but let’s be real, mate—this is adorable.”

Ewan groaned inwardly, knowing there was no escaping the teasing he’d endure from this moment. But as much as he wanted to retort, a part of him couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of Y/N resting against him, even if it was just because she was exhausted. His hand twitched slightly, tempted to brush a strand of hair from her face, but he resisted, not wanting to push his luck.

The ribbing continued around him, but Ewan barely heard it, his focus entirely on Y/N. For now, he’d let her sleep. And if it meant enduring the endless teasing from his friends, well… it was a small price to pay.

“Just wait until she sees the photos,” Tom whispered to Phia, pulling out his phone to capture the moment. Ewan’s eyes widened in horror, but it was too late.

“Don’t you dare!” Ewan hissed, trying to keep his voice down so he wouldn’t wake Y/N, but Tom just smirked, already snapping a few shots.

“This one’s going in the group chat,” Tom said smugly, causing Fabien and Phia to dissolve into laughter.

Ewan could only sigh, resigned to his fate. But despite the teasing and the inevitable jokes that would follow, a small, secretive smile tugged at his lips.

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Y/N had barely made it through the door of her flat before she collapsed onto the couch, her body finally catching up with the exhaustion of the day. She kicked off her shoes, letting them land haphazardly across the room, and leaned back with a groan, rubbing her temples as she tried to shake off the lingering embarrassment from the day’s events.

The picture of her sleeping on Ewan’s shoulder had exploded in the group chat, with the cast and crew having an absolute field day over it. The jokes had ranged from harmless teasing to outright accusations of a backstreet romance, leaving Y/N feeling mortified beyond belief.

God, I can't believe I fell asleep on him, she thought, covering her face with her hands for a moment before letting out a frustrated groan. She knew she had to address it, to apologize for the awkwardness, but the thought of actually texting Ewan made her stomach churn with nerves.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she steeled herself and typed out a message.

Hey, Ewan. Just wanted to say sorry for crashing on you earlier. I was so embarrassed when I saw that picture in the group chat. I hope I didn’t make things weird or uncomfortable for you.

She hit send and then dropped her phone on her lap, closing her eyes and letting out a long breath. The flat was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside her window, and for a moment, she allowed herself to simply exist in the stillness, trying not to overthink the situation.

When her phone buzzed a few minutes later, she opened one eye and glanced at the screen. Seeing Ewan’s name made her stomach flip, and she quickly unlocked her phone to read his reply.

Hey, sleepy head. Honestly, don’t worry about it. I wasn’t uncomfortable at all. You looked like you really needed the rest, and it was no trouble at all. Seriously, it’s no big deal.

Y/N felt a small wave of relief wash over her, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. But just as she was about to put her phone down, another message came through.

Fuck it, this is me shooting my shot—are you free this weekend?

She froze, staring at the screen as her brain tried to process what she was seeing. Was Ewan really asking her out? She reread the message a few times, half-convinced she was imagining things, but it was still there, plain as day.

A mix of shock and excitement surged through her, making her heart race. She sat up straighter, her mind spinning with possibilities. After what felt like an eternity, she finally mustered the courage to respond.

Wait, are you serious? Because if you are, then yes, I’m free. But if this is some kind of joke, I swear to God, Mitchell…

She held her breath, waiting for his reply, her fingers tapping nervously against her thigh. When her phone buzzed again, she almost dropped it in her haste to read the message.

Not a joke, I promise. I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while, just never found the right moment. And, well, maybe now’s the time.

Y/N felt a giddy warmth spread through her, the earlier embarrassment completely forgotten. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she tried to come up with something clever to say, but in the end, she opted for honesty.

I’d love to, Ewan. I guess I’ll see you this weekend then?

His reply came swiftly.

Definitely. And hey, if you need a nap while we’re out, I’ve got a shoulder for you anytime.

She couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in her chest finally releasing as she typed out her response.

You better be careful with offers like that, or I might just take you up on it.

Another ping.

Looking forward to it, Y/N.

As she put her phone down, Y/N found herself grinning like an idiot. She curled up on the couch, the weight of exhaustion lifting slightly as she thought about the weekend ahead. It seemed like this little nap incident might have been the best thing that happened after all.

[eroselless]

─────────────── somebody else // 1

series summary: you just work in hospitality for McLaren and he’s their star driver. what happens when your paths cross and you find yourself questioning your feelings for each other? [2.8k]

[lando norris x reader]

masterlist 

warnings: insecure reader

note: thank you to the anon that requested this! i absolutely loved writing this. although the anon didn’t specify if they wanted this as a multi-partner, i feel like i wouldn’t be able to do it justice with just one part. i tried my best to make this a little bit of a slow burn without dragging it out too much. happy reading!

The hum of the engines reverberates through the paddock as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. It casts long shadows over the track, the sky painted in soft pinks and purples. You huff as you move around the backroom, not yet used to the fast-paced world of Formula 1, the chaos that comes with each race still new to you. You’ve been working as part of the McLaren hospitality team for a few weeks now, moving from city to city, country to country as the season unfolds quickly. It is a demanding job, with long hours and high expectations, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

You were introduced to the sport later in life, in your late teens. Your father had been involved in karting, often taking you to his races, but he had never considered going any further. You had grown accustomed to the roar of the cars, the smell of burning rubber, the palpable tension in the air – it became intoxicating, thrilling, and nerve-wracking. You had slowly pushed yourself to become more involved, snagging a job that you had anticipated for a long time. Working in F1, even just in hospitality, was a dream that could open doors for you.

Like any other race weekend, you are on your feet from sun up till sun down. You ensure that everything runs smoothly for all the guests that come and go in the McLaren suite. You move through the crowds with a practiced grace, offering smiles and the most attentive service to VIPs, sponsors, and team members alike.

You reach over the table, pouring out champagne to a group of executives, feeling a tinge on the back of your neck. Glancing up, you can feel someone’s eyes trained on you. There is a rush of chatter, a group of young children, all dressed in matching orange attire.

You see Lando standing among them, a smile on his face as he speaks to them. His eyes flicker up to you, attention divided as he tries his best to keep track of what a young boy is telling him and watching you move around the room.

It becomes harder to ignore as the day drags on, his gaze following you whenever he comes in and out of the suite. You try to think nothing of it; you are one of a handful of servers, you would be noticed, of course. It is nothing, right?

“Need a hand with that?”

The sound of Lando’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, startling you slightly. You turn from your spot at the bar, a tray of empty glasses in your hands, ready to be sent to the kitchen for washing. He leans casually on the counter, fingers fiddling with a homemade bracelet he undoubtedly got from a fan. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, a familiar and warm glint you’d only ever seen from afar. He gestures to the other tray that sits on the bar, equally as full as the one you’re carrying, a lopsided grin on his face.

Forcing a smile, you try your best to push down the flutter in your chest. “I think I can manage, thanks.”

Lando leans in slightly, his voice low. “I’m sure you can, but it never hurts to have a little help, right?”

His close proximity makes your stomach burst with butterflies, but you keep your composure. You shift one tray in your hands, holding up one before grabbing the other one and balancing it on your fingers. “I appreciate the offer, really, but you’ve got a race to focus on. Can't have you getting distracted.”

“Maybe I like distractions,” he quips, his gaze following you as you begin to move away from the bar. He meets your eyes as he raises his eyebrows. “Plus, I’m pretty good at multitasking—driving fast and helping with drinks. Can’t be that different, right?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to hold back the smile that threatens to pop out. You shake your head as you take another step, breaking away from his stare. “I’ll keep that in mind when I see you out on track.”

He chuckles, his laugh warm and genuine. “You do that. And I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

With that, he saunters off, leaving you standing there slightly confused and trying to process what had just happened. As you watch him go, he turns back slightly to give you another smile and a nod before exiting through the front doors. You can’t help but feel lightheaded as you make your way to the kitchen, biting your lip as you do. Jesus Christ, what was that?

The rest of the day passes in a blur of activity, the memory of Lando’s casual smile lingering in your mind. It doesn’t leave your thoughts as you continue to run into him at the next few races. He pops in before the day descends into full chaos to see how you’re doing and checks on you at the end of the day, always ready with something to make you feel lighter on a stressful race day.

You find yourself expecting his presence, your banter becoming a regular part of your day, a little slice of normalcy in the otherwise hectic and fast-paced environment. He teases you about your work, making light-hearted comments about how serious you’ve become or how you’re in the know about everyone’s gossip. He pulls you into hugs or gives your nose or cheeks a gentle pinch whenever he gets the chance. In return, you tease him about his racing, jokingly offering tips on how to handle certain corners or shave a couple of seconds off his lap times.

One afternoon, he slides into an empty seat, panting as he sinks into the chair. “Hey, you,” he greets, pulling his hat off and placing it on the table in front of you. “Busy day?”

“You could say that,” you reply, glancing up from your work. “How about you? Surviving the media circus?”

“Barely,” he jokes, rolling his eyes. “But it’s all part of the job, right?”

You nod, smiling. “I guess so. You seem to handle it well, though.”

He shrugs, that easy grin still in place. “It’s all about keeping a cool head. Speaking of which, how about you? How are you handling everything?”

“Me?” you question. “I’m just trying to keep up.”

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” he says, his tone sincere. “Seriously, everyone’s noticed how well you’ve fit in around here.”

Your cheeks warm at the compliment, and you duck your head, suddenly interested in a spot that won’t come off a spoon. “Thanks, Lando. That means a lot.”

There’s a brief silence, the kind that’s beginning to feel familiar between the two of you—comfortable, yet charged with something unspoken. You can feel his eyes on you, observing your gentle movements. When you finally look up, he’s still watching you, a tranquil expression on his face. It makes your heart skip a beat, his blue-green eyes almost admiring you.

“So, what are your plans after this?” he asks, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity.

“I’m not sure yet,” you admit, trying to keep your tone light, not wanting to reveal that his gaze is melting your resolve. “Maybe just relax, take in the sights. I haven’t really explored much outside of work.”

His smile widens. “Well, if you ever need a tour guide, you know where to find me.”

You laugh, gratefully nodding at him, but your mind races with possibilities you quickly shove away.

It’s not until the next race weekend that you see him again. You’re busy arranging the seating in the hospitality suite when you feel a presence behind you, followed by the gentle sound of cutlery clinking. Before you can turn around, Lando’s voice drifts over your shoulder.

"Straighten up those forks, will you? We wouldn’t want our guests to think we’re unprofessional."

You laugh, rolling your eyes as your fingers move to adjust the silverware he’d nudged out of place. "I’m pretty sure they’re here for the racing, not the table settings."

"Well, if the racing doesn’t impress them, maybe your impeccable attention to detail will," Lando teases, leaning against the back of a chair as he watches you continue to move things around.

You turn to face him, a hand on your hip while the other twists a rag you’ve been using to wipe down the tables. A smile tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze. "And what about you? Do you think my attention to detail is impressive?"

Lando’s smile widens, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh yeah, I think you’re impressive, full stop."

You shake your head, looking down at a box full of cutlery rolls, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Norris."

"Who said anything about flattery?" he retorts, his tone light but sincere. "I’m just stating the facts."

"Facts, huh?" you glance over your shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow. "What other facts do you have for me?"

Lando pretends to think for a moment, leaning back in his chair. "Well, let’s see… You’re always the first one here in the morning and the last to leave at night. You keep calm under pressure, even when the kitchen’s on fire—literally. And you have this little tick when you smile—which, by the way, you don’t do enough—you look away or cover your laugh with your hands."

His words catch you off guard, and you pause, unsure of how to respond. You'd grown used to his teasing, but this felt different. He rambles a little as if he can’t get the words out fast enough. It could mean anything, but your mind refuses to acknowledge that it might be more than platonic teasing. You hear the sincerity behind his words, and it makes your heart race slightly, in a way that is both exciting and terrifying.

