#it was like rose water in dream form

[la-cocotte-de-paris]

That moment when you wake from a dream and feel as though you had been kissed by a spirit

[rowarn]

PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT 1

simon riley / reader

FIND PART TWO || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: any triggering acts such as harassment/sa are done by a third party, not simon!!! also the sa is not vague or implied, there is a written out scene so please be mindful when you read! thank u to @allsaiint for reading over this and helping!

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

part 1: 17.8k total: 35.8k

Your muscles were stiff, thighs twitching and trembling as you laid in bed, staring at your water stained ceiling. Your chest rose and fell in time with rapid breathing. You had worn yourself out, caused a wet spot on your bed, yet you remained completely unsatisfied. Your fingers were cramped up and you let out a groan of frustration, rolling over to crawl out of bed. 

It had become a daily ritual at this point, you with your hand between your thighs, rubbing and touching, only to get into the shower completely unsatisfied and embarrassed at your own inability to get yourself off. 

People your age didn’t struggle like this, you convinced yourself.  Your cheeks burned as you stepped under the warm spray from your showerhead, the creaking pipes just background noise to you now. You were broken, that was the only explanation you could think of. 

By the time you got out of the shower and changed your sheets, throwing the dirty ones into the washer, it was evening and a familiar knocking rang through your apartment.

You didn’t even have to answer it before the lock was clicking and the large form of your best friend Simon ducked in. 

“Hey, Simon!” you called cheerfully, excitedly bounding into the room and wrapping your arms around him in greeting. 

He grunted, harshly patting your back in the familiar way he always does before kicking his boots off. When he straightened up, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at you. 

“What's with you?” he asked, a thick, dark brow raised suspiciously. 

“Um,” you stepped back, shrugging as you tried to look nonchalant, “What do you mean?”

“You look…” his eyes raked down your body, clearly assessing you, “You look tense.”

Immediately, your cheeks erupted into flames. Your face felt so hot that you had to bring your hands up to cool them before laughing nervously, “That’s no different than usual.”

He was silent for several, long, grueling seconds before grunting and breezing past you to the kitchen, clearly letting it drop. You took a moment to catch your breath before following him, finding him hunched over looking into your barren refrigerator. 

“Where’s all your fuckin’ food?” he snapped, straightening back up with a huff when he heard you come in behind him.

“Didn’t get a chance to shop this week, Si,” you replied stiffly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why?” he demanded, slamming the appliance closed before heading to your cabinets to do inventory there too.

“Paycheck was short again this week,” you answered, speaking quietly in hopes he wouldn’t look into it anymore than that. 

He angrily slammed a cabinet closed and leaned on his palms against the counter, head hung between his shoulders, “Your boss fuckin’ stiff you again?”

“I-It’s not a big deal, Simon–” you attempted to quell him.

“Not a big deal?” he snapped, slamming his hands down on the counter, making you flinch at the noise. You knew Simon would never, ever hurt you but his anger was something to behold nonetheless, “It is a big deal when you can’t even afford to fuckin’ eat!”

“Simon…” you whisper, anxiously picking at a string on your cotton shorts, “I wasn’t going hungry, I have like…ramen and stuff…”

He says your name through gritted teeth, letting out a frustrated sigh, “Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t afford proper groceries?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it, Si,” you mutter, “I-It’s my problem, not yours.”

He gives you a long, unblinking stare. His usual soft, puppy dog brown eyes now felt intimidating. One thing about Simon was that he never hid it when he was clearly upset with you. And knowing he was right now made you hang your head pitifully.

He moves suddenly, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a small stack of clean bills, slapping them on your countertop.

“Simon, no–” you attempt to reach out for them, willing him to take the money back.

He grabs your hand immediately, shoving the appendage away from the money, “You’ll take this and you’ll go to the store tomorrow and get some damn food or I’m going to go to the bar and wrap my fuckin’ hands around your boss’s throat until he coughs up your money.”

“You don’t have to do this, Simon!” you argue, exasperated, “Y-You don’t have to take care of me like this.”

“Yes, I fuckin’ do!” he counters, “You’re my responsibility and I’m not going to let you exist on fuckin’ cup noodles until that shithead pays you properly, not when I can take care of you. Now stop arguing and put this in your wallet now.”

He used that damn Lieutenant voice, leaving no room for argument. You bit your lip and slowly picked up the bills from the counter.

“Thank you, Simon…” you whisper, clutching the money close to your chest as you offer him a wobbly smile.

“Shut up and go,” he huffs, though his voice is much softer and affectionate now. 

You turn on your heel and go to the table by the door, slowly taking the time to place the money safely inside. You felt tears pricking at your eyes. You were so, so lucky to have someone in your life that did everything in his power to take care of you, to look after you and make sure you had food on the table. No one had ever cared about your well-being the way Simon did, and your heart felt incredibly full because of it. 

You could hear him still stalking around the kitchen, grumbling to himself in annoyance. He comes out of the kitchen, phone in hand, before he’s taking a seat on your old, creaky couch. His knee is bouncing up and down in that way it always does. It’s like he’s always a live wire, ready and waiting for something to happen.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, still standing by the table.

He grunts, shaking his head, “Orderin' dinner.”

“Oh,” you mumble, “What’re you getting?”

“Gettin’ from that breakfast diner you like,” he responds quickly, not looking up from his phone. 

“You don’t even like that place,” you giggle, “In the mood for a breakfast sandwich?”

“Not for me,” was his clipped response.

“What?” you whine, “Simon, don’t order me food!”

“Did you eat today?” he asks quickly, placing his phone on the table, clearly done with the order.

“I had cup noodles!” you point an accusing finger at him, “So yes!”

“That’s not real food,” he leans against the back of the couch, closing his eyes with his arms crossed over his chest. End of conversation. 

You sigh, shaking your head. You debate continuing to pester him about it but you hear your washing machine begin to ring the jingle signaling the cycle is finished. You cast one last, unseen glare to the man on your couch before heading to the washer, methodically taking the now clean sheets out. 

You finish placing it in the dryer and turning the machine on, stepping back into the living room when there’s a knock on the door. Simon is on his feet in seconds and at the door before you can even react. When he slams the door shut, he holds the bag of food up for you to see, dropping it on the coffee table before taking a seat again. He resumes the same position, arms cross over his chest and eyes closed. 

“Are you tired?” you ask softly, taking the empty seat beside him. He hums in response, “You want to spend the night?”

“Guess so,” he responds after a few seconds, “You work tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night,” you mumble, reaching for the bag of food, untying the knot so you can get inside, “I hate working Friday nights.”

“I can stop by tomorrow if you want,” he offers, finally opening his eyes.

You think it over for a minute. It wouldn’t be the first time he sat in the bar on a busy Friday night, nursing a half-drunk bourbon, as he waited for you to get off, “I think it’ll be okay. Last week was fine.”

He simply stares at you in silence before sighing through his nose. But he doesn’t argue and you’re thankful for that. 

Simon’s been looking after you like this since you turned 18 and moved out on your own. There have been many, many days and nights that you’ve taken up his time and energy and as you grew older, you tried to do it less. He had an incredibly busy job and life and the last thing you wanted was to add weight onto his already heavy shoulders. 

The evening turned to night and before you knew it you had a full belly and leftovers to store in the fridge for breakfast. You folded your dried sheet and placed it in the hallway closet, acutely aware of the sound of Simon showering in your bathroom. 

It wasn’t a very big shower and you sometimes wondered what it looked like for him in there. Surely he had to hunch down to properly wash his hair and shoulders. But those thoughts always turned into something less than innocent. 

You imagined what he looked like, all wet. How big he surely looked in there, no doubt he would dwarf you. He would be able to easily crowd you in the corner, make it so you couldn't escape as he blocked the exit – not that you would want to escape. 

You slapped a hand against your forehead, shaking your head violently to rid yourself of those thoughts. You tugged a spare blanket out of the closet and slammed it closed, rushing to your bedroom to place it on your bed. 

Your cheeks burned with shame over having such unsavory thoughts about your best friend. As much as you liked to pretend that the crush you had on him when you were children had faded like typical puppy love, you knew your feelings were alive and well deep inside where you had pushed them when he rejected you when you were 14. 

It was just because you were so pent up, you convinced yourself, you would have those thoughts about any man that was inside your shower!

You crawled onto your side of the bed, flopping back into your pillow as you waited for him to come in. You completely ignored the throbbing between your thighs, a feeling you were more than used to by now. But your fingers itched to reach down, slip beneath the band of your shorts and touch your clit, the little bud throbbed so desperately that when you clenched your thighs together, a shiver would go down your spine. 