You quickly mask your uncertainty with a playful roll of your eyes. "And you’ve been keeping track of all this?"

"Maybe," Lando admits, not backing down. His smile softens as he watches you closely, an unspoken question lingering in his eyes.

Before you can respond, the sound of approaching footsteps breaks the moment, and you’re both reminded of where you are. A group of VIP guests enters the room, and you immediately slip back into work mode, offering them a warm smile as you direct them to their seats.

Lando lingers for a moment, his gaze lingering on you before he too slips away, back into the bustle of race day.

Your casual banter continues throughout the day and as the weeks pass. But the more time you spend around Lando, the stronger the urge to pull away becomes. He is so easy to talk to, so genuine in his interactions, but you can’t shake the feeling that you might be reading into things too much. A voice in the back of your mind keeps reminding you of the reality of your situation. He’s Lando Norris—a world-famous racing driver, adored by millions, with the world at his feet. You never doubt your skills, but you are just a hospitality worker, a coworker who happened to become a friend. Just a friend, right?

:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few races later, after a hectic race, the team gathers for a small celebration. Both Lando and Oscar had performed well, amplifying the mood around the whole paddock. You're busy fixing drinks and chatting with guests, your thoughts still drifting back to Lando. You feel your heart flutter every time you catch a glimpse of him, whether he is laughing with Oscar or signing autographs for fans that are brought in. You have no doubt that he is an attractive person and are determined not to let your feelings grow further than they already have, but every touch, every brush of his fingers, or his hand on your back, sends your mind spiraling. Could you be seeing something that isn’t there? Is he just being overly friendly now that you have established a connection?

The questions swirl endlessly in your head as the evening wears on, and by the time the celebration winds down, you feel overwhelmed. Stepping outside for fresh air, you find a quiet spot on the balcony overlooking the track. You let out a sigh as you sit down on the ledge. You lean your head back on the wall, trying to clear your head. Your eyes water up a little as you let yourself relax, but you are quick to wipe them away when you hear footsteps approaching.

Turning, you spot Lando. His hands are shoved in his pockets, a gentle smile adorning his lips.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Of course not,” you say, shifting over a little to make room for him. He sits down next to you, a sliver of space between your two bodies. You sit in silence, the night air filled with the distant sounds of the paddock winding down. You can feel warmth radiating from him, a familiar tension beginning to crackle between you. It is a comfortable silence, weighted down by so many questions and unspoken words.

“Tonight was fun,” Lando speaks up after a while, his tone relaxed. “The team did great.”

You hum in agreement. “Yeah, it was a good day,” you say, glancing over at him. “You did great.”

He smiles, a soft, almost shy smile. It's a smile you have grown used to, always paired with rosy cheeks and a bashful look in his eyes. Your heart betrays you as it flutters in your chest. “Thanks. But I couldn’t have done it without the support of the team—including you.”

You smile, turning away instinctively, suddenly aware of the tick he had pointed out just a few weeks ago. “I’m just in hospitality, doing my job.”

“Maybe,” he says, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, “but you do it well. I’ve noticed how hard you work, how much you care about what you do. It’s one of the things I like about you.” He leans back on his hands, watching as you search for what to say.

The words hang in the air, heavy with something you don’t want to acknowledge. The voice in your head speaks again, denying, denying, denying. He’s just being kind, nothing else.

“I—thank you,” you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady. “That means a lot coming from you.”

He looks at you then, really looking at you. His eyes are hooded, eyebrows drawn together slightly. It’s as if he can see right through the defenses you’ve been trying to keep up. There’s something in the way his eyes peer out at you, a vulnerability that seems to mirror yours. There it is again, the nerves and the ache in your chest.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says softly. “I just wanted you to know.”

There is a beat of silence, and before you can respond, the doors open behind you. Your name is called, and you are quickly pulled back, retreating into the safety of professionalism. You’re needed inside.

“I should get back,” you say hastily, blinking the haze out of your eyes. “There’s still a lot to do.”

Lando clears his throat, sitting up, his expression unreadable. His voice is now deflated. “Yeah, of course.”

As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t dare look back. There are so many emotions swirling in your mind—confusion, longing, and an ever-growing sense of fear. You want so badly to let yourself believe that there could be something growing between you, but there will always be doubts rearing their ugly heads. There will always be whispers telling you that it is all in your head, that you are only setting yourself up for disappointment. As soon as you pass the glass door, you let out a deep breath, a knot forming in your throat.

a/n: thank you so much if you’ve made it to the end! i am already in the process of writing the next part so it should be out soon! any feedback, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated, i love seeing your reactions and notes! 

[wrr000]

"Small gestures"

The Destined One x reader - headcanons about communication +really short oneshot at the end

Notes: it's basically @szynkaaa idea!!!!!!!!!!!! go and check their blog NOW!!!!!!!!!!! i'm currently working on another headcanons with the destined one and more serious oneshot, hope y'all will enjoy this

Warnings: fluff, kinda fanon the destined one? english is not my first language so i will prob make some changes later! i also exaggerated the situation in oneshot for the fluff, forgive me

travelling with silent destined one was difficult, but soon you realized that sometimes gestures can express more than words

at first it was hard to communicate, this barrier seemed insurmountable to you

but you quickly noticed that he wasn't trying to push you away or left you behind because of it, no - he tired to show you with small gestures that he actually cared

it started with slowing down a little so you could catch up or glancing at you to make sure you were still walking next to him

gently poking you with his hand or tugging your clothes to get your attention

stretching his arm to prevent you from walking further and signaling you to hide behind him. he always made the same gesture then

finding you a safe spot to hide when he knew a tough fight was coming

when an enemy apeared unexpectedly and you were in the middle of the fight, he bought you some time to escape somewhere safe

grabbing you by forearm to make sure you didn't get hurt (you have to tell him several times that you're fine, boy is worried)

all these little things made you understand him more and at some point you learned how to read his body language, gestures and face expressions; scratching his ear when impatient or confused, characteristically touching his nose when he's thinking and all those kind of things

you just knew what he wanted to say (but couldn't)

during this time, you didn't even notice how much you were getting closer and how much you cared for each other

he never made you feel like a burden and you always tried to help him as much as you can

you could talk to him about anything and he would listen to you carefully, making sure you feel comfortable

the destined one never would have thought that he would meet someone like you(and fall in love) during his journey

of course it isn't a flawless relationship because it's still a cheeky monkey that cannot stand 5 seconds without getting into a fight, but it's a story for another time

---

Leaving that cursed land of rats was something you had been waiting for a long time. Almost from the moment you arrived there. Sandstorms were hard to survive, let alone the mad rat king and his two sons. However, you quickly missed the sandy landscapes, because the next stop was a land covered with ice.

Journey to the next Relic wasn't easy. The snow was falling heavily, limiting your vision. The horizon disappeared, you could only see The Destined One figure forcing his way through the high layer of snow. You felt that your shoes were already soaked along with the lower part of your clothes.

Even though you were following the path beaten by your companion, you were moving slowly. You sighed heavily at the thought that you probably still had a long way to go and you could only dream about a break. How nice it would be to sit by the fire and warm yourself. Suddenly various memories started coming back to haunt you here, in the middle of nowhere.

You were pulled out from your thoughts by the familiar warmth. You looked to your left and met his shining eyes, staring into your red face. The Destined One was standing next to you, wrapping his arm around you. A slight smile appeared on his face.

"Sorry", you said quietly. "I'm slowing us down"

But he just shook his head as if he wanted to say that you were talking nonsense. With a firm move, he pulled you closer to him. Your bodies touched even more, you felt a pleasant warmth radiating from him. His hot breath spread across your frozen place. Even know you could feel his unique, but nice scent.

He noticed your tiredness and how chilly you were. You had been shivering from the cold for a while now. He wished he had something to cover you with, but all he could offer was his arm. You appreciated his concern and looking out for you. That alone made you not feel so poorly anymore.

"Thank you, much better now", you said with a smile. "We can go"

He nodded, clealry pleased with the answer. You to were walking together now, hugging each other. The road didn't seem so hard anymore and the snow slowly stopped failing. The horizon became clearer, revealing hugh mountains and old temples. You finally felt like you had made progress. Previous difficulties became only unpleasant memories.

The closer you got, the more the weather was getting better. It was still snowing, but it wasn't even that cold anymore. And yet you still walked together, hugged to each other, neither of you thinking about pulling away. While admiring the views, you told him some old story from your childhood about a hard winter in your village. When you weren't looking, he was admiring you in silence, enjoying the moment.

[synqiri]

I LOVE YOU SO.

in which you are insecure about whether or not he truly likes you, and he comforts you in turn.

or, the first time he says ‘i love you’.

PAIRING: wanderer x gn!reader

WARNINGS: none

WORDCOUNT: 1.5K || CONTENT: hurt/comfort, you're a bit of an overthinker, you cry, wanderer is bad at Feelings™ but he's trying

NOTES: a lil different from my usual style but yes >:3

“do you even like me?”

wanderer turns to look at you, confused, brows drawn. he scoffs, as if you had just asked if the sky was blue. perhaps to him, you may as well have. “what kind of ridiculous question is that?”

it’s late, you think, and the sun has long since dipped beyond the horizon. the both of you are idling in bed, him with a book in his hands, and you with nothing but worries on your mind. you sigh. you hadn’t meant to blurt it out in that manner, but since it already happened, you may as well…

“i just — it’s so stupid, i know, but… it feels as if you only put up with me, y’know? and that you don’t really like like me. i’m sorry, i’m just —”

“you truly get the most foolish ideas.”

his tone is biting, his eyes an electrifying violet. the book in his hands creases in his grip, and you wince. you wonder if he’s angry at you.

then again, he always seems irritated at you, doesn’t he? a tiny little voice whispers in your mind. it sounds bitter and resigned, and you find yourself getting angry at that thought. something sour claws its way up your throat. “do you have to sound so snide all the time? is it so hard just — just speak nicely to me for once?”

his lips part, yet nothing comes out. he looks astounded, really, and it’s probably the first time you’ve seen him without a witty retort in response. it’s not satisfying at all. that realisation only serves to worsen your mood.

tears prick at the corners of your eyes. archons, it’s not like you to get this emotional, to blow up at him like this. you knew what you were getting into, falling in love with the wanderer. you knew he was guarded and prickly and cold and you chose to love him anyway. 

perhaps he was right and you truly did have the stupidest ideas. you had been friends with wanderer before you had been lovers, and he had opened up to you so much in that span of time that you thought if you took things further, he’d only trust you more. but he hadn’t. in fact, ever since you began dating, it felt as if he had begun to pull away. 

how foolish, that little voice says. did you think you could change him?

roughly, you bring the back of your palm to wipe the dampness from your eyes. you sniffle, throat tight. “sorry, just… ignore that. forget about it. it’s been a long day and i shouldn’t take it out on you. i’m g’na sleep now.”

you switch off your lamp, and the room plunges into the darkness. not even the moon is out tonight, the moonlight blocked by the thick, rolling clouds. you settle yourself into bed comfortably, facing the wall as you do. 

usually, you’d be cuddling right up to him, despite all his grumbled protests. he always let you have your way in the end, anyway. you can’t help but smile a bit at that. 

despite everything, you know he isn’t all bad. he can be kind and sweet and gentle and absolutely swoon-worthy — and even then, those moments are getting increasingly hard to come by in the recent weeks.

“i wouldn’t be here, playing house with you, if i didn’t like you,” wanderer says suddenly, tentatively. his tone is softer than it had been before, and you know it is meant to be his way of comfort. 

you know he favours you, cares for you. the evidence is in everything he does, in the way no one else would be able to act the way you do with him but you. except all his softness is buried under layers and layers of all the things he has yet to work through. and though you’ve always been the patient type, his callousness chipped away at your spirit little by little til you were a mess of anxiety and insecurity and —

white-hot anger stabs at you then, despite all your efforts to force it down. you laugh wetly, voice thick. “you have a funny way of showing your feelings, y’know that?”