Just as you started to reach down, just to try and relieve the ache that settled there, the bathroom door opened. You yanked your hand back up and tried to look casual as you heard his heavy footsteps move towards the bedroom door.

He pushed the door open wider so he could come in, having to duck his head down to avoid hitting his head. He placed his towel in the laundry basket and slowly crawled into bed beside you, placing his pillow flat so he could comfortably lay down.

Some people may find it strange sleeping with him like this, but your couch was much too small for him and he would rather cut his own fingers off than make you sleep on the damned thing. It was old and so uncomfortable that it caused you to be sore if you sat on it for too long. Plus, you never felt uncomfortable having him in the bed with you like this. He was warm and safe and he always smelled like your grapefruit body wash after he showered. 

It made your heart thump in your chest, knowing he walked around the next day smelling like you. 

“Goodnight, Simon,” you mumbled, reaching over to turn your bedside lamp off.

He grunted quietly, rolling over so his back was facing you. You smiled in the dark and snuggled down into your own blanket, closing your eyes as well. 

The next morning, you woke up and the bed was empty. As usual. 

Even when he was home, Simon functioned off of the strict military schedule he’d been accustomed to for his many years in the military. You sat up and stretched your arms above your head, tossing your blanket off of you. The floor was chilly against your bare feet, making you shiver. 

After going pee, you ventured out into the living room. Simon was lounging, quietly watching TV – the morning news, it seemed.

“Good morning,” you called. 

“Eat,” was all he replied, not even breaking his gaze off of the TV.

You purse your lips but do as you’re told – not because he said so, but because your stomach was painfully growling and the breakfast sandwich in the fridge sounded delicious. 

As you heated it up in the microwave, you hummed to yourself.

“I’m going to go to the store after I eat,” you called, “Do you want to come?”

“Nah,” he grunted, “Gotta go soon.”

“Oh,” you tried to hide your disappointment, “Will you be back tonight?”

“Probably not,” he responded, your disappointment only growing at that. 

The microwave beeped and you pulled your plate of food out, bringing it back to the living room to eat it beside him. He took up an absurd amount of space given how large he was and how small your couch was – but you didn’t mind being pressed up against him. You didn’t think he minded either because he never bothered to move away. 

You quietly ate your breakfast, finishing up just as the news segment ended. Simon stood, knees popping as he did, patting his pockets to make sure he had his keys and wallet before pausing, looking around. 

“You leaving?” you ask, placing your plate on the table as you followed his lead, standing.

“Got to,” he mumbled, still glancing around, “Where’s my phone?”

“You leave it in the bedroom?” you offer.

He sighs and disappears down the hall for a split minute before returning, tucking the device into his pocket. He grabs his coat off the table by the door, slipping it on and zipping it up. You approach him by the door, watching him slip his boots on and tie them. 

“See you later, Si,” you say, trying your best to hide your disappointment at him leaving. 

You never wanted him to leave, always feeling painfully lonely without his presence in your home. Since he was gone for long periods so often, you liked to enjoy his company as much as you can when he’s home. But you would never be the type to ask him to stay when he couldn’t because you knew he would run himself ragged to keep you company even when he was exhausted and had other things to do on top of it. You never wanted to be a burden to him.

He straightens up, stomping his feet a couple times to make sure his boots were on fine. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his chest. You wrap both arms around his middle and hug him tight.

“I’ll come by when I can,” he mutters, pulling back to press a kiss to your forehead.

Then he’s gone, the door slamming closed and leaving you by yourself in the doorway, already feeling an emptiness that would remain until he returned. 

Just as you promised, you went out and bought groceries, courtesy of the money Simon had so kindly given you. You made sure you had some meat, fruit, and veggies, along with some canned goods. You made sure you didn’t buy cup noodles because he certainly wouldn’t be thrilled to know you bought that since he was so vehemently against them being in your diet. 

When you got home, you put all the groceries away and quickly realized that you had some time to spare before you had to get ready for your shift at the bar. 

As you sit on the couch, mindlessly watching some random show you’ve seen a hundred times before, you suddenly realize you’re squeezing your thighs together. 

And your panties are feeling awfully sticky. 

Your body heats up as you find yourself cupping your breasts through your shirt and bra. But you quickly realize that’s doing nothing for you and you strip your shirt off, pulling the sports bra over your breasts to cup them without the fabric restriction. You sigh and relax into the couch as you pull and pinch your nipple, tugging them and rolling them beneath your fingers. Your thighs clench and rub together as you tease yourself. 

But you tire of that quickly, knowing you could do something that felt so much better. 

Your fingers tremble as you tug the button of your jeans open and kick them off, letting your panties go down with them. You take note of the fact the center is completely sticky and wet. God, how long had you been dripping into your panties like that?

You lean back on the couch, placing your feet on the cushions, letting your legs open nice and wide. Your folds flower open, embarrassingly wet and shiny. Your clit is hard and swollen between them and you can practically see the bud twitching. 

With two, shaky fingers, you reach down and swipe over the bud. Your entire body twitches at the contact and you sigh as you slowly circle it, using your own slick as lubrication. 

You bring a finger to your entrance, prodding at the stickiness there. It’s embarrassing how wet you are. Your pussy makes loud noises as you touch but it doesn’t really provide you much pleasure so you bring your finger back to your clit. 

You circle it, pinch it, and roll your fingers over it. You’re quietly moaning, lidded eyes hazy as you watch your fingers play between your thighs. It feels good, a warm feeling settling in your gut the more you touch yourself. 

But then the inevitable happens – it’s like you hit a wall. 

You whine in frustration, speeding up your movements to hopefully reach the edge that you know is right over the wall. But you don’t get any further, if anything you feel that warmth vanishing at an alarming rate. 

Tears sting your eyes, “No, no, no…” you beg no one.

You grit your teeth in frustration, yanking your hand away to watch your pussy clench and throb over nothing, drooling and dripping slick onto the couch. But you’re too frustrated to try anymore. 

You close your thighs and flop down onto the couch, letting a few tears escape.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you quietly complain, slapping the couch out of frustration.

Your lamenting is interrupted by your phone going off. You look at it on the table and see it's the alarm you set to let you know to start getting ready. 

Great, you spent 45 minutes playing with yourself and still didn’t get any further than you had for the last 20-something years of your life. 

You were starting to think you should schedule an appointment with a doctor and find out if you were well and truly broken, but quickly decided against it. That would be fucking humiliating.

What would you say, “Hi, I can’t make myself orgasm and never have, please doctor, tell me if my vagina is broken?” Absolutely not. 

You collect your clothes from the living room floor and toss them in your laundry basket in your room before you take a very fast shower just to clean your own mess up. Then, you get dressed and ready for the shift you know is going to suck at the bar. 

At the door, you make sure you have your belongings. You turn out all your lights and lock the door behind you before setting off to the bar. 

It’s not a long walk, about 15 minutes away. But just the idea of stepping foot inside the bar fills you with dread. 

It was a little hole in the wall place, shady and seedy were the best ways to describe it. You got pretty good tips from the patrons most nights but your boss was the biggest piece of shit you’d ever had the misfortune of being in close proximity with. 

He had a very bad habit of putting his hands where they didn’t belong and cutting his employee’s pay for no reason – or reasons he completely made up. Your last paycheck was short because he claims that you ‘got enough in tips to make up the loss’ – you didn’t. And when you argued, he threatened to fire you. 

You were already living in the cheapest flat you could afford; it was run-down and poorly maintained. But it was better than not having a roof over your head. And it was a fight to even get hired at the shitty bar you worked at now, you weren’t willing to go back to looking for work. 

So you simply bit your tongue and took what money you could get. It wasn’t the first time he did it and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. 

You got to work as soon as you clocked in, greeting your coworkers with a tense smile that they returned. Everyone was in the same boat as you, after all. No one would choose to work here unless they were down on their luck like you.

The night started slow, slower than usual for a Friday night. Despite the place looking like it was going to fall down around you and the occasional rat that scampered across the floor, the bar was actually kind of a hotspot. The alcohol was cheap and your boss never cut anyone off so patrons were free to get as sloshed as they wanted. 

That also meant the customers tended to get rather unruly. 

Which is exactly what happened when the night inevitably picked up. More people came in, more drinks were ordered, and you were running around the place like mad to get drinks where they needed to be. 

You cast a glance to the clock behind the bar, sighing in relief when you realized you had 10 minutes left of this hell. 

You were sure you were a sight, clearly run ragged and ready to get the hell out of there and go home. Your feet were sore from the old, worn shoes you wore. They looked fine on the outside, cute, but the soles were worn down and provided absolutely no cushion. It was hell. 

“This goes to the corner table,” the bartender called over the loud voices of the bar. He was a nice guy, couldn’t be older than 20, but you honestly couldn’t even recall his name. 

You took the tray of shitty beer from the counter and quickly made your way to the corner table in the back, careful not to spill a drop. You placed the tray down and gave the guys at the table a charming smile.

“Here’s your drinks,” you said, placing a glass in front of all 4 of them. 

“Thanks, beautiful,” one of them slurred, given a drunken wink.

“Um, is there anything else you need?” you asked, ignoring his flirting, as you picked up the tray. 

“Maybe,” another one chuckled, leaning back in his seat, raking his eyes down your body. You wished you could crawl into a hole at the feeling of his gaze on you. Despite being fully clothed, it made you feel incredibly naked – like he could see through your clothes. 

It certainly wasn’t the first time a customer or two flirted with you. It was sort of a rampant problem in this bar, if you were honest.

“What is it you need?” you asked, wishing so badly you could just be free from the conversation. 

One of them pulled out a stack of money, waving it in front of your face, “I’ll tip you this if you show us your tits.”

Your cheeks burned hot in humiliation as the other three laughed and jeered. You shifted on your feet, tapping your fingers anxiously against the metal tray in your hands, envisioning yourself slamming it over their heads. 

“N-No thank you…I-I don’t think that would be appropriate,” you hope that they can’t hear the way your voice trembles over all the noise in the bar.

“Come on, sexy,” the one with the money grinned, licking over his teeth as his eyes narrowed on your chest, “Bet they’re real nice. C’mon, you need the money right? Why else would you be working at a place like this? Go on, just lift your shirt up and let us see them tits!”

“M-My shift is over, I really need to go,” you shakily smile and take a step back, “I-I hope you enjoy your night, boys.”

Your attempt to diffuse the situation and get out of it proved futile because when you attempted to flee, one of them clapped a firm hand around your wrist and tugged you forward. You stumbled on your feet, dropping the metal tray with a gasp, finding yourself nose to nose with one of them. The smell of alcohol was potent on his breath and it made your lip curl in disgust. You tried to tug yourself free of his grasp but his grip was too strong. 

The guy sitting on the other side of the one who had a hold on you reached over his buddy to yank the neckline of your shirt down, the cheap, worn material stretching with ease until it tore at the weakest point. You let out a horrified cry when your bra became visible to the group, all of them cheering and shouting degrading things right in your face. 

The one across the table reached down, you felt his hand against your breast through your bra and a lightning bolt of pure terror ripped through you. It was like everything happened in slow motion.

You could feel his thumb hook under your bra and start to tug, tears flooded your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You raised a hand and as hard as you could, slapped the one still holding you clean across the face. 

The entire table went still but his grasp loosened enough for you to turn on your heel and bolt as fast as you could into the staff room, covering your exposed bra with your arms as best you could. You passed one of your coworkers, her eyes wide in concern when she saw your state. 

She followed you into the staff room, closing the door quietly behind her. You stood in front of your locker, ripping it open as you attempted to collect your things but your mind was running too fast for you to actually make any meaningful movements.

Your coworker called your name and you paused.

“Hey, take a breath,” she whispered softly, placing a hand on your back. You realized you were hyperventilating. You attempted to level out your breathing, wiping the tears off of your cheeks only for more to replace them. 

“What happened?” she asked softly, “Do you want me to call someone? The police?”

You shake your head, opening your mouth to respond but only a little sob comes out. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed. She looks nothing but sympathetic, softly patting your back and encouraging you to breathe deeply. 

The staff room door suddenly slams open, making both of you jump. Your boss storms in, completely red in the face and furious. 

“Get out,” he snaps at your coworker. 

She casts an apologetic look to you, squeezing your hand before she ducks her head and leaves the staff room. He slams the door behind her, locking it for good measure – leaving both of you alone. 

He advances on you faster than you can react, he wraps a hand around your throat and slams you against the lockers. It hurts but you can’t get a noise past the grip around your neck. You blink back the tears that are still coming, trying to see him more clearly.

“Are you broke in the fuckin’ head?!” he screams, a volume that makes your ears ring. You wonder if the patrons can hear it outside, “You put your hands on a customer?!”

“Th-They put their hands on me first!” you defended yourself, hoarse and choked under his grip, “They touched me!”

He only looks more furious, eyes falling to your ripped shirt and exposed bra. He grabs one side of the already torn shirt and yanks, ripping it the rest of the way. Your eyes go wide and your first instinct is to kick him but you’re panicked and uncoordinated so it misses its mark.

“I don’t give a shit if they forced you over the table and fucked you!” he howls, spitting all over your face in his rage, “You better think fast and hard about how you’re going to rectify this. Do you understand me?”

His grip tightens a bit more around your throat and you hastily nod, blubbering mindless apologies to try and appease him. He doesn’t look any less angry but lets you go nonetheless. Your knees are too shaky to hold you up so you slide down the lockers until you’re sitting on the dirty floor.

“You go out there and you apologize to them,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “Or I’m going to fire you and you’re gonna be out on the fuckin’ streets, got it?”

You nod your head, holding back your sobs but can’t control the tears that fall down your cheeks. He sends you one last glare before turning back to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open. 

You’re left there, trembling on the floor and quietly crying to yourself. Your heart is racing and you’ve never felt more terrified and humiliated in your life.

The door opens again and you look up in horror at the idea of your boss coming back. But it’s your coworker again. 

She quietly crouches next to you and gives you a once over, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I-I have to apologize t-to them,” you manage to choke out. 

Her eyes widened, “No way! You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I can’t lose this job,” you sob, pressing the heel of your hands to your eyes as you cry, “I need this job. He says he’ll fire me if I don’t apologize!”

“Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll go with you, okay? You can apologize and then you can go, that’s it.”

You nod your head and stand up, using the lockers as a crutch. Your coworker helps you steady yourself before she sees your shirt is ripped even more than when she left.

She whispers your name, “Are you sure he didn’t…”

“He only ripped it,” you assure her, sniffling softly, “But I can’t go out there like this.”

It dawns on you that you forgot a jacket. It was a little warmer today than it had been in days and you had simply neglected to bring one. 

“You can borrow my hoodie,” she assures, opening her locker to tug it out, handing it to you, “Go on, you can return it to me another day.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, clumsily sliding it over your head. You feel much better now that you’re covered up, you feel less vulnerable. You quickly collect all your belongings so you can leave as soon as you get this over with.

You let her lead you out of the staff room. The second you’re out, the blaring noise immediately proves to be too much. You wipe your eyes, using the sleeve of the hoodie. You make a note to wash it properly when you return it. 

You feel the eyes of strangers on you and it just makes you feel worse with every passing second. You want to go home. You want to shower. You want to crawl into bed. You want Simon. 

You let her lead you to the table, all the men are still there laughing and drinking their beers. They fall silent when you approach, four pairs of eyes falling on you, making you feel humiliated and small. They look expectant, the one who ripped your shirt tapping his fingers against the table. 

“There you are!” the one who had held your wrist grinned. It was a predatory smile that made your heart race anxiously, “Thought you were gonna run away without apologizing for bein’ a raging bitch.”

You flinch at the insult and your coworker squeezes your hand in support, “I-I’m sorry for slapping you.”

“That’s fuckin’ right!” another one jeered, “Practically ruined our night. How are you going to make it up to us?”

“I’ve got a few ideas!” a different once laughed. The other three joined in eagerly.

“How about you stay back late and really make it up to us, huh?” you squeezed your coworkers hand in yours, already feeling the tears returning with a vengeance.

“How about I bring you a round on me, huh?” she quickly intervenes, “I’ll buy.”

That seems to do it for the 4 men and they rambunctiously cheer and slam their hands on the table obnoxiously. You think you hear her promise to be back with their drinks as she pulls you away from the table. You both hide away in the staff room again and she holds both your hands in hers.

“Go on home,” she says softly.

“I-I’ll pay you back for the drinks–” she shushes you quickly when you start.

“Don’t even worry about it,” she coos, “Go home.”

With a gentle nudge to the back entrance, she casts you one last kind smile before slipping out of the staff door. 