“you never approach me first. and there was that week i decided to wait and see if you would, and it took you a whole week before you — and you’re always so guarded — and that’s not the problem but the problem is you act like you trust me less now than when we were just friends and —”

you’re rambling now, everything that you had been bottling up bubbling out of you in surges. you draw in a shallow, shuddery breath, and it’s only then you notice the dampness on your pillow. you rub at your eyes harshly, sighing. 

“i know you hate being vulnerable, seeming weak — but if you can’t trust even me then what’s the point? i really… i don’t know how much more of this i can take.”

you go silent there, having run out of things to say. yet your tears can’t seem to stop, your body curled tight, your back facing him. you don’t know how you’d be able to look him in the eye again, after an outburst like that. gods, what if he broke things off with you? what if…

“i warned you about what you were getting yourself into,” he says softly, “loving someone like me. foolishly, you chose me anyway.”

how in teyvat was that supposed to make you feel any better? had he not been listening to you for the past ten minutes?

“and like an utter fool, i couldn’t have been happier.”

oh.

he shifts, the bedsheets rustling, and you’re tempted to turn and look. but you don’t. not yet. sighing, he continues, “you make me soft. weak. i couldn’t accept it.”

“so you started to distance yourself from me.” 

it comes out flatly, a short, unimpressed realisation. you wonder why he agreed to date you if all he’d do is push you away. you have a feeling he doesn’t have an answer either. he falls quiet at your words, a silent acknowledgment. 

“i’m sorry,” he says finally, stumbling over the words. “you deserve better than that. than me.” 

the words, though spoken no louder than a whisper, echo within the silence of the room. you’re crying again, silently this time, and more out of relief than anger and hurt. you bite on your lip to swallow your sobs, but don’t bother about wiping your eyes. you didn’t expect you’d hear him apologise, let alone admit he should’ve treated you better. it lightens something in your heart, the tension in your chest dissipating a little. 

still, you think, even if you deserved better, it is him that you loved, and you’d be truly foolish to give it all up because of problems that could be worked through.

“think of me however you want,” he tells you. there’s an undertone of earnestness in his voice now, hesitant but true. “i am far from a good person, much less a good lover. even so… never doubt the fact that it is you who i love.”

you falter. he… what?

“you — you love me?” you ask. it comes out in a dazed murmur. slowly, you turn to look at him, eyes swollen and all. you must look ridiculous now, you think, but you find you can’t quite care a bit. “you mean it?”

he lets out a low chuckle, as if he can’t quite believe it either. “i do.”

despite yourself, you can’t stifle the small smile that grows on your face. it’s the first time he’s ever said that to you, the first time he’s ever explicitly expressed his feelings toward you out loud in words. 

“will you say it again?"

“i love you,” he says again, this time, without any hesitation. he huffs, and you’d like to think he sounds fond. his tone turns lofty. “you should be proud of yourself. to be the only person who can make a fool out of me.”

there’s a small smile tugging at his lips too, his eyes bright and soft and warmer than you’ve ever seen before. you laugh softly, rubbing the tear stains from your face. you feel unbelievably light, lighter than you have in days. it’s a nice feeling. 

“will you try, at least? to be a good lover?” you ask hopefully. you don’t think you’re asking for much, really. “i think… then, we can work on being a good couple together.”

he agrees easily, almost breathing out the word. “yeah.” 

you yawn. all that crying has you completely exhausted, and you suppose it’s time to call it a day. stretching, you reposition yourself comfortably, cocooning yourself in the blankets. he didn’t need them anyway. 

“good night,” you whisper, eyes already fluttering shut. 

your consciousness dips partway into slumber then, so you don’t get to hear his response. yet you feel a warm, gentle pressure on your cheek, and something light ghosting over your forehead. you smile.

and for now, that is enough.

[satinestales]

❝self destructive tendencies❞ | qimir x fem!reader

pairing: qimir x fem!reader

● this is a 3rd pov, if you want to read 2nd pov, here●

summary: A week has passed since the battle on Khofar and the startling reveal of her former friend. Qimir, the man behind the mask and the murderer of her comrades took her to a remote island, far away from the Republic's surveillance, after she sustained severe injuries. She's been keeping her distance from him, trying to ignore her hidden feelings. Yet, when his thoughts merge with hers, the vow she made to herself becomes almost impossible to keep.

warnings: english is not my first language, sexual tension, lots of sexual tension, corruption, sexual themes/dreams, E Y E C O N T A C T, qimir, mentions of blood and injuries

author's note: I could not be a jedi I'd turn into aquaman if he asked me to join him

now playing, love in the sky by the weeknd

*:..。♡*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ·*:..。♡౨ৎ 🍓｡˚🍰♡ ˚..。♡*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ·*:..。♡ ︎

The moon hung low over the horizon, casting an eerie glow on the waves that lapped against the shores of the ghostly island. Qimir’s silhouette stood out against the backdrop of the night sky, his presence a constant reminder of the blood and carnage he left on Khofar. As she lay on the rough sand, the pain from her injuries pulsed faintly, and she could not shake the mixture of fear and thirst that his proximity stirred within her. The island was a planet unknown to her, and as much as she tried to examine the surface, its location remained elusive. She supposed it might have been somewhere in the Outer Rim or beyond. Somewhere where the Republic would have a difficult way of finding her. World away from the Republic’s watchful eyes, and here, with only Qimir for company, she felt both vulnerable and strangely contented.

She decided to relax on the beach, further away from Qimir’s constant presence that melted her thoughts. However, luck wasn't on her side; minutes after settling in, he walked past her to his favorite bathing spot, smirk on his face as he acknowledged her presence. It was late at night, her legs and arms sore from the repetitive training she put herself through. The island offered few diversions. Waiting for Qimir’s next move or for Sol to find her wasn’t her idea of a perfect day. The injuries covering her body were difficult to ignore, and she refused to let Qimir get close enough to her to heal them. She told herself she would rather bleed out than feel his touch on her skin. Deep down, though, she knew the real reason for keeping him at bay.

So, she lay there, absentmindedly playing with a rock she found, irritated by his presence but too weary to consider moving again. She had to admit her fault; she had set up camp right in front of his favorite spot. Over the past week, she had seen him bare many times. First unbothered but lately it had gotten under her skin. She had been friends with Qimir for some time before discovering his true identity behind the mask and his responsibility for her friends' murders. Their deaths pained her, but the betrayal and realization of his deception cut deeper. After many years, she thought she found herself a friend outside the temple. One that she could share her interests and secrets with, without the fear of being judged by the Jedi. She told him about her fears and likes. Her doubts in the order and her wish to help people as much as she could. About her hate and desire. The Sith emotions. Now he’s using them to lure her in and trap her on the other side.

She wasn’t the most perceptive, but his intentions were clear. He knew her feelings, her likes, and dislikes; she had shared them with him when she believed he was her friend and a supplier. Even a blind person could see his thoughts, and her strength in the Force allowed her to delve into his mind, revealing more than she wished to know.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away as he slowly shed his clothes to enter the water, a routine he seemed to relish. Despite her experiences in battles and missions, witnessing the horrible conditions and lack of hygiene, even her comrades didn’t bathe as frequently as Qimir did before her. She considered herself fortunate; at least he smelled good, even if the scent of sandalwood mixed with citrus fruit drove her mad. She smelled it when she woke up, during meals and training, and before sleep. She felt him everywhere. She wasn’t sure for how much longer she could endure it.

She studied the muscles of his back as he swam slowly, admiring them from her vantage point. He was undeniably strong, scars marring his skin a testament to the pain he had endured. She observed how his dark hair moved with his motions, how he ran his long thick fingers through it while washing it gently. His biceps tensed as he splashed water around his neck, and she noticed the way he caressed his chest, attempting to cleanse away the day’s dirt.

It was only when she accidentally crushed the rock in half that she realized the intensity of her stare. Clearing her throat, she sat up and leaned against the mossy bank behind her, feeling shame wash over her. She was convinced his own dreams had started to corrupt her.

One of the curses of being a Jedi was the ability to read minds, and Qimir was no exception. She saw his thoughts vividly, filled with bright colors that sent adrenaline coursing through her veins. She wondered if he wanted her to delve into his mind, to make her believe he desired her, or if he simply didn’t care. She feared he could read her thoughts too, despite her lifelong ability to block out others with ease.

She lied to herself, convincing herself that she was immune to his ideas, desires, and magnetic charm. But every time he looked at her, towered over her, or she smelled him in the air, her knees buckled, her stomach tightened, and she fought against the need to press her legs together. She felt sick, and his mind brushing against hers didn’t help.

She felt it every time he drew near. He visualized her hands in his mind, how they caressed his scars and shoulders. She saw his hair falling down as he towered over her, gently pushing her against the cold floor of his cave. She felt his breath against her neck, his fingers pulling her hair, his skin pressed against hers. In his dreams, she never resisted. He was corrupting her in his dreams, and she never once objected in them. She was embarrassed he got her mannerisms right.

She was so lost in their shared thoughts that she didn’t notice Qimir making his way out of the water, his eyes fixated on her with dangerous intensity. He carefully leaned down to grab a towel, amusement playing on his lips. He didn’t want to wake her from her thoughts, whatever they may have been.

As he gently dried himself with the soft cloth, not taking his eyes off her, he tried to read her mind, even if he failed millions of times before. He never had difficulty reading someone; one look at them and he could see their whole past. But with her, he had no idea what she was thinking or planning, or what images played in her head. She was strong, stronger than the ones he had met before, and he admired that. He praised her strength in the Force and her ability to protect herself from her nemesis. Like him.

But he could read body language. He noticed how she tensed around him when he walked past her. How her chest started rising faster whenever he stared her down. Her goosebumps when they brushed against each other. How she pressed her legs together when he towered over her. And how she was now crushing the rock in her hand, gazing in his direction.

“You can always join me, you know that.” He breathed out, letting the cloth fall to the ground, replacing it with his long blouse. She almost wanted to take the top from him just so she could continue her view, but when she finally recollected her thoughts, she wanted to slap herself. “It would help with your wounds when you don’t let me heal them.” He uttered, dressing himself, not breaking eye contact with her. He liked her stare. He liked how she fought with her emotions and how they reflected in her eyes. It pleased him.

“I’m okay,” she faked a smile, swallowing the ridiculous amount of saliva in her mouth. She forced herself to look somewhere other than his strong forearms or how he dragged the pants up his muscular legs. She found a cute shell, admiring it from afar.

She didn’t catch the grin on his face as her face turned pink and she clenched her fists. He was amused with her reactions, but her ripped bandage and the blood revealing itself underneath caught his full attention. His face froze, along with his movements while buttoning up his shirt. He would never touch her unless she wanted him to, but her leg was nowhere near being healed and with the lack of medical supplies on this island, she’d lose it long before she’d be able to leave the island.

“Let me help you.” It wasn’t a question, more of a subtle order. She didn’t miss it. A week ago, on Khofar, Qimir had stopped himself before fatally hurting her, but he still landed a strike on her leg that had trouble healing. She was stubborn enough to push him away when he offered his help, and now she started to slowly regret it.

“I don’t need anything from you,” she hissed at him, catching a glimpse of his unbuttoned blouse.

“You’re a powerful Jedi, and I don’t doubt you’d be still as fierce as you are now without your leg,” he murmured, making his way towards her, leaving his bag and shoes near the water. “If you want to risk it.” She watched him tilt his head as he slowly approached her. She could only see the images in his mind, his plans and ideas. But underneath it all, he didn’t mean it in a bad way. He wanted to help her. In his own way. He was her friend; he knew her weaknesses and strengths. He knew what she wanted, and he was willing to give it to her. But she couldn’t erase the lying and murder of her friends. She wanted her friend back. Maybe something else this time, but her trust in him had faded. Now it was just Qimir, confusing her thoughts and making her rethink her morals. She felt as disgusted with him as she felt with herself. But she understood him. Or at least tried to.

So, she didn’t oppose, letting him kneel in front of her, his hands carefully reaching out to her ripped bandage above her knee. He was so close she could smell him again. His hair fell into his face, covering his eyes that were focusing only on her wound. His fingers worked fast but tenderly as he lifted her thigh to unwrap the bandage. She swallowed hard, feeling his veiny hand below her leg. She was scared he could feel her burning skin, hoping he would mistake it as a result of the injury.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you on Khofar,” she heard him whisper, gripping the sand below her as he threw away the bandage, the cold air kissing her open wound. She almost heard pity in his voice. She was certain she imagined it.

She begged herself to look away, but her eyes betrayed her as they glared down at his hand that was almost as big as her thigh. He covered the wound, not touching it fully, concentrating on restoring her cells.

She was fascinated by how quickly the wound closed up, leaving only a small scar across her thigh. She had wanted to learn how to force heal ever since she lost her friend to a fatal injury as a kid, but the Jedi never taught her. No matter how hard she pleaded. Whenever she asked, they gave the same answer: only dark side users possess this power. She always felt it was ridiculous.

“How do you do it?” she managed to ask, ignoring Qimir’s confused stare as he picked up his head and drew his hand away from her. But he didn’t move position and kept kneeling between her feet. “How do you force heal?” she felt embarrassed asking, but he was one of her only chances to learn.

A soft smile crept to his lips as he moved his eyes from her face to her hands. She suddenly became aware of her vulnerable position.

“In order to heal someone,” he started, softness in his voice, no signs of mockery. “You need to focus on your own energy, imagine it and visualize it. Imagine its color, like you do with the Force.” He continued, his hands moving in motion with his words.

She could feel the warmth radiating off him as he sat centimeters away, his wet hair framing his sharp features. His eyes were dark, only the light of the moon reflecting in them. His lips were full, stretched as he shared his knowledge with her. She didn’t move a muscle and returned his stare. It was only the two of them.

“The Jedi teach only one way. Physical way. Taking your physical energy and giving it to someone who needs it,” he whispered, leaning his head to the side, giving her a view of his sharp jaw. His neck was thick, his collarbones defined. “But there is another way.” He stopped to look at her, examining her expression. She was listening intently, breathing fast, and her eyes bored so deeply into him he was certain she could read everything he was thinking. He let her.

“Below the surface of consciousness are powerful emotions. Anger. Fear. Loss.” He started listing, his eyes twitching between her eyes and her lips. “Desire.”

Her leg muscles twitched, her core burning up. She wanted to bury herself.

“Only Sith feel those emotions,” she whispered back, denying herself. She saw a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth before he lowered his gaze.

“You can draw energy from them, direct them in any way you want,” he purred, looking back at her, letting her feel his emotions. “However, whenever you want.” He lowered his voice as he stretched the last words, reading her face.

He knew she read his mind. He knew she saw the images that kept him awake and his wishes. He had had them since he met her months ago, and when he sensed her attraction toward him, they only intensified. He wanted her and was simply waiting for her to admit the same to herself, no matter how long it would take.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

sunsets warm embrace

words: 1.5k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, established relationship, p in v sex, male receiving oral, fingering, unprotected sex

“stop staring at me.” you giggle, pressing your hand against rafes cheek to turn his attention back to the sunset, but he only glances for a second before turning his attention back to you.

you accept his staring, watching the sun sink further into the waves.

“i think my favorite thing about being out on the yacht is always getting to watch the sunrise and sunset on the water.” you hum.

“you're never awake for sunrise.” rafe states, his thumb swiping over your bare shoulder as he keeps you tugged close to his body.

you turn to him with an over dramatic sigh. “it's because you keep me up late every night.”

rafe taking you for a romantic trip on the yacht quickly turned into the two of you spending more time hidden away in the bedroom than actually driving the boat.

“can't help how much i want you.” rafe shrugs, no shame in his voice.

“ill tell you what.” you turn to rafe, who is still ignoring the sunset to stare at you. “as soon as the sun sets why don't we head below deck?”

rafe smirks, leaning forward to press his lips against yours. all thoughts of finishing watching the sun dip below the horizon flies out of your head. 

you kiss him back, deepening the kiss as you slide even closer on the bunny pad, throwing your leg over his.

“now?” rafe hums out, a satisfied smile on his face knowing he's about to get his way.

“yeah.” you nod. “now.”

rafe picks you up and walks across the cushions, carrying you like you weigh nothing as he descends down the stairs and into the master bedroom.

“god, i want you so bad.” you giggle out, feeling drunk without having a sip of alcohol, it's the effect rafe has on you.

“you're not sick of me?” there's a vulnerability in rafes voice that has you pausing as he sets you down on the bed.

“ill never be sick of you rafe.” you answer honestly, placing your hands on his abdomen as you look up at him, making sure he's keeping eye contact. “i love you.”

“i love you too.” rafe never thought he'd say the words to a girl and mean it, but that was before he met you.

you keep your eyes on his face as you tug on the string holding your bikini together, letting it fall away from your chest.

rafe tries and fails to stay looking you in the eye as his tongue comes out to lick across his lip.

your hands return to his abs again but don't stay there for long as they're quickly moving down to tug at the waistband of his swim shorts, pushing them down his hips as his cock springs free.

you pay no attention to rafe kicking them the rest of the way off as you grasp his length.

you stroke him to full hardness, which doesn't take long, before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock.

you can't give him the full attention you want with your mouth, you need him inside of you too bad, but you need to feel the weight of his cock on your tongue, the warmth of his skin.

“ohhhhh, baby.” rafe moans out, his hand coming to your hair, but he resists the urge to push you down as you suckle on the head of his cock, flicking your tongue over his slit until you can truly taste him.

you relax your throat and push down, taking in more of his cock until your nose nuzzles against her skin. 

you resist the urge to gag, knowing your throat is constricting around rafes cock and hearing his moans of approval as you attempt to breath through your nose.

you stay down as long as you can before you have to pull off, sputtering and coughing but you wouldn't change a thing, especially seeing the way rafe looks at you.

“take your bottoms off.” he commands.

you lean back and raise your hips, pulling off your bikini bottoms and flinging them over rafes shoulder before you hold your legs up, pointing your toes just as your cheer coach taught you back in high school.

rafe places a hand at your ankle, slowly moving down until he's caressing your hip before moving inward.

rafe smiles at your sticky wetness already covering between your thighs. he wastes no time pressing his finger inside of you, feeling the way you squeeze around him as he pumps it inside of you.

“oh, rafe.” you moan, eyes fluttering closed.

“god, you're soaked.” rafe chuckles. despite how many times he's had you, he'll never get used to how perfect your pussy is for him as his finger moves from your entrance to your clit, rubbing over it to see the way your body physically reacts, the way you clench around nothing.

rafe doesn't leave your cunt empty for long, thrusting forward to bury himself inside of you as you both moan out in unison.

“fuck!” rafe grunts, immediately picking up the pace as he thrusts into you, keeping one hand rubbing at your messy clit while his other arm wraps around your legs, helping you keep them elevated as you're laid on the bed with your hips tugged all the way to the edge.

“shiiiit.” you whine out. “so big.”

you love the way you can tell rafe reacts to your compliment, fucking you harder and spearing in deeper.

“gonna take you out on the yacht more often if it means fucking you all day.” rafe chuckles. 

you barely make it above deck and into the sun like you expected, he spends far too much time taking you in different positions.

fucking you against the hallway or pressed up against the steering wheel, having you ride him in the guest bedroom or cram into the yacht shower to kneel down and suck him off.

the only place on the boat you haven't christened is all the outside areas, exposed to the open sea. you make a mental note to get that done tomorrow.

“acting as if we don't fuck constantly at home.” you laugh, but rafe is right, there's no responsibilities eating away your time and the privacy means no sneaking around.

“can't help that your pussy is so- fucking- perfect-” rafe delivers punishing thrusts as he grunts out the words, making your cunt flutter around his cock.

“can't last.” your body is in a constant state of overstimulation whenever you're around rafe like this, and you're honestly shocked you've lasted this long while he's been pumping his cock into you.

“hold out, baby.” rafe commands. he could have also busted instantly, but he's determined to stretch this out and make it last longer.

you can feel your leg begin to cramp as you keep your feet pointed towards the ceiling, but rafe is pressing so deep into you that you're not willing to put them down.

the slap of his hips against your skin echoes around the room along with your moans and the soft sound of waves lapping against the boat.

you reach one hand up to grasp rafes wrist of the hand helping hold up your legs, needing the physical contact of touching him.

“hold it.” rafe commands, able to tell from the way you're squeezing around him and suddenly silent that you're struggling to not cum, but he's not willing to stop playing with your clit, not when it's covered in your juices and the prettiest shade of pink he's ever seen.

you let out a mangled groan of frustration mixed with a moan of pleasure as he thrusts into you, his cock suddenly growing as a rush comes to the surface.

knowing he's seconds away from bursting, you let go on the wave of your orgasm, body shaking as rafe fucks you through it, your legs falling to either side of him as his hips press forward, body moving over yours as your chests come together.

rafe lodges his cock as deeply as possible as he cums so deep you think it may be right into your womb.

your moans grow louder before slowly subsiding as his finger moves away from your pussy, but his body stays over yours as his cock begins to soften.

“if i wasn't on birth control i would think that you brought me out here to get you pregnant.” you chuckle.

“i think you'd be pregnant with quadruplets the way we've been going at it.” rafe chuckles, looking up at you with a goofy smile and you don't even bother to correct him that that's not how it works.

“i love you.” you cup his cheek, somehow managing to press a sweet and gentle kiss against his lips despite the acts you've just performed.

“wanna fuck out on the bunny pad tomorrow?” rafe asks.

“must you cheapen the moment?” 

“baby, my cock is still inside of you.” rafe laughs.

you hum as he slowly slips out, his cum spilling out but will be left to clean up later as you move further up the bed, knowing the routine by now. rafe is going to hold you and touch you until he's hard again and then fuck you into oblivion again, then repeat, then repeat.

“but seriously, the bunny pad?” rafe questions.

“oh, absolutely.”

[dwaekkicidal]

omg........... bsf lix............. WHAAATTTT!!!!! now im thinking abt sitting on bsf hyunes lap while sitting around with the others but reader unconciously squirms around and and and he gets hard and and tries to brush it off but he gets hard anyway and and and omg reader being an innocent virgin who doesnt really know whats going on in hyunes mind................. maybe she knows that hes hard and plays it off??? maybe she doesnt? 😮‍💨

- 🥢

i... got carried away. 😭 this has like 800 words

but god do i love the concept of accidental stimulation.

ur just so pretty on his lap and you smell SOO fucking good, he's actually losing his mind. he's been struggling from the get-go, but he eventually gets used to it! like he always does, because this is a normal occurrence between the two of you

but for whatever reason you just cant seem to sit still tonight.. he doesn't know if its the sugary drink you just had, or maybe youre just hyper today?? he doesnt understand!! but he doesnt really have the time to think about it because you seem to forget that he's your bestie and not a chair!

so when you move to position yourself on his lap better because you were "slipping off" and he gets a nice, warm drag of your clothed cunt against his clothed dick, he short circuits ><

he absolutely buffers after that. it only takes him a few seconds to snap out of it though, thanks to jisung whining that his hyung is ignoring him. and then they talk like normal until you move AGAIN. this time seemingly harder. you cant help it, his shorts are just so slippery!

jisung doesn't miss the way hyunjins face contorts and the way he bites his lip almost hard enough to make it bleed, but you sure do. jisung only snickers and gets distracted with something else, allowing hyunjin to turn all his attention to you

but the second he goes to ask you what you're doing, you squeeze your legs together and lean back just the slightest bit,,, he almost moans on the spot

he catches it thankfully and takes a moment to breathe and calm himself and his little friend down. but finds himself getting distracted by the fact that youre still not looking at him and that the only thing facing him is your pretty little ass.. right within reach and he knows he could grab a handful if he really wanted

and he also knows you wouldnt really mind. youre his sweet bestie who trusts him with every secret under the sun!! like your biggest secret that youre a virgin who is waiting for the right guy. youre just his adorable partner in crime who just so happens to come to him to cry about stupid boys so he can kiss those annoying tears away. platonically, of course

but he swears he's never thought about you to this degree before! hes never thought about you riding him and watching your pretty ass bounce and ripple every time your hips hit his! or even about sliding a hand in your hair and tugging it back until you arch your back all nicely while he hits that special spot inside of you that makes you cry!