You don’t even remember the walk home, your mind completely fuzzy. But you’re sobbing again by the time you stumble into the door. You collapse onto the floor in front of your couch, wailing into the cushions as the weight of the night fully and entirely collapses on you. You can barely breathe through your tears, hiccups and coughs breaking up the endless crying only to resume when you catch your breath. 

You have no idea how long you sit there, crying louder and harder than you have in a very, very long time. 

You hear your front door creak open before the living room light flips on. You go completely stiff, your crying finally going silent as you hear the familiar heavy footsteps step into the living room before they fall still when he sees you.

He calls your name, soft and gentle in a way that is completely unlike him. Simon isn’t soft, he talks to you in a cold, apathetic and teasing tone. He’s always clipped and blunt. Sure, he’s kind but never gentle.

Just the sweet tone makes your lips wobble and suddenly you’re sobbing again. His boots hit the floor fast, taking quick, big strides so he can reach you as fast as he possibly can. Two strong hands hook under your arms and turn you towards him. He takes a seat beside you on the floor and tugs you into lap.

You melt into his chest, secured by his embrace as he holds you. One hand cups the back of your head and the other wraps around your back. 

“You didn’t answer your phone when I called,” he explained his arrival, lips pressed to the crown of your head, “Got worried so I rushed over.”

You grip his hoodie in your hands, anchoring yourself to him as you cry and cry. He remains silent, content to hold you and let you cry out everything you’re feeling. 

Just having him there, holding you and comforting you, is enough to ease your tears until you’re just a hiccuping, sniffling mess. You’re taking those quick, stuttering gasping breaths that signify the end of your meltdown and Simon slowly eases his hold on you. 

He cups your cheek in one hand, raising your head up so he can really look at you. He rubs a thumb under your eye, wiping away your tears. He looks so concerned, brows furrowed and a frown on his lips. 

The sight of his face makes your lips wobble again, “Si…” you finally manage to choke out.

His gaze softens immediately, his other hand coming up to cup your face as well. He leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he finally asks, letting go of your face to hold your waist, keeping you curled up in his lap. 

You think about it. You want to tell him all about it, to get it off of your chest and figure out how the hell you’re supposed to move past it. But you know that if you tell him, he’s going to march his ass to your job the second he gets a chance and put your boss’s head through the wall and find those assholes from the table. 

You really can’t afford to lose your job. Your bills are tight enough as it is, you’re scraping by by the skin of your teeth. If you’re jobless for even a week, it’s going to fuck everything up. You’ll never make rent and you can’t end up on the street. 

“Just a…bad shift…” you supply lamely.

Simon stares at you, jaw set and tense, “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact you’re lying in the first place or the fact you don’t think you can tell me what really happened.”

“Simon…” you whine, pushing yourself off of his lap, “Just let it go, please.”

He follows your lead when you stand up. He still hasn’t taken his boots off, still too concerned about you to care. Every step he takes is a loud sound of his weight in those boots. 

You pace back and forth, arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m not letting it go,” he responds, “I think you know me better than that.”

“Simon, please!” you feel the tears returning again and you suddenly realize how tired you are from crying. Your eyes are sore and you just want to sleep. 

“I want to know what happened,” he argues, clearly growing exasperated. 

You know he’s not going to let it go. He knows you too well to believe any lies. You press your hands to your face and let out a noise of frustration and despair. You can feel his eyes on you, unwavering and firm. You feel hot, like you’re overheating and suffocated. With trembling hands, you haphazardly tug at the hoodie – you need it off or you’re going to go mad. 

Simon reaches forward to help you, watching your rising panic but you slap his hands away. He looks stupefied at your reaction but retracts his hands. 

But you can’t get the damned thing off, you’re uncoordinated and clumsy, unable to pull your arms through the sleeves so you can get it off. Why won’t it come off? 

“G-Get it off,” you finally cry, completely unaware of the pure horror in your voice.

Simon’s hands are back, “I’ve got you. I’ll get it off ya.” 

True to his word, he tugs it up and it slips over your head with ease. You feel like you can take a deep breath finally, feeling the cool air of your living room against your skin again. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you attempt to calm yourself. 

He says your name softly but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. You jump when you feel the ghost of his fingers against your stomach – the skin is bare and it makes your eyes fly open. You look down and remember that your shirt was completely torn open, the hoodie had been hiding it, and now Simon is seeing. You can see the realization in his face.

He’s not an idiot. If anything, he’s more intelligent than anyone you’ve ever known. 

Suddenly your stomach turns and you place a hand over your mouth. You’re running down the hallway, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet as you heave. 

You don’t hear any movement from Simon. He doesn’t follow you to the bathroom. You’re briefly thankful for the escape as the nausea disappears before you suddenly crave to have him near you again.

“Simon!” you cry, his footfalls an immediate response. 

He crouches beside you, placing a hand on your back, “You finished?”

You nod, spitting one last time into the toilet, “I-I want to shower.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he stands, stepping past you to turn on the shower for you. He places a consoling hand on the top of your head in passing before he goes to leave you alone. You reach out and grab his hand before he can get too far.

He pauses and looks at you, easily understanding. He brushes his thumb over your hand, “Not goin’ anywhere, love.”

He takes a step outside of the bathroom and stands there, hands held in front of him as if he were on guard, like a security guard. You flush the toilet and shakily strip your clothes off before stepping into the shower, letting the warm spray ease your sore body and clear your sinuses. You’re terribly stuffy from crying so you can’t even smell your grapefruit body wash this time.

You finish your shower, making sure you scrub your body as best you can before you step out and wrap a towel around your body.

“Are you hungry?” Simon suddenly asks.

“No…” your tone is flatter than you had intended and you realize that you’re completely emotionally drained. 

“Alright,” is all he says in reply.

You approach the door, where he’s still standing. You place your hand against his back and he quickly steps aside to let you by. You hear his boots behind you as he follows you to your bedroom. 

You sit on the bed, completely exhausted. Simon makes himself busy with going through your dresser, pulling out some clothes for you to wear before he places them on the bed beside you. You don’t make any movements. 

He sighs, softly saying your name before crouching in front of you, taking your hands in his. 

“Was it your boss?” he asks softly. 

“Him and some assholes I was serving drinks to,” you tiredly answer. You don’t have it in you to fight in anymore. 

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” he pries, squeezing your hands.

“Because I know you, Si,” you sniffle, “You’re going to go down there and put them all in the hospital when you find them.”

“And?” he scoffs, “They fuckin’ deserve it. No one gets to put their hands on you like that and get away with it.”

“Because I can’t lose my job, Si!” you finally cry, “I barely make ends meet as it is! I-If I lose my job, what am I supposed to do? I won’t be able to afford rent. I’ll be on the streets!”

“I would never let that happen,” he says firmly, “You will never be on the streets, love. I will always take care of you, you know that.”

“I can’t do that to you, Simon,” you mutter, sniffling again, “Y-You already have so much on your plate I don’t want to be another problem you have to deal with.”

“Is that what you think?” he scoffs, standing up, “That I deal with you? You’re important to me, I take care of you because I never want anything to happen to you. I’m not going to let you work at that shithole for a minute longer.”

You hang your head, unable to supply any arguments to him anymore.

“I’m going to make you something small to eat. You’re going to eat and drink some water and then you’re going to get some rest, understood?” he gives a satisfied hum when you nod your head in compliance. 

Once you’re alone, you go over his words again. You’re important to him, that’s what he said. It was the most clear he had ever been with his feelings towards you since you confessed your feelings when you were young. 

As you methodically got dressed in the clothes he picked out for you, you reminisced. Memories of him were always something that made you inexplicably happy – except for one memory.

You were 14 and he was 17 at the time. You’d known each other for your entire childhood after his mother had brought him over for a playdate despite the age difference and the fact you were closer in age to his brother. 

He had always looked after you and taken care of you, walking you home after school and simply looking after you when your parents were busy. It was inevitable that you would grow feelings for him. You remember the way your heart would race every time you looked at him. You remember telling your friends that he was your boyfriend, hoping he wouldn’t find out.

You had told him one evening when he was hanging out, having dinner with your family, that you liked him – like liked. 

You remember how you cried into your pillow night after night when he rejected you. Told you flat out that you were an idiot and to drop it and never, ever bring it up again. That he didn’t feel the same. And that was that. 

You never brought it up again. 

But the crush never once waned. You decided that his friendship was more important than your feelings for him so you would never let him know. And that’s how it had been ever since. 

Simon’s voice calling your name ripped you from your reminiscing. You tied the drawstrings of the sweats he had picked out and quickly made your way to the kitchen. 