"where the hell is this coming from?!?!" he would scream into the abyss of his own head

well... he would swear although he knows its a damn lie.

this little situation only makes him want to take things further and actually bend you over every surface on the horizon, and he would genuinely talk to you about those thoughts of his if you just gave him the chance and stopped fucking talking to chris!!

but alas, he's still your bestie and he just wants to be patient for you. and he's just so sure its all an accident! so he just sips his drink and digs his nails into his thigh as you continue to 'obliviously' talk to chris

but, lets be real... there's literally no way you cant feel his hard-on. at this point, he seriously doesnt think he's been so hard before and he can tell your hips are caught on his from the way his dick sits perfectly between your thighs. right under that skirt where he could just pull your panties to the side and give you a real reason to cry-

ahem... anyway!

he quickly catches on how obvious his hard on is when he notices the pink tint on your ears as your hands move to pull your skirt down, seemingly covering his dick from being shown to everybody in the room

oh. so youre just fucking with me? ok. two can play that game

wraps those long arms around your waist and puts his chin on your shoulder, getting all close ><

if you ignore him he'll blow lightly against your ear and then on your neck and will let out a deep, breathy chuckle against your ear when you jump askdjaklsdaklsjdashdja

or if you turn to him right away he'll feign innocence and just tilt his head at you with his lips puckered, "hm?"

will let you go back to talking to chris but will test ur patience now that he thinks that youre teasing him, & starts by rutting his hips up and tightening his arms around you.

to anybody else it would look like he's fixing both of your seating positions, but to him and to you, its just an excuse to feel his tip rub against your pretty, wettening, panties

ends it with squeezing you into his chest tighter and sighing deeply into the crook of your neck, maybe feigning being drunk just to trick his members into leaving the two of you the hell alone!!!

and for some reason it actually works?? so the guys scatter into their rooms with a pat on your shoulder for good luck, assuming that he's super drunk and that you'll have to babysit him for the rest of the night

and he completely ignores you when you poke at him and call out to him until he's sure he heard the last bedroom door close

"honey. do you think you're funny?" places a soft kiss on your shoulder before moving up, placing wet kisses all the way to your jaw where he sucks your first ever hickey into!!

and he knows its your first. cause unfortunately for you, you've told him literally everything.

"you better behave yourself before i bend you over right here right now."

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I CAN'T CLOSE MY EYES ALONE ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; arguing with satoru is always exhausting. bitter and spiteful, you leave him in the bedroom and go find another place to sleep; your couch would be the obvious choice, but where’s the fun in that?

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, f!reader (he calls you ’stubborn girl’ n ’pretty girl’ but other than that it’s gn!!), toru and reader have a fight, reader sleeps in the bathtub (don’t ask it came to me in a vision), hurt/comfort, he's doing his best :<, fluff!!

a/n; smth abt …. arguing w satoru gojo ……. idk why the concept has possessed me in the way that it has i just think hurt/comfort w toru is <33

okay, so maybe this wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had.

in your defense, you weren’t exactly thinking straight; fueled by spite, eager to get far away, and admittedly a little curious as to how it would feel, the decision was made almost purely on impulse. and stupidity, probably.

it’s not comfortable at all.

maybe it could be. maybe if you had just a couple more pillows, a fluffier blanket with a cozier texture. maybe if you had something soft to put beneath you, another blanket or a comforter or — whatever. maybe if you had a warm cup of tea to drink. maybe if you had something warm to hug to sleep. 

or someone.

(aw, what’s wrong? can’t sleep without me after all, huh?)

— nope. you are not going back there. 

just the thought of how smug he’d get makes you bite the inside of your cheek, increasing your already growing frustrations. in desperate search of a more comfortable position, you nuzzle further into the pillow, but nothing works.

your limbs feel stiff, and your bones can’t seem to relax, a discomforting numbness seeping into your spine. and it’s cold. the feeling of porcelain against your skin keeps you tossing and turning, akin to an icy winter breeze, caressing the apple of your cheek. 

still, there’s simply no other option. under absolutely no circumstances can you turn back now. not when you’ve come this far, when you can almost begin to sense an inkling of sleep’s familiar call, the drowsy flutter of your eyelashes.

it takes time, and perseverance — but eventually, the road to sleep does seem to brighten on the horizon. crawling closer and closer, lulling you into its embrace, while all you can do is lie there. completely at its mercy, exhaustion ghosting your subconscious, eyelids ripe with fatigue. 

slowly but surely, your consciousness begins to fade. tenderly, soothingly, like a curtain over your eyes being slowly unveiled. you can almost taste it, on the tip of your tongue; sleep is only a moment away.

soon, you’ll fall into that cozy abyss. and then you’ll open your eyes, and the morning sun will greet you. it’ll be a new day, a better day.

so you keep your eyes closed, and sink a little further into the plush of your pillow, and —

the light flickers on.

in the state you’re in, tiptoeing on the edge between dreams and reality, so tantalizingly close to falling asleep, the brightness is positively grating. even through your shut eyes, it invades your senses — a glow so irritating it’s startling. the bathroom lights mock you with their shine, illuminating your figure, curled up in the tiny bathtub. 

the whine you let out is involuntary, coaxed out from deep within your throat, as the uncomfortable sensation rouses you from your would-be slumber.

satoru raises an unimpressed eyebrow, where he stands by the door.

chest bare, wearing only a flimsy pair of sleeping shorts, he looks at you with tired eyes. exasperation painted onto his dishevelled features. then he clicks his tongue, voice raspy and rich with fatigue.

”you’re ridiculous.”

the judgemental tilt of his voice only makes the annoyance in your veins bubble up once more, just when it was finally about to dwindle. eyes squeezed shut to escape the burn of the artificial light, you let out a sharp wince, burrowing your face deeper into the pillow. 

”turn it off!”

ignoring your angry plea, satoru makes his way over to you. with long, slow strides, vaguely uncoordinated steps. just a little clumsy. he plops down on the edge of the bathtub, and gazes down at you.

you’re lying on your side, arms wrapped around a fluffy cushion, knees against your chest. under the illumination of the bathroom lights, he can see you clearly; messy hair that he yearns to ruffle, a crease between your brows that he yearns to smooth away.

you look awfully uncomfortable, to no one’s surprise. he isn’t sure what else you were expecting. 

despite the sting of the bright lights, you force your eyes open — only to give satoru a halfhearted glare, an attempt at appearing intimidating. though you somehow doubt it’ll work.

resting his jaw on the heel of his palm, satoru tilts his head. soft locks of white hair follow the movement, falling over his eyes, a little more tousled than usual. like he’s been tossing and turning, sprawled out on the bedroom mattress.

and, just like you suspected, the dirty look you send his way doesn’t seem to scare him off. not even in the slightest. if anything, you think you catch a flicker of lazy amusement dancing through his eyes. and it irks you, it does — an itch beneath your skin, a taste of irritation on your tongue.

because satoru is looking at you like you’re somehow in the wrong, here, like you’re the one acting out. as if he isn’t the reason you’re here in the first place.

at this point, you barely even remember what the fight was about. too sleep-deprived to recall it properly, too stressed to make a genuine attempt. all you remember is getting ready for bed, and the familiar sensation of frustration prickling your skin. you remember his pretty little grin, his teasing remarks and refusal to take you seriously.

remember the way he laughed, when you told him what was bothering you; the crinkle of his eyes, the warmth of his hands reaching over to squish your cheeks. a little patronizing.

(there was no malicious intent behind it, that much you know. he probably just wanted to lighten the mood. but it irked you, all the same. hurt you, maybe. just a little bit.)

then you remember storming out. grabbing a blanket and pillow and telling him to sleep on his own, if that’s how he was going to be. the words felt cold as they left your mouth, little breathy icicles. and then you left.

which is why you’re here, right now. curled up in your goddamn bathtub, for some reason that still escapes you, trying desperately to get even a wink of sleep without your boyfriend there to help.

and that’s also why satoru is here, back a tad slouched as he sits on the edge of the bathtub, looking at you like you’re some misbehaving cat. blinking slowly, drowsily, dragged down by the fatigue clinging to his eyelashes. 

(he can’t sleep, either.)

”you’re really gonna sleep in there?” he sighs, after a moment’s pause. any honest concern in his voice is almost entirely overshadowed by the sense of admonition that follows it.

a scoff falls from your lips, sharp like a razorblade. ”yes,” you deadpan, shifting to lie on your stomach, hiding away from his insistent view. ”i was sleeping just fine before you barged in here.”

satoru shoots you a look, thoroughly unimpressed, entirely unconvinced of your blatant lie. ”you’re being dumb,” he huffs. ”at least sleep on the couch.”

”i don’t wanna hear that from you,” comes a hiss, low and disgruntled. a growing irritation. ”and i’m comfortable where i am.”

another dissatisfied huff. why are you being so irrational? he just doesn’t get it. scrambling for excuses, satoru tries his hand at another tactic. 

”you’ll hurt your back.”

another little scoff. oh, so now he suddenly cares? you can’t believe him. 

”so what?”

a moment passes. satoru bites his lip, teeth sinking softly into the flesh; a little pang of ache, but it’s nothing compared to the twist of discomfort in his chest. you’re making this more difficult than it has to be, he thinks. always so stubborn. 

what is he supposed to say? how is he supposed to convince you to come back to bed, when you’re already so set on denying him?

god, he’s tired. he just wants to sleep, close his jaded eyes. just wants to not have to think, for a couple hours, curled up with the only person who makes him feel safe. just wants to dream in soft shapes.

but if you aren’t there, then…

a deep sigh. weary, annoyed. ”c’mon,” he coaxes, blinking sluggishly. ”you know you won’t be able to fall asleep without me. can’t we just make up already?”

your nails dig into the fabric of your blanket. every word he says only seems to deepen the sense of irritation plaguing your sleep-deprived mind.

it makes you want to shut him out, bury your head in the soft sheets and forget about everything else. he keeps acting like you’re just overreacting, like you wanted to have an argument. like he wasn’t the one who made you upset and then laughed at you about it. 

”i don’t need you to fall asleep,” you grumble, muffled by the pillow in your grasp, arms tightening around it. nuzzling deeper into the soft velvet comfort.

satoru’s fingers twitch, as if urging him to pull you close. he almost glares at the cushion in your arms, that you’re hugging so fondly, putting all your body weight on — snuggling into it in search of comfort and warmth.