Simon was washing a pan by the time you arrived but he nodded to a plate he set on the counter for you. It was just a small omelet he made, complete with a light drizzle of ketchup. 

He knew you well, you couldn’t deny. You picked up the fork he’d placed on the plate for you and slowly began to eat. 

After being sick, your stomach was painfully empty so you were happy to have something on it once again. Simon quietly finished washing the dishes he had dirtied before he placed them on the dish rack and dried his hands. 

“Um, Simon?” you called softly, receiving a grunt in reply, “Didn’t you have something going on tonight?”

“Was gonna be out the lads,” he responded, “Doesn’t matter, can hang out with those idiots anytime.”

“You shouldn’t talk about your friends like that,” you said, shaking your head as you took a final bite of your omelet.

“Aint my friends,” he reached down and took your plate from you, tossing it into the sink.

“Simon Riley doesn’t have friends?” you asked, eyes following him as he locked up your apartment and started to turn out the lights.

“Got you,” he said as you followed him down the hall, “All I need.”

A fond smile made its way across your face as he yanked his shirt above his head. You began to make yourself comfortable in bed, trying to keep your eyes off of him as he got dressed for bed. Despite the way you wanted to take the chance to look at him.

Friends. That’s what you were, you reminded yourself. 

Finally, he climbed into bed beside you, making himself comfortable before you turned out the light. 

Yet, despite your exhaustion from the night, you felt like you couldn’t close your eyes. You felt like you couldn’t relax. The tension in your body was so much that you were sore. Like you had gone to the gym instead of went to work. 

“Simon..?” you whispered into the dark. He was silent for a second before he hummed in response, “Can I…tell you what happened tonight?”

He was quiet again but you felt him move, a hand blindly reaching over to you to find your hands. You took it in both of yours, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. 

“This stupid group of guys were sloshed beyond belief,” you began to tell him, aware of his gaze on you through the dark, “They were just chattin’ shit, saying they’d tip me if I showed them my tits,” he scoffed beside you, clearly displeased, “I said no and tried to leave and they wouldn’t let me. One of them ripped my shirt and tried to pull my bra up so I slapped him.”

“Fuckin’ bastard deserved to get his teeth knocked down his throat,” Simon growled from beside you.

“I got away and went to the staff room but my boss came in and he was so fucking angry, Si,” your voice shook as you remembered the way his face had been so red and a look of pure hate had been in his eyes, “He grabbed my throat and pinned against the lockers. He was angry that I had struck a customer.”

“Of course that’s all that bastard would be angry about,” Simon spit, not bothering to hide his distaste.

“I tried to tell him that I was defending myself but he said–” your voice broke and you struggled to blink back the tears. Simon sat up a bit, pulling you into his chest, letting you curl against him, the rapid hum of his heart loud in your ear, easing you immediately, “He said that he didn’t care if they put me over the table and fucked me, he would fire me if I didn’t apologize to them.”

Simon’s arms tightened around you immediately, cursing under his breath, “He made you apologize to them?” 

You nod your head, “It was so humiliating, Si. B-But I just didn’t want to lose my job. They just laughed at me and made a joke of it.”

“Pieces of shit,” he hisses, pressing a kiss against your temple, “They better hope I don’t find them.”

You’d really love to see them blubbering on their knees, crying and terrified like you had been. They wouldn’t be so awful in the face of a guy bigger and stronger than them – someone like Simon. 

“I should have gone to the bar tonight,” he sighed, “Even though you told me not to, I wanted to.”

“It’s okay, Si,” you sniffle, “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

You wrap your leg around his waist and snuggle deeper into his chest, finally feeling content to sleep so long as you got to be in his arms. 

You wake up late, well into the afternoon. You’re groggy and struggle to pull yourself out of bed. Simon isn’t in bed, so you force yourself up in search of him. 

As you left, you noticed that the clothes you were wearing last night were gone and weren’t in the laundry basket. You knew for a fact that you left them on the floor. 

He’s relaxing on the couch as usual. His hair is wet and you can smell your body wash wafting off of him when you crawl onto the couch beside him. He reaches a hand out and pets your head gently as a greeting.

“Sleep well?” he asks. You nod your head, “Hungry?” You nod again.

He huffs through his nose and stands up, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your head to go prepare something for you to eat. The sound of Simon bustling about the kitchen filled the apartment and you found yourself relaxing into the couch. 

“Simon?” you called, getting to your feet to make your way to the kitchen. 

He had his back to you as he fried up something in the pan but he hummed in response nonetheless.

“Where did my clothes from last night go?” you ask softly.

He pauses his stirring of the food, “Threw them out. Figured you wouldn’t want to see them when you woke up.”

“Oh,” you respond. 

Your heart feels full at his show of care. It was quiet actions like that that just made you feel so…in love, you think before correcting yourself. Fluttery. Cared for. Loved. 

No, he doesn’t love you.

You shake your head and move to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water, going to sit on the couch to wait for Simon to finish cooking. 

The day was spent like that, just you and Simon in your flat. Him just keeping you company and keeping your mind off of things. 

You were curled up against him, listening to the beating of his heart and watching the movie he had decided to play. It was peaceful. He smelled nice, like you. And he was so comfortable beneath you, firm and big. 

His thighs were spread wide, one of your legs thrown over one of his, only serving to make you more aware of how big and firm he was. Solid. Well-built. 

Handsome.

You cast a glance at his face. His brown eyes were half-lidded as he mindlessly nibbled at his bottom lip. They looked soft and shiny. You wondered what he tasted like, how he kissed.

Was he rough? Soft? Did he like to use tongue. 

You’d never kissed anyone before. You wondered if he would be okay with that. You knew some guys liked experienced partners and some liked them inexperienced. You wonder what he preferred. 

Just the idea of kissing him had your heart hammering in your chest and your face burning. You quickly looked at the TV, snuggling closer to him. He squeezed you closer, hand mindlessly rubbing up and down your back. 

Kissing Simon…you pictured him over you, cupping your cheeks in the way he always does. You imagine him pressing his pretty lips against yours, moving them softly against yours. You imagine what it would feel like for him to pin you down, sliding his tongue into your mouth as you moaned and whimpered beneath him, unable to move anywhere because he’s so much bigger and stronger than you. In charge. 

Your pussy clenches around nothing, already starting to drip into your panties. Suddenly you sit up, eyes wide and cheeks flush. Simon looks perturbed, an eyebrow raised at your sudden movement.

“I’ve got to take a shower,” you shakily supply before fleeing to the safety of the bathroom.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hand over your mouth to quiet your heavy breathing. 

What the hell was wrong with you? How the hell could you be thinking about sex and getting turned on after yesterday? How could you be thinking about Simon like that when he was right there? What the fuck was your problem?

You hastily reached over and turned the shower on, the pipes clanking loudly as the water flowed through them. 

Shouldn’t you be the opposite of horny after what happened yesterday? Maybe you really were broken. 

You strip and quickly step into the shower, turning the water as hot as it would possibly go. You needed it to hurt so you would stop acting like such a freak. Like a slut. 

You fight back tears as you begin to wash up. 

By the time your shower is done, you’re exhausted again. You dry off and wrap the towel around yourself, opening the door to find Simon standing on the other side. You jump and gasp, placing a hand over your heart to calm the beating.

“You scared me!” you whine, slipping past him to the bedroom.

“Wanted to check on you,” he says, following slowly behind you, watching as you pick out clothes.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “I just got really tired and I’d like to turn in early, that’s all.”

“Alright,” he replies, standing there for a second before making his way back to the door, “Just call if you need anything.”

“I will!” you offer him a smile, watching as he leaves, closing the door behind him. 

You quickly dress and climb into bed, turning the lights out before squeezing your eyes shut to will yourself to sleep. Surprisingly, it came quickly and easily – maybe you were more tired than you thought. 

Little did you know that Simon took the opportunity of you sleeping early to slip away and take a little 15 minute walk. 

When you start to dream, you’re acutely aware that it’s a dream. You’re not sure how but, you just know that you’re sleeping and none of this is real.

But god it feels real and you want it to be real so you go along with it. 

Simon is there, you’re both in your bed. He’s got his shirt off and he’s on top of you, kissing your neck softly. Sweetly. 

He doesn’t smell like your body wash anymore, he smells like his – a crisp, musky scent that you love so dearly. And he’s so warm against you. 

You realize that you’re only wearing a pair of panties when his lips suddenly attach to your breast, mouthing at your nipple. His tongue swirls over the bud and it feels so good you can’t help but moan. 