(that should be his chest.)

the gears in his head turn, slowly and mechanically, as he brings a hand up to card through his hair.

satoru hates seeing you so upset, so far away from him. having to watch you close yourself off, not allowing him to be near, soothe you and take care of you. kiss all your worries away. that’s all he wants to do, everything he needs to keep himself whole, to keep himself from being devoured by an exhaustion he’s lived with for as long as he can remember.

a strong frustration gnaws at his conscience. a certain desperation.

a big, heavy sigh leaves his lips. it bounces off the walls of the bathroom, the white tiles and shiny mirror, as he drags it out. almost childishly. then he’s angling his body to face you properly, big hands resting on his knees, a determined gaze set on your figure.

”look, i’m sorry,” he starts, rigid and earnest. blinking once, twice, chasing away the drowsy weight of his eyelids. ”i shouldn’t have laughed.”

your ears perk up.

shifting to your side as if hoping to hear him better, you peek up at him through half-lidded eyes. almost in disbelief, a kind of hope sprouting in the corners of your dilated pupils.

is he genuinely going to apologize, you wonder? admit that he was in the wrong? does he actually feel bad?

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, until satoru’s voice spills into the air again.

”there. i apologized,” he exhales, a little gruff. annoyed. ”now will you please just come to bed?”

…

wow. 

okay, nevermind. you hope the ceiling fan falls on him.

beneath your skin, a mellow kind of anger bubbles up, blood slowly coming to a boiling point. he’s not sorry at all. of course he isn’t. you were stupid to think he’d actually give you a sincere apology, stupid to think he’d do the one thing that would actually make you want to fall back into his comforting embrace. stupid, stupid. 

clenching your teeth, nails digging into the velvet fabric of the pillow, your eyelids flutter shut once more. only this time, you don’t plan on opening them again — at least not until morning comes. not until you see the sunkissed tiles of the bathroom, until the ache inside your chest has passed.

”satoru,” you enunciate, frigid and final. ”just let me sleep. we can talk tomorrow.” a beat. the tiniest grumble resounds from your lips, tinged with exhaustion. ”i’m too tired for this.”

under his breath, satoru winces. that palpable fatigue in your words sends a tremor running through his chest, discomforting, a shiver of his heart. you won’t look at him anymore, and the hint of finality in your tone makes him feel slightly dejected.

god, he’s awful at this. sincerity has never been his strong suit. he’s gotten better, lately, but it’s still so very foreign.

he didn’t mean to make you angry, didn’t mean to upset you. didn’t mean for the lilt of his voice to make his apology sound insincere. but that’s still what happened.

and satoru isn’t quite sure what to do. 

he’s tired. eyes heavy with lost sleep, glimpses of would-be nightmares he knows he’d have were he to fall asleep right now. an anxious lump has long since formed in the back of his throat, and he misses you. misses your presence, your warmth. misses the feeling of having you close, the knowledge that you haven’t left yet.

(without you, he can’t —)

a sigh. soft, and resigned, flowing from his lips.

the inner turmoil in satoru’s mind begins to fade, slowly but surely, smoothed away by the sight of you. bundled up in a blanket too small to cover you properly, lying in that cold and cramped bathtub, discomfort evident in your features. sadness dripping from the bitter words you grace him with.

so out of reach, too far for him to follow, a boundary he wants to cross more than anything. but something about that meek expression makes him falter, makes his heart twist and turn inside his ribcage.

(he knows that you’re tired, too.)

so satoru swallows his pride.

the words are spoken in a whisper, hushed, through a voice so low you wouldn’t hear it if the silence of the bathroom wasn’t so suffocating. a soft lilt of his voice, bare and raw. meek, in a way that makes him want to crawl under a rock and die. but it’s there, and he lets you hear it; that soft little truth.

”… i can’t sleep without you.”

satoru doesn’t look at you. his confession rings in your ears, laced together with a softness you’ve come to associate with warm spring mornings and rooms so dark you can’t see his face. moments in which satoru feels safe. safe enough to be sincere.

— inevitably, your heart begins to soften.

(he’s trying. it’s difficult for him, but he’s really trying. sincerity and honesty are things that have been used against him all his life, so it’s no wonder he’d be scared.)

it’s very hard to stay mad at him, when he sounds like that. when his words come out sounding a little too much like a plea, a silent call for help. 

with hesitance, you allow your eyes to flutter open, shifting a little to get a better look at him. he’s there, staring into space — the man you’ve grown to love so dearly. his tousled white hair, those slightly forlorn eyes. the vague darkness beneath them, slightly puffy skin. that tired, tired expression. 

satoru taps the edge of the tub with the pads of his fingers, absentmindedly. index finger, middle finger, ring finger, over and over.

then, at last, he meets your gaze. and you think he swallows down a gulp, before smiling — it’s a pretty smile, somewhat tiny. a little sheepish, but awfully sincere. awfully satoru.

he tilts his head, gazing into your eyes with a tenderness that melts your heart to the marrow.

”… please?”

a second passes. then two. 

soft and melodic, your heartbeat resounds in your ears, akin to a lullaby. like the call of a siren, coaxing you into giving in. and you’re weak, you realize, so very weak. just a smile and a tilt of his head, and you’re rendered utterly helpless. 

(he’s just too pretty.)

without fully realizing it yourself, you’ve begun to move, dragging yourself up with sluggish motions. blanket still draped over your shoulders, and pillow snug against your chest, you blink. drowsily, slowly. a little meekly. 

and satoru brightens.

it’s visible, in the way he physically perks up, back straightening, smile finally reaching his aquamarine eyes. a blend between hope and affection sprouts in them, slathered over with something honeyed.

a soft grin blooms on his lips, and he opens his arms wide — silently beckoning you to fall into his embrace. a raspy coo tiptoes on his tongue. 

”c’mere.”

before you can make a move to do so, satoru leans over. scooping you up with ease, as if you weigh absolutely nothing, tucking you into his warm embrace. smothering you in his cushiony chest.

almost instinctively, your arms go to wrap around his neck, cheek smushed against the warm skin of his shoulder. if you strain your ears, you think you can hear the soft patter of his heartbeat. he smells of the tiramisu you ate before going to bed, and just a hint of expensive cologne. he smells of comfort.

satoru is soft, and warm, and everything you need right now. lulling you back into that cozy, sleepy state. your very own personal dose of melanin.

with a big palm on the small of your back, satoru keeps you pressed up against his chest, as if you could change your mind and try to escape at any moment. he stands up, still holding you, and hikes your legs around his waist. breathing out a satisfied hum, before turning on his heel.

satoru smiles, and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. ”let’s get you back to bed, baby.”

after turning the bathroom lights off, he begins to walk to your shared bedroom, still carrying you with one arm. always so strong and reliable. you know for a fact that he’s not going to drop you, so you opt to close your tired eyes; stretching out your limbs, lazily, releasing a quiet yawn that makes his lips curl up.

despite your lingering frustration, you find yourself nuzzling into the crook of his neck — and satoru coos, so painfully soft that you barely even hear it. the restlessness inside his own chest washed away, by the familairity of your body against his.

and before you know it, he’s dropped you down on the mattress. gently, but still enough to make you feel a little jostled, so close to falling asleep in his arms. he drags the blanket up to cover you, tucking you in; this one is bigger, with a fluffier texture, enough to cover you both with ease.

smiling softly at the sight of you all cozy, content in the knowledge that you’re finally comfortable, satoru crawls beneath the blanket and takes his rightful place beside you. eyes crinkled at the corners, rich with affection.

two strong arms reach around your waist, to pull you flush against him, until your head meets his chest and you can hear the soft thrumming of his heartstrings. then he sighs, in pure bliss, thoroughly content. melting into your embrace, rubbing his cheek against the side of your head, nuzzling into the warmth that seeps from your body to his.

he runs his big hands down your back, affectionately, rubbing circles into your skin. coaxing you into melting a little, too.

”see, isn’t this much better?” he smiles, a little cheeky. such a tease.

”… the bathtub was fine.”

a chuckle rumbles through his chest, rich with fondness. his hand goes to card through your hair, nimble fingers smoothing down your scalp and running through the soft strands. every touch gentle, full of care. every word soaked in a syrupy sweetness.

”stubborn girl.”

despite your best wishes, you’re too tired to bite back the blissful sigh that leaves your lips. a part of you still wants to protest, to push him away —

but then you start leaning into his touch. helpless to his warm hands, his soothing voice. satoru is just a little too good at making you melt. so good that you finally begin to let your guard down, nuzzling into his bare skin, sinking a little further into the mattress. 

and satoru stifles a coo. 

”honestly,” he sighs, equal parts exasperated and amused. ”sleeping in the bathtub… you’re so silly.”

before you have a chance to respond, he’s pulling back — ever so slightly, just to get a better look at your face. arms looped around his neck, you blink up at him with droopy eyes, and he can’t resist the dopey grin that sneaks its way onto his lips. doesn’t even begin to try, when you look so unbearably sweet.

unable to stop himself, he broaches the distance between you, leaning close to kiss the top of your nose. and you squeeze your eyes shut at the gesture, face scrunching up, but it only makes him chuckle. smiling, honey-sweet, he admires your sleepy pout. soaks up every soft little grumble that slips from your lips.

his hand comes to cradle your cheek, thumb smoothing down your cheekbone. just gazing at you, taking you in, every single contour of your face. there is only adoration in his eyes. something silently delighted, that seeps into his words, his raspy voice.

”my pretty, pretty girl.”

a heat rushes to your cheeks. looking up at him, into those lovesick eyes, you can’t help but grow flustered.

he looks so content.

all you manage is a weak furrow of your brows, pressing a palm against his bare skin. softly, as if pushing him away, forehead meeting his chest with a soft bonk. hiding away, so he won’t see how much his words affect you.

”lemme sleep, toru…” you mumble, stifling a yawn.

unfortunately, your boyfriend is not one to give in so easily. before long, his fingertips are trailing across the skin of your jaw, coaxing you into lifting your chin. and you’re too sleepy to resist — practically melting, as he begins to smear openmouthed kisses all over your face. all you can do is close your eyes, attempting to ignore the sound of his exaggerated mwahs, frowning in a silent disapproval that you know you don’t actually mean.

satoru notices it, though. he always does.

”you still mad at me, baby?” he asks, in a way that sounds a little like he’s cooing at you. there’s a teasing tilt to his voice, but it’s also a genuine question. your frown deepens.

averting your gaze with a soft huff, even as he cradles your jaw with his slender fingers, a pout plays at your lips. under his kind eyes, you feel just a bit meek — recalling your argument from before. absentmindedly, you fidget with the waistband of his shorts, hoping to ease your nerves.

despite your valiant efforts to direct your vocal cords in a different direction, the voice that spills from your lips comes out sounding just a tad hurt.

”… you never take me seriously.”

satoru’s eyes soften.

his smile falters, by a hair, a brief stilling of movement. subtle, but hard not to pick up on. there’s a certain sense of shame in his irises, a genuine guilt stirring his heartstrings; several discomforting sensations, gnawing at the bones of his ribcage.

(you look so small.)

two hands reach out to cup your cheeks, big and warm. swallowing up your whole face. and before you can react, satoru leans in to press a sweet, chaste kiss against your lips. he tastes like tiramisu. 

”’m sorry. we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?” he hums, and you can tell that he means it. ”i promise that i’ll take you seriously. for real, this time.”

as you look into those eyes of his, blue and soft around the edges, the last of your frustration is finally washed away. with a meek downward glance, and a faint nod, satoru relaxes — releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. relieved at your silent forgiveness.

tomorrow, he’ll definitely make it up to you. he’ll hear you out, without opening his big mouth, or trying to skirt around any emotions that make him feel even slightly uncomfortable. smoothing a big palm down your back, he hopes you feel it as a silent apology. 

for now, he’ll just hold you. he’ll hold you, and kiss all your worries away, and keep you comfy and warm. that’s his duty. the only one he’d willingly choose, the only weight on his shoulders that never feels even a little bit suffocating. the only one he wouldn’t cast away, if given the chance.

nuzzling back into the safety of his collarbone, your heartbeat settles into a drowsy rhythm, slow and serene. satoru squeezes you in a tight hug, reassuring. comforting.

he can be a handful, and a little insensitive, but you love him a lot. you can’t imagine not loving him. 