“Si…” you sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. He rewards you by surging up and pressing his lips against yours. He tastes vaguely like mint and it’s intoxicating. So simple, nothing special or poetic. Just mint. Simon. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kiss him back. Kissing is easy, you hazily think. You just move your lips in time with his and it falls into place. 

Simon’s hips move against yours and you cry out when you feel the hard swell of his cock press against you through his sweatpants and your panties. He’s so hard and it's so hot even through the layers of clothes. 

“Si…” you whimper again.

“I’m here, love,” he coos, “I’ve got you.”

He rocks his hips against yours and fuck, it feels good. You eagerly spread your legs and find yourself wishing that the panties weren’t in the way. You’d love to hear the sticky sound of your pussy against his cock through his sweats. You’d love to see the stain of your slick against them, knowing that you marked him as yours like that. 

You feel hot, that tense warmth growing in your tummy. The promise of pleasure that you’ve never been able to experience. Maybe Simon could supply it. You’re sure he could, actually, you convince yourself.

If he just keeps going, keeps rutting his hips like that, you could cum all messy in your panties. Just for him. Only for him. 

Just as you swear it’s going to wash over you, your eyes fly open and you gasp. Your entire body feels hot and sweaty and you realize you’ve thrown your blanket off of your body. The sun is shining through the window and Simon is nowhere to be seen in bed. 

You swallow, your throat feeling painfully dry. 

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaks open and Simon comes in with a laundry basket. He casts a glance at you and seems to relax when he realizes you’re awake.

“Was doin’ some laundry,” he explains, turning to open your drawers to begin putting the clean clothes away.

“Oh,” you whisper, sounding hoarse, “Thank you, Si.”

As you watch him, you realize he seems tenser than usual. You sit up and bed and watch him put the clothes away until he’s finished. He stands there for a moment before looking over his shoulder at you.

“I uh,” he clears his throat, “I’ve gotta go tonight.”

“Go?” you ask, eyes going wide. You don’t want him to leave, “Go where?”

“I’ve got some work to take care of,” he replies, “Paperwork I’ve been puttin’ off. Gonna pull a late one to get it done.”

“I-I don’t want you to go,” you confess softly, trying to blink back the tears that sting your eyes. You feel so pathetic, crying because he needs to leave. But you haven’t been without him since it happened and you’re scared to be alone with just your thoughts.

“I know,” he hums, taking a seat at the foot of the bed, cupping your cheek, “I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” you ask. He nods, teasingly pinching your cheek before you smile and bat his hand away. When he pulls it back you notice his knuckles – bruised and split open. They weren’t like that last night you were sure of it, “Simon…”

He catches you looking and gives you a tense smile, “Don’t worry about it.”

He stands up and kisses your forehead before turning and leaving the room, leaving you to get ready for the day. 

Thankfully, Simon remains around for the day. You notice he’s on his phone a lot more, typing away. It’s unlike him, he’s more the type to do phone calls rather than text. When you ask him about it he just waves you off with an explanation about Soap being on his ass. 

You have a feeling he’s lying but you don’t pry. 

Before he leaves, he makes you dinner. You walk him to the door, unable to stop the pout on your face when he puts his boots on. You can’t help but wish that he’d change his mind at the last second and stay with you after all. 

But he doesn’t. He pulls his balaclava over his face and slips his hood up before turning back to you. 

“Don’t cry, love,” he coos, wiping a stray tear away, “I promise I’ll get all my work done and I’ll be all yours for a good long while.”

“Okay…” you sound so miserable but you can’t bring yourself to care, “I’ll miss you.”

He brings you in for a hug, making sure to squeeze you nice and tight before he pulls back. He can’t give you his normal kiss because of the mask and that only makes you sadder. 

You don’t want him to go. You don’t want him to go. You want him to stay. You want to keep him close. He makes you feel safe. He makes you feel complete. You love him so much. 

You hold onto his hoodie for as long as you can until he has to shake you off and close the door behind him. And you stand there for a long time. Like a puppy who's been left home alone for the first time, just waiting for its owners to come back because it’s scared it’s going to be alone forever. 

By the time you bring yourself to leave the door, the food Simon made you is cold. That only seems to make you feel worse. 

Then you sit on the couch and watch TV, feeling hopelessly alone. You wished you had Simon to curl into and snuggle with. The tiny couch has never felt bigger. 

You shower and brush your teeth, pouting at the sight of his toothbrush, another reminder that he isn’t there. 

Before that night at the bar, you never would have felt so isolated without him; lonely, sure. But now that you’re experiencing this gut-wrenching emptiness, you feel close to tears every time you think about him. He was truly your rock, the only thing that brought you comfort. You loved him.

You flop against the bed and let the tears fall down your temples. You love him. You do.

You’re so fucking in love with him that it hurts. Your heart aches in your chest. You want him there to hold you. 

You know he doesn’t feel the same, you know it will never become anything. But you’re willing to take whatever you can get. Just his company. You can be content so long as he’s with you, as long as he’s in your life. 

But you can think about him, imagine yourself telling him how you feel. Imagine that when he holds you close that he feels the same too. That he loves you. You want him to love you so desperately. 

You wish that he loved you. 

You curled into his pillow, sniffling pathetically as you closed your eyes. You cry yourself to sleep. 

Your eyes fly open and the gasp you let out changes to a sob. All you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. All you see is flashes of their faces in your head. All you can feel are their hands on you. 

A nightmare, your brain supplies but it does nothing to quell your anxiety and fear.

You reach for Simon, instinctive and desperate. But you only touch the cold mattress and you’re reminded that he isn’t home tonight. 

You fumble through the sheets to find your phone.

I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there. 

He promised.

You can barely see the screen as you look for his contact. You call him, hands trembling as you hold it to your ear. It rings and rings and rings. Then beeps and goes to voicemail.

You hang up and try again. And again. And again.

He doesn’t answer. Why won’t he answer? He promised.

You call him again but it goes straight to voicemail. You can practically feel your heart shatter in your chest. He was ignoring your calls. He ignored you. 

But he had promised he would come when you needed him. And you needed him. 

Your phone becomes completely blurry through your tears as you begin to cry in earnest. You feel hurt, betrayed, disappointed, and angry. You’re fucking angry. 

You suddenly need to let it out. So you take your phone in your hand and throw it, listening to it slam against the wall. It’s loud and the light on your screen goes out. But you don’t feel better. You’re still a mess of volatile emotions. It feels like it’s all bottled up inside you and it hurts. 

You take his pillow and grip it in your fists. You want to rip it to shreds, want to tear it open and release all your anger on it. Instead, you just slam your fists against it. 

Then you do it again. And again. And again. 

You punch the damned thing as you cry and cry. You’re sure you must be a sight. You must be making so much noise as you sob and shriek. 

You were angry at what happened to you, you were angry you had apologize to them for hurting you, you were angry because you couldn’t even sleep peacefully without being plagued by a nightmare the first night you were without Simon, and you were angry he broke his fucking promise. 

Before long, all you were doing was sobbing into his pillow – wailing and crying your broken heart out. You tire yourself out, completely exhausted of all emotions. You lay there, quietly hiccuping and sniffling, just staring into the inky darkness. 

You’re there for hours, unable to fall back asleep. The sun slowly creeps over the horizon and begins to cast an orange glow around the room. 

You can’t even find beauty in it. You’re so exhausted. Your heart aches. It’s agonizing. 

It’s early morning by the time you hear your front door open. You don’t feel excited to see him. You’re not happy he’s back. You don’t feel anything, actually. All you can do is slowly blink, gaze focused outside the window where you can faintly hear birds chirping. 

You wish you were a bird so you could fly away wherever you want. You would fly away from here right now if you could. You wanted to leave. 

You didn’t want to see Simon. You were so angry at him. You’ve never felt like this about him before. You don’t know what to do. All you can think right now is how much you hate him. 

God, you hate him. 

He’s surprisingly quiet as he walks through your apartment. You hear him push the door open, your back to him. But you can feel his eyes on you, can feel how he hovers in the doorway. 

He wanders further into the room before pausing. 

He rounds to your side of the bed and sees that you’re awake, simply staring out the window. He holds your phone up, screen clearly shattered before he places it on the table beside you. 

“You called,” he says softly, shifting anxiously on his feet. Simon’s never anxious. But he is right now, “I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I was just…busy. Had some unruly recruits, you know how it is.”

Your eyes finally move from the window, landing on him. He’s wearing the same thing he was last night. Just some jeans and white t-shirt. It’s a nice one, it fits him well and it looks comfy. 