”… goodnight, toru,” you whisper. ready to give into sleep’s call, at last.

satoru smiles. you can hear it in his voice, sweet and silky, a soft curl of his lips. ”goodnight, honey,” he presses a kiss against your shoulder. warm, his breath on your skin. ”i love you.”

a yawn escapes your throat. ”love you too…” you mumble, sleepily. that one soft truth, before your consciousness fades.

and satoru’s smile only grows. hopelessly, inevitably, in the same way his hands can’t help but to bring you closer. until your heart is flush against his own, and he swears he can feel your heartbeats synchronize.

finally, with those three little words, satoru should be able to go to sleep. drifting off, he can only hope you’ll still be in his arms by the time he awakens.

(then again; you always are, aren’t you?)

[tetzoro]

FROM THE START — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. jean kirstein !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : your last semester is coming to a close with finals only a breath away. but your feelings for jean rage now more than ever. with a ticking clock now set, there’s only a matter of time left to confess your true feelings.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI! f!reader. college au, pwp, mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex, praise, fingering, pet names (pretty girl, baby), jean has a horsecock, creampie. — WC : 5.1k.

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : this was going to be from a series i started a long time ago but i just condensed it into one lil fic. enjoy ^_^

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

“alright hot shot, tell me what you see.” jean asks, readying his pen up, wiggling himself in false anticipation. you roll your eyes and lay your head back on the towel.

you took a moment to appreciate your surroundings. the way the sun kissed your face, it’s touch warming your whole body up in the softest form of intimacy. gazing up at the clouds, you see a few notable shapes you could point out but your eyes wander to the water. the sound of crashing waves further soothing your mind as you take it all in. off on the horizon, you see the perfect formation of clouds.

“there!” you point up at a cluster of clouds. “it looks like a pirate ship with a whale swimming under it.”

“where the hell-“ jean trailed off, searching the sky for whatever abomination you were looking at. it was your guys' favorite game to play. you got to cloudgaze and point out the shapes in the sky while jean did a quick sketch of it so you could hold onto your piece of the cloud forever. “you’ve been watching too much one piece.” he grumped, starting to sketch.

“oh shut up.” giggling, you flip onto your stomach, watching him as he sketches. he always did a quick one, not wanting to linger on something for too long as he wanted to keep playing. his face was relaxed except for his eyebrows. the furrow of his brow matching the intensity of the grip on his pencil as it flew across the page. he was so lost in his own little world he didn’t realize you were staring. 

sighing from the lack of attention, you flip back over to look at the water. the waves were a force today, so strong that it scared even you to go into the water. but everyone else chanced fate as they swam around the shore.

“you better get your asses in the water!” eren shouts, making his way to you guys. judging by the look on his face, he was serious. 

“it’s too salty, i always get the water in my mouth.” jean complained, tucking his sketchbook away as eren made his approach. you never knew what kind of stunt he was going to pull.

“yeah? you wouldn’t even go in to save a damsel in distress?” eren smirked, his gaze turning on you as the water droplets dripped down his body.

“eren don’t you da-“ you squeal as he hoists you up, running towards the water as your literally kicking and screaming. eren just laughed as he rushed into the waves. the water wasn’t as cold as you thought it would be but it was still a shock. one that shut you up and made you cling to eren. “don’t you dare drop me.”

“wasn’t planning on it.” he smirked, giving you a tiny wink. “i was going to throw you.”

“eren!” you scream as he tosses you into the waves, water flowing into your mouth as you sunk down a little. you weren’t under the tide for long as an arm wrapped itself around your waist, pulling you up from under. 

“you’re such an ass.” jean’s voice rang out over erens laughter. you rub your eyes, trying to get excess water out before you turn your glare towards eren. you break from jeans’ hold as you launch yourself towards him, trying to push your weight on his head to push him under the water. but of course, he doesn’t budge.

“you’re so annoying.” you hiss, trying not to break out into giggles. “you always pull that shit.”

“come on, you like it. otherwise you would’ve learned your lesson by now and come swim with all of us sooner.”

you scoff, knowing that in his own twisted way, he was right. beach days like this were hard to come by, and with finals around the corner, it was much needed. 

mikasa and armin were on the shore, oblivious to the games that you guys were playing as they looked for shells. armin had his collection in his dorm, all the ones he’s found stuffed into a jar. 

connie and sasha had been in the ocean awhile ago but got out to take a snack break, leaving eren all alone in the water. hence, eren coming to bother you and jean. 

“still.” jean rolls his eyes, making his way by your side. “it’s not like you give us a chance to come in by ourselves. we’ve been here for what, 30 minutes?”

“classic jean, always complaining about something.” eren rolls his eyes right back at him, effectively pushing jeans buttons.

“why you little—“ jean took a step forward, only to be stopped by your hand on his chest. you look over and eren who tried to puff up his, ready for jean to come at him.

“alright guys, knock it off.” you sigh, looking over to mikasa for back up. like a sixth sense, she knew you needed her and made eye contact with you. it didn’t take her long to reach your side.

“eren, come help me and armin with the shells.” she said, her gentle yet commanding voice taking over the previous tension. eren scoffs again, immediately turning pink as mikasa touches his arm, trying to coax him to come with her.

that was all it took— the two setting off to the shore and back to armin. leaving you and jean alone once again.

“anyway,” you drag out the word, turning to face jean. he had calmed down a little but no one could rile him up like eren could. “wanna find connie and sasha? maybe see what they found to eat?”

“like they’d share.” he laughed, looking down at you. “besides, i’m kind of used to the water now. we might as well enjoy it since we are here.”

“are you being optimistic?” you tease, splashing him with the water. he looked at you with intense mock offense.

“i’m always optimistic!” he retorts, splashing more water back at you.

“yeah, right. you mean you’re always so dramatic.” you laugh, keeping up the game your started as you push water towards him.

“i’m gonna get you for that.” he laughs, splashing again. you two go at it for awhile until jean accidentally took in a mouthful of water — one of the waves not too kindly crashing over him. he spits it out with a disgusted face, his tongue slightly hanging out as the salt water rests on it. “blegh. this always happens to me. c’mon, let’s get out of here. we should probably get ready for the party tonight anyway.”

you nod, excitement flooding your veins for the party later. everyone was going to be there and you needed time to get ready and more importantly, get the salt water out of your hair.

you didn’t get a chance to look at him before, but as jean walked out of the water, you were painfully reminded at how fit he was. water droplets cascaded down his body, following the dips and curves of his muscles. even his mullet looked good, all slicked back and drenched in the salt water.

you let out a silent sigh as you follow him out of the water, mentally kicking yourself for staring at him for too long again. but the feelings he gave you swirled in your stomach, expanding to every synapse in your body before exploding.

tonight would be the night you tell him. tonight will be the night everything will change.

jeans fingers clenched around the solo cup, the sound of it snapping easily getting lost in the sea of voices that filled the room. the remnants of his beer trickled along his fingers before he threw it to the side, wiping the rest on his pants in a haste.

it only took him a few steps to get where he needed to be — right in front of you. you with your perfect smile, perfect laugh, perfect perfect perfect. it’s all he could think when he saw you. how could you not realize that?

“you okay, jean?” you ask, the words sounding so sweet coming out of your mouth that all he wanted to do was savor them. your expression caught him off guard though, the sweet words not adding up to the coy grin you had spreading across your plush lips. “you look kind of angry.”

jean didn’t know what to say. did you know how he felt? were you trying to play him out to be a fool? but as soon as he heard erens stupid giggle, the words didn’t stop flowing from his mouth.

“you got a problem jaeger? something seem funny to you?” he snapped at eren, his voice low, signaling he wasn’t in the mood. but of course, eren was eren, and he loved nothing more than making a fool out of jean.

“yeah, actually.” he sneered, taking a step closer to jean. “i do think something’s funny.”

“enlighten me then. id love to hear what you find so funny.” jean fired back, taking a closer step to him, clenching his fist. they hadn’t fought in awhile but today, jean needed to let out some of his frustration. why did eren get your attention tonight? why couldn’t you talk to him instead?

he didn’t realize how close he had gotten to eren, practically touching noses, until he felt your light touch on his shoulder. a touch he had grown to be familiar with, something that never failed to soothe him, even just a little bit.

“guys, stop.” your voice breaks out. it was smooth, soft, but they both knew that underneath it lied something vicious. neither one wanted to see that side come from you, especially since mikasa was already side eyeing them. the two of you together was one of the scariest things anyone could ever face.

jean and eren took a hasty step away from each other, scowling and avoiding eye contact with one another. your hand slid from his shoulder down jean’s bicep, holding onto him gently. the act itself was so soft yet it held so much power over him. he couldn't help but lean into it before deciding to throw an arm around your shoulder.

something always felt so right when you were tucked under him like this. you fit so perfectly. your arm wrapped around his waist and he led you to the living room, away from eren.

“so, wanna tell me what happened back there?” you ask as the two of you manevoured towards your favorite spot. at every party, you guys would always find yourself at this spot by the end of the night. it was so cozy, the couch tucked in the corner of the room, away from the main sitting area.

he sat down and you followed suit. looking up at him, he looked slightly disheveled. his normally tamed mullet was all of the place, the result of him running his hands through it one too many times. plus, he didn’t look back at you. the bob of his left leg going up and down at an incredible speed. 

you place your hand lightly on his leg and the response was immediate. his leg halted its movement and his eyes found yours in record time. offering him a small smile, you reach up to smooth his hair back.

“nothing happened.” he said softly, watching you very carefully as you tended to him. relishing in the touch you gave him. “don’t worry about it.”

“jean,” you start, your hand caressing down his cheek, moving over to tuck some of his hair behind his ear. “you know you can talk to me, right?”

his cheeks were tinted pink, something you chalked up to the alcohol he was drinking earlier. but his gaze was set on you, peering down deep into your eyes. the contact almost made you shudder. 

“i know.” he bit the inside of his cheek as he contemplated what he wanted to say— or rather, how he wanted to say it. “i just got jealous is all.”

this, you weren’t expecting. out of all the things jean could’ve said, this never crossed your mind. the shock had your head reeling back, removing your hand from his hair. the loss of contact stirred a panic within him, mirroring the panic that was starting to bubble up in you.

“jealous?” you squeak out. jealous of what? of eren? or you? or what? jean stared into your eyes for a moment, the anticipation was rippling down your spine, finding it’s home in your stomach. 

“yes.” he breathed out softly, placing his hand over the one you had resting on the couch. “i was jealous.”

“of what?” you blink, at war with yourself. his hand felt heavy, almost suffocating but it was the only thing that could soothe you. the room was too small and the alcohol was churning in your stomach. your hand turned over, gripping onto his as a way to ground yourself in the moment.

“of eren.” he said, his brows furrowing as he took in your reaction. he didn’t mean for this to come out now, but you looked so sincere when you told him to talk to you. all the things he’s never told you bubbled up in his throat, threatening to spill out if he didn’t do something. his fight or flight was activated, and he didn’t want to run away this time. “i wanted you-“

the gears start turning in your head as he spoke, knocking off the dust before it struck like clockwork. 

the room around you guys came back into focus as someone knocked their drink over you both. the liquid seeped into the fabric of your dress, eliciting chills all over you but you weren’t sure if it was from this or from the conversation you were having.

normally, you’d laugh something like this off. it had happened before and it was bound to happen again. but the stakes had been too high, your emotions were already being drawn out and this was just too much. 