Simon stands there under your gaze, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He’s not used to feeling scrutinized. And that’s exactly what your gaze feels like. 

Your eyes wander to a strange discoloration on his shirt. It’s tan, just a light stain. There’s a tiny smear of black as well. Then you spot the red on his collar, ruby red. 

He looks guilty. He would look like a kicked puppy if you didn’t know any better. This isn’t guilt because he missed your call. He’s guilty because he was too busy getting his dick wet to answer you. 

That’s why he ignored you? To fuck someone?

You’re no longer numb. You’re angry again. That overwhelming feeling that you have no idea how to let out. It’s like it just boils up inside you, like a pot boiling over. It has no place to go but out. 

You’re moving before you even have a chance to register it. You just need to show him how angry you are. Fucking furious. 

You grab the empty glass on your nightstand and wail it in his direction harder than you thought possible. Simon barely dodges, slamming himself against the wall as it shatters behind him. 

Now he looks angry. Good. Maybe he’ll feel a fraction of what you feel right now. 

“Are you out of your fucking head?” he snarls, animosity dripping off of every syllable. 

You don’t even answer, grabbing a book that you have stacked there before throwing that too. Then the second book. Then the third book. Then you throw your phone at him. Then you take the lamp, rip the plug right from the wall and throw that too. 

When you’re out of things to throw on the table you throw your pillow. It’s when you’re about to throw his pillow that he finally has enough. He rips it from your grasp and tosses it across the room. 

He’s standing there, fists balled at his sides and his shoulders heaving up and down as he tries to calm himself. 

“I hate you,” you finally spit, standing on your knees. You don’t have anything to throw so you slam your hands against his chest. You hit him, crying and sobbing as you wail over and over about how you hate him. You hate him so fucking much. 

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” you scream. You’re so loud you’re sure the neighbors can hear but you don’t care. It feels good to let your anger out on him, to punch and slap and claw at his shoulders, chest, and arms. He doesn’t do anything but stand there and let you. He’d never lay a hand on you, even when you’re doing it to him, “I needed you and you were too busy fucking some stupid whore?!”

He doesn’t say anything but he’s trembling now. You’re not sure if he’s just that angry or if he’s holding himself back from wringing your neck. 

You pause to look up at him. His jaw is set hard but he’s staring at you, his usual lazy, lidded look nowhere to be found. He looks enraged. 

“Aren’t you going to say something?” you spit, raising your hand as if you’re going to slap him across the face but you stop. You don’t want to do that. 

“Say what?” he finally responds, voice so cold you swear it drops the room’s temperature, “I have a life that doesn’t revolve around you. That’s the difference between us. You need me but I don’t need you.”

You sit back on your heels at that, the hurt clear on your face. Simon doesn’t seem to care in the slightest now, as tears trickle down your face. You must look a sight, pathetically gazing up at him as he glares down at you like you’re dog shit on the bottom of his shoe.

“You hate me?” he scoffs, “That’s just fine. We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

He turns on his heel at that and storms out of your room, slamming your bedroom door behind him. It practically rattles the walls. Then you hear the same thing from the front door. 

And you’re all alone. And you can’t do anything but cry about it. 

You find it impossible to get out of bed after that. You lay there for the rest of the day. Then all night. You fitfully sleep when you can’t bear to be awake anymore and then wake when the nightmares hit. 

Then you watch the sun come up and decide that it’s a good day to spend in bed. So you do. You sleep on and off, only waking to cry when you’re plagued with nightmares. 

You occasionally think about Simon. More than occasionally, actually. He’s always on your mind.

You think everything over and come to the conclusion that this was all your fault. From the beginning, really. You’d been keen on staying in his life since you were children, attached yourself to his side and weaseled your way into his life. Really, you gave him no choice but to put up with you. 

He was everything to you. He was right, you needed him. You didn’t have anyone else. No friends, no family, not even a pet. Just him. Always just him. 

What choice did he have other than to put up with you day after day? He didn’t need you like you needed him, after all. He’d surely been spending his days in dread of you – of your texts, your calls. 

This was probably what he was waiting for; an escape. He probably wanted to leave a long, long time ago. You were in love with him and he wanted nothing to do with you. 

What were you thinking? Actually believing that he would want to spend his days with you, taking care of you. Who were you kidding, you were just an idiot for letting yourself believe otherwise. 

You wake up one day and realize you’re not angry anymore. Just sad. You almost prefer the anger and emptiness compared to the unending waves of sadness. 

You cry all the time. Day and night. 

You try to use your phone, you want to call him but it’s broken. The screen won’t even turn on. You’re completely alone, can’t even contact somebody – not that you have anyone but him. 

God, that was embarrassing now that you thought about it. There he was going out and getting laid and you’ve been holding out for him since you were a kid. 

You’re suddenly aware of the fact you haven’t showered in days. You’ve barely eaten, only getting up once or twice to find something to nibble on in the kitchen – a slice of bread is what you usually settle on. 

You pry yourself up from your mattress and stumble to the bathroom. The clanging of pipes is louder than it’s ever been but the hot water is completely welcome. 

When you stand there, under the burning heat that makes your skin raw, you slowly sink to the shower floor. You haven’t cleaned it in a while but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

You let yourself cry again, since it’s all you can do. By the time you’re done, the water is running cold and you stand up to quickly wash yourself with soap so you can at least be clean for the next few days until you can bring yourself to shower again. 

It’s when you’re crawling into bed that it suddenly dawns on you that you don’t have a job. You hadn’t shown up to your shift in days. And you don’t have Simon anymore. 

Panic takes shape and you realize you can’t relax. If you don’t find a job soon you’re going to be on your ass and homeless by next month. 

You haul yourself out of bed and begin rooting through your drawers for something to wear. 

Maybe you can go back to the bar and beg for your job back. You’ll do anything if you have to. 

You’re going to prove to yourself and to Simon that you’ll make it without him – and you won’t end up hanging from a fucking rope. 

The sunlight practically burns your skin from not feeling it in a while. Winter is coming in and it’s already damn cold out and you can see your breath. But you ignore it, wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself as you book it for the bar. 

You’re filled with utter dread as soon as you open the door. There’s a couple patrons already drinking and you wonder what day it is. 

You look around, searching for your old boss. He’s nowhere on the floor so you make your way to the staff room and ultimately his office in the very back. 

You only realize you’re trembling when you raise your hand to knock on the door. But you bite back your fear when you’re reminded that you need the job. You need it. 

“Enter,” you hear his chilling voice call. You take a breath and push the door open. He freezes the second he lays eyes on you, he sports a black eye and a busted lip, “You.” 

“M-Mr. Dawson,” you shakily whisper, “I-I know I haven’t showed up in a few days and I’m really sorry but–”

“You want your job back,” he finishes, tossing his head back to laugh, “You want your fucking job back? After you sent that fucking lunatic here?”

“Sent who…?” you ask softly, willing your knees to stop quaking. 

“That asshole in the skull mask. Beat the shit out of me and my blasted customers. You think I’m going to let you back in after that?” he laughs again, “You’re out of your fucking mind, you dumb bitch.”

You wince at the insult, “I-I didn’t send him. H-He was a friend of mine and he did it on his own but–”

“You can have your job back,” he says suddenly, making you freeze, “If you come over here and bend over my desk for me.”

“What..?” you ask softly, watching him sit back and lick his lips as his eyes raked down your body.

“You heard me,” he snickers, “Bend over my desk and let me fuck you and I’ll let you have your job back.”

Granted, for a second, you think about it. You really do. To just let him do it. But you can’t. You know you can't, you would never do that to yourself. 

“N-No,” you find yourself whispering, “I won’t do that…”

His smile fades quickly when you say that and his lip curls in disgust and anger, “Should have let those blokes take you out back and leave you bloody in the alleyway like you deserve.”

You leave with your head hanging low and find yourself standing on the street, fighting tears. You only feel worse than before you went in. 

When you get home, you stand there and cry. That’s all you’ve been doing lately, crying. At this rate, Simon’s prophecy is going to come true and you’re going to be hanging from a damn rope. It sounds nice right about now, actually. Anything to stop the horrific pain that you feel. 

You crawl back into bed and don’t get back up that night. Or the next day. 

The only thing that gets you up the day after that is a painful twang in your stomach. You stumble your way to the kitchen and pull out the loaf of bread you’ve been nibbling at but frown when you see some pieces have begun to mold. 

You take a look in the fridge, finding it painfully empty. The vegetables and fruits that were in there have gone bad now. The meat you had bought was all used up from when Simon cooked. You didn’t even have any cup ramens because you opted to not buy any last time. 