“im so sorry-“ reiner said, trying his best to find something to help clean you up. all you could do was stare at your stained dress. what was jean going to tell you?

“way to go reiner.” jean hissed, standing up to face him. reiner was at a loss for words; it was an honest mistake. but jean wasn’t mad at him, he wasn’t even mad that he spilled his drink on you guys — accidents happen. no, he was furious because you were on the verge of tears and he couldn’t tell if it was because of him or not.

“jean.” you say, grabbing his clenched fist. he hadn’t even realized he had been so wound up. he helps pull you up, tucking you back under his arm. the smell of his colonge enveloped you in a warm embrace, one that felt familiar to you and cleared your head from the fog that was slowly wrapping itself around you. “let’s get cleaned up.”

he froze. he absolutely froze. the tiniest smirk rose on reiner’s face as he turned away, getting back to the party. jean wanted to punch it right off. 

“let’s go to the bathroom.”  he steered you away from the party towards the back of the house. many faces passed you guys as you walked forward, but all you could do was look at the man leading you. he held onto your hand as he dragged you through the party, pulling you behind him so you don’t get separated.

your eyes trail along his arm, lingering ever so slightly at his bicep — was his shirt always that tight? he looked good, even though parts of it held remnants of reiners drink. continuing upwards, you land on his face. 

his jaw was tensed as he pulled you through the crowd. determined, fierce. like it was his duty to escort you to the bathroom and it wasn’t something he took lightly. in all your years you knew jean, you don’t think you had ever seen him as clearly as you did in this moment.

you two make it to the bathroom that was connected to his bedroom, shutting the door and closing you both in. 

“i’m sorry about reiner.” he sighs, moving to grab a towel as you hop up on the counter. you watch him move with a strong purpose, a serious one that involves drying your dress. 

“it’s okay, accidents happen.” you shrug as he starts patting the towel against the cloth, trying to absorb whatever he can. but you both know the damage was done — the dress was stained and seeped with alcohol, it’s only hope was to throw it in the washer. 

“i think we need to call it.” he says with a small smile, looking up at you perched on his counter. you smile back down at him before feigning a frown. 

“so soon? not even giving her a proper fighting chance?” you sigh, “but if you insist, what are our options.”

“well,” he took a step back to hang up the towel, the loss of his presence already hitting you in the gut. “you’ll have to wash it but in the meantime i can give you some of my clothes to wear.”

“aw, thank you jeanbo.” you hop off the counter. “that would be perfect.”

taking your hand, he leads you into his bedroom before he searches for something suitable for you to wear. you look around his room in the meantime, your eyes landing on his sketchbook — open to the boat he was drawing earlier at the beach. you smile to yourself, glad that he has kept it. 

jean breaks you out of your head, tossing you some clothes and you go back into his bathroom to change into them.

after peeling your dress off and throwing on the clothes he gave you, you walk back into his room and see him sitting idly on the couch, twiddling his thumbs before you capture his gaze. 

“what?” you ask him, eyes widening as you catch him staring. he clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away like he wasn’t just giving you his undivided attention.

“nothing!” he quickly says, slightly pink in the cheeks as he turns back towards you. “it’s just, you look good in my clothes.”

“oh?” you give him a little smirk and he regrets ever opening his mouth. rolling his eyes, he goes to retort but it dies in his throat before he ever had the chance to spit it out.

you were right in front of him — how you got there so quickly, he’ll never know. the palms of your hands rest on his shoulder before you lower your face to his level. 

“you really think so?” you tilt your head to the side with a smile, one of your hands running up along his neck and to the back of his head, playing with the edges of his mullet.

you weren’t sure what made you feel so emboldened, the alcohol you had earlier was long out of your system. but something pushed you towards him like a magnet, a voice in your head encouraging you to finally confess like you planned.

“i really do.” his breath almost hitches as he looks at you. “you always look good though, the prettiest girl in the world.”

his compliment hits you in the chest, blooming into a warmth that seeped through every nerve in your body. your faces were so close, your breathing was shallow, all it would take was a little nudge to — 

but he beats you too it, forever a man driven by impulse. surging himself forward to capture your lips against his, pouring every ounce of passion into it — desperate to let you know how he feels without uttering a word. 

his hand cradles loosely around your neck, using it to pull you forward so you’re falling into his lap. your heart was soaring with each kiss, already addicted to the way he makes you feel — how dizzy your mind grew as his sweet kisses filled your head.

“is this okay?” jean whispered against your lips. everything was so warm; like the beginning of summer igniting that special buzz in the air. you wanted it to swallow you whole, you wanted this more than you have ever wanted anything before in your life. you nod against him, moving your lips back onto his in a hurried fashion. 

jean wasted no time now. he wrapped his arms around you and hiked you further up onto his lap, groaning so sweetly into the kiss you two shared. as each passing second went on, the messier the kiss got. breathing was the last thing on your mind right now, all you could do was feed off of what jean was giving you and hoped it would be enough to sustain you.

jean was no better, his hands couldn’t stay still. finally, he was able to be with you, no more dancing around each other. a part of him wanted to kick himself for waiting so long but the other part told him to enjoy this moment. so he planned on it.

his hands slide up under your shirt, the cold metal from his rings causes you to gasp at the sudden contact, arching your back and pressing your chest against him. jean took the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth, pulling you in closer. 

there was no telling how long you two stayed tangled up together on the little couch in his room, the make out session only growing needier and needier. years of pent up tension was finally able to flow. 

“let’s move on the bed, yeah?” jean asked, his eyes still shut from your kiss.

“yeah.” you nod, pulling him in for another kiss as you both stand up. he walks backwards toward his bed before the back of his knees hit it. he sits, pulling you down on top of him once again, his hips moving up so you can feel his hardness ache for you.

“been wanting this for so long.” he murmurs, moving his lips from yours, to your cheek, down your jaw and back to yours for a heated kiss. “ever since i met you.”

“me too.” you breathe out, already craving to be closer to him. “can't wait any longer.”

hooking his hands under your backside, he quickly flips you so you’re under him, sprawled out on his bed in ways he’s dreamed about for years. 

“me neither.” he surges back down, his kiss growing needier with every second. the clothes you had just graciously put on were now being pulled off by him — along with his own. he pulls back for a moment to admire you, taking in every curve of your body. you almost want to shy away from his gaze but the look in his eye was so loving, so full of adoration, that you didn’t. “you’re so beautiful.”

and with the way he said it, you believed it.

he doesn’t waste anymore time, moving you around so he can ease himself over you, slotting himself between your legs. his hair fell in front of his face a bit so you reach up, tucking it back behind his ear. the sweet, simple gesture sent him into overdrive, hungrily kissing you as a man who had been deprived of it since the day he met you.

his hand smoothes down your side before his fingers find themselves between your thighs. hestitantly, he prods against your slick entrance, almost nervous to take the plunge. but you’re quick to reassure him, rolling your hips to greedily suck his digit in.

he moans into your mouth, feeling how tight you are around his finger. his mind already wandering to how snug his cock will feel once he’s  finally inside of you. but he knows he has to prep you first, slipping in another finger to properly stretch you out.

and the sweet noises you make fill his head with a peace he’s always longed for. every sense was focused on you, addicted to showering you in pleasure. he could spend all day doing this, soaking up every mewl of his name.

“jean, please.” you pull back a bit to speak, the sounds of your cunt squelching from his fingers filling the room. “need you to fuck me.”

“anything you want.” he kisses the corner of your mouth, quickly taking a hold of his cock and pressing it against your entrance. “you ready for me?”

“i am.” you nod, hips already moving as you try to find friction. he starts to push in, the tip of his cock already stretching you out. the girth alone has your toes curling but it felt like his cock was never ending — consistently shoving more of it in, inch by thick inch. 

“almost there, pretty girl.” he grunts, eyes trained on you, searching for any hint of pain. the stretch felt so good, splitting you open as he finally bottoms out. you both let out a gasp, your warm walls snuggly wrapped around his cock in a heaven he never dreamed of existing.

he murmurs sweet praises in your ear as he lets you adjust, telling you how good you are, how tight you feel. softly kissing your temple as you give him the go ahead to move.

he starts slow, sensual. taking his time and dragging his cock in and out, searching for that special button deep inside of you. 

it felt like he was everywhere, so lodged up into you, you swore you could feel the tip of his cock pressing against your heart. it stole your breath away, lungs losing function as you gasp for air.

“that’s it, baby, just keep taking it. i promise i’m gonna make you feel so good, okay? you don’t have to do a thing.” he kisses your neck, leaving little marks of love in his wake. “you’re already doing s’much, making me feel so, so good.”

“jean i-.” you croak out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he finds the soft, cushiony part of you, a place where your fingers could never reach. he completely filled you up, your mind already growing hazy from it.

“gonna go faster, okay?” he presses a soft kiss against your jaw, your head nodding along to whatever he was saying. “so good f’me.”

his praise has you clenching around him, eliciting a guttural moan from him. it was all it took to break the last bit of his resolve — hips starting to snap against yours.

there was no way you could stay quiet, the pleasure was overwhelming, leaving you to forget where you were. the cry of his name had his ego soaring, cockiness filling his veins. his hand covers your mouth as he drives into you harder.

“can’t be too loud, unless you want everyone at the party to know how good i’m making you feel.” he murmurs. you could tell by his tone that he was feeling as good as you were, pleasure already threatening to consume him the longer he thrust into you.

his hand lowers from your mouth, opting to use it to hike up your leg, propping it over his shoulder. if it was even possible, he was deeper — his cock practically kissing your cervix.

he knew he wasn’t going to last long. a nearly impossible task that he knew going in, he’d fail. but as long as you came around his cock, he’d count it as a win.

his deft fingers find your neglected nub and your body all but jolts under his hold. he swirls your clit around in measured circles, your cries only growing louder. but he’s too entranced to cover them up — every instinct telling him to keep giving you more.

“jean!” you cry, “i’m s-so close!”

“go ahead and let go f’me, need to feel you.” he encourages, hitting that spongey part harder as his fingers deliciously dance along your clit. his approval pushed your over the edge, back arching up as ecstasy took you away.

the sight alone had jean’s hips stuttering. as if you could read his mind, you said, “cum inside, jean. need you to fill me up.

the whine you let out had him pushing his pulsing cock as deep as he could before releasing inside of you. his hips jolt with each rope of cum, groans of your name slipping out of his mouth as he fills you up. every time you clenched around him only pulled more cum out of him.

“cant stop cumming, fuck-.” he rasped out, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he finally finishes. he falls beside you, trying not to put all his weight on you as his cock continues to twitch in your warmth.

all you can do is try to catch your breath, gazing at each other, sharing the same thought of why did this take you so long.

he slowly pulls out of you, both of you letting out a soft noise. pressing a kiss to your head, he stands up and grabs a towel, carefully cleaning you up. 

once he’s done, he lays back down in bed, his back hitting the pillows as he pulls you up into his arms. your head rests against his chest, no doubt listening to his ever-racing heart — the one that only beats for you.

“jean-“ you say at the same time as he says your name. you both giggle at each other, feeling weightless in each other's embrace. 

“you go.” he encourages you, moving so he can get a better look at you. 

“i um.” you feel heat rise to your face. after everything you just did, confessing your feelings still feels nerveracking. but looking into his warm eyes, it melts away those doubts, filling them with hope instead. “i love you.”

“i love you too.” his face splits into a smile, one that eases your soul and lulls you into him. he takes a deep breath, ready to spill out everything he’s been feeling. “i want you to be mine. i want to wake up next to you everyday, i want to draw you pictures of the clouds all day long, i want to kiss you whenever you need a kiss, i want to hold your hands on the days that life feels too much. please, be my girlfriend.”

“of course jean.” you smile, leaning up to press a lingering kiss on his cheek. “i was yours from the start.”