So you resort yourself to tearing the moldy parts off the bread and eating what's left. 

As you stand there, you realize you feel so tired. Like your legs can’t hold you up, so you allow yourself to sink to the floor, back leaning against the cabinet. 

You almost want to laugh at yourself over what you’ve become. Eating moldy bread on the kitchen floor and crying to yourself. 

You place the bread in the refrigerator in hopes that that will stop its rotting process but you don’t have much hope. 

Then, you’re back in bed. And you’re so exhausted. It’s impossible to keep your eyes open any longer. So you sleep. 

But then you have another nightmare. You can’t even remember what it was about, you’re too exhausted to even jolt awake like you usually do. 

Instead, your eyes open and they’re already filled with tears before you even get the chance to register the fact you’re awake. 

So you lay like that. For a long time. Just staring at nothing. The tears stop on their own and you’re left exhausted as usual. It’s become your default state and you begin to wonder if you’re going to feel this broken and hurt forever. 

You zone out, letting your mind go hazy and erase all thoughts from it. 

You don’t even hear your front door open. Don’t hear the boots on the floor. Don’t hear your bedroom door open. 

You hear a call of your name and that gets your attention. But you don’t hear anything else. 

Your imagination? You don’t have a lamp anymore to turn on. You’d thrown it at Simon and it broke.

Suddenly, light floods your bedroom and you bolt up in bed. A large, familiar figure blocks your doorway, a silhouette against the now illuminated hallway. 

He calls your name again and your heart skips a beat. 

“Si?” you whisper, choking on a sob when he steps further into the room. 

He’s got you gathered up in his arms faster than you can think. He’s so warm and it feels so good to have him in your arms again. You wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him – hold him so fiercely that you’re worried you may actually break him. 

“Shh,” he coos into your ear, “It’s alright, everything’s alright.”

“S-Simon…” you can’t help but wail, clawing at the back of his hoodie as if you can feel him any closer than he already was. 

“I’m here,” he sighs, kissing the top of your head, “I’m here. It’s okay. Shit, just let it out. I fucked up, sweetheart, I did. Just breathe and we’ll make everything better, alright?”

“I’m sorry,” you find yourself apologizing through tears, “I-I don’t hate you, Si. I don’t, I promise. I-I was just mad. I’m sorry I was mean.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he consoles you, cupping the back of your head as you sob, “I’m the one who fucked everything up. It was a fuckin’ mistake.”

You can’t even formulate a response, too choked up with your cries that you let out into the soft cotton of his hoodie. You feel nothing but relief at having him in your arms again, you’re almost scared that he’s going to disappear if you let go. 

But he stays there, shushing you and occasionally kissing the top of your head as he rocks you back and forth on the bed. 

Before long, your cries finally quiet and you’re left curled up against him, quietly sniffling to yourself. His grip on you remains firm, unwilling to let you go. 

After several, long minutes, he finally speaks, “Why don’t you go wash up, hm? Nice, hot, shower. I’ll fix you up some food, sound good?”

You sniffle and blearily look up at him, your lashes sticking together from your dried tears, “I don’t have anything.”

“I’ll make you some ramen cups,” he responds. 

He doesn’t like them being part of your diet but it seems he was willing to overlook it just this once so could get something on your stomach. 

“Don’t have any,” you sound completely congested as you talk, sitting up a little to wipe your cheeks.

“None?” he asks, keeping his hands on your body even as you move off of his lap. 

You shake your head, “I didn’t buy any last time I went shopping.”

“What the hell have you been eating then?” he mumbles, slowly standing up from the bed. 

You wince when you hear his knees and back pop from the movement, “I haven’t had much of an appetite but I’ve got some bread…”

Simon is silent after that, nonsensically looking around the room, seemingly taking stock of what's around him. Then he sighs, running a hand through his cropped hair before patting you on the head.

“I’ll order then,” he assures you, “Go ahead and shower, yeah?”

You do as you’re told, eager to wash the drying tears off of your face and hopefully wash away the lingering sadness. You know that you and Simon have a lot to talk about, but you figure it can wait until you’re both mentally prepared for it. 

You feel more refreshed than you have in days when you step out of the shower. You feel a surge of anxiety in your chest when you think maybe he had left while you were showering but when you pause to really listen, you can hear him shuffling about the flat. 

When you slip into your bedroom, you’re shocked to see that your bed has been completely stripped. He also swept up the broken remnants of the glass and lamp you had thrown at him and picked up the books. He had picked up some scattered pieces of clothes and put them in the laundry basket where they belonged. 

You get yourself dressed and place your dirty clothes in the basket so you don’t undo the work that Simon had done. 

You hear a knock on your door and it makes you jump but Simon quickly answers it. He calls your name to let you know the food has arrived and you quickly make your way to the kitchen. 

He’s methodically separating the food he had ordered into two separate groups, clearly having ordered for himself as well. 

It smells positively delicious and you find your mouth watering as your stomach growls. 

You turn to the fridge, opening it to grab a bottle of water out of it. You notice that the loaf of bread you had in there is gone, most likely thrown out by Simon when he realized it was moldy.

You feel your cheeks burn in shame when you imagine him knowing that you had been eating moldy bread because you couldn’t afford to buy groceries – although, even if you had all the money in the world, you were sure you wouldn’t have felt like going out to get any. You wouldn’t have been able to order since you’d broken your phone. 

You open the styrofoam tray and immediately start devouring the chicken tenders he had ordered for you. It was simple, easy, and tasty. He clearly didn’t want to order you anything too hefty given the fact you’ve been existing on bread. 

He had a burger, taking slow bites of it and occasionally nibbling at his fries. You took the opportunity to look him over. 

He honestly looked the same as ever. He didn’t have dark circles or bags under his eyes like you did. He didn’t have red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes from crying for days. For some reason that made a pang of resentment surge through you. He seemed completely unbothered by everything that had happened. Unbothered, even. 

His words ring out through your head like a bell. 

“We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes again but you bite them back, choosing to take a bite of your french fries. You realize now that you can hear the washing machine going. Clearly, he had put your bedding in there to wash. 

Maybe he was right, you couldn’t survive without him. Couldn’t even wash your own damn laundry. 

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he interrupts your self-deprecating thoughts. 

“Oh, um,” you scramble to think of what to say. Something not depressing or something that could upset him, “I was just wondering what you’ve been up to these few days!”

You try your hardest to sound chipper and interested. You’re positive he doesn’t buy the act in the slightest from the soft, pained look he gives you. But he thankfully plays along. You’re grateful because you don’t want to cry again.

“I was uh,” he cleared his throat and took a sip of water, “I was on base, actually. Nothin’ interesting, really. What, uh, what about you?”

You feel your smile falter and you look down at your food, “Nothing interesting. Tried to get my job back but that was a bust,” you chuckled, playing it off like a goofy anecdote, “Turns out your ex-boss doesn’t like when he gets beat to shit because of you!”

Simon drops his burger into his tray and his nonchalant expression turns sour in half a second, “You tried to go back to work at that shithole? Why the fuck would you do that? You know it’s not good for you!”

All over again, you feel your body flush with anger, and you’re shouting at him before you know it, “What the fuck was I supposed to do, Simon?! You left and I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to do without you. I assumed you were gone forever,” you voice pathetically broke but you ignored it, tearfully glaring at him, “All you said was that I was gonna end up killing myself and I was doing everything in my power to prove you wrong.”

“You should have known me better than that!” he shouted, slamming his hands on the countertop, “I never would have left you–”

“That’s exactly what you did!” you shriek, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You left me! You ignored me when I needed you to go get laid and then left like I was nothing to you! Look at you for fuck’s sake, I’m a fucking wreck and you look like you couldn’t have fared better! I almost let that scumbag fuck me just to get my fucking job back, Simon! All because you left me.”

For once in his life, Simon seems utterly lost for words. The only sound in the small kitchen was the steady dripping of your leaky sink and you’re stuttering, sharp breaths as you force yourself to not break down all over again. 

“I should have known you better?” you whisper, resting your hands on the countertop, hanging your head so you can catch your breath, “Apparently I should have. Maybe then I would have known better to depend on you like that.”

Simon stands there, across the counter from you but feeling like he was miles away. You could hear his breathing stutter every few seconds, like he was gearing up to say something but he seemingly changed his mind every time. 

The washing machine jingle rang through the apartment and he immediately stepped away. 

Typical. Simon was never the type to truly let himself be emotionally vulnerable so there was no reason for you to expect it now. 

With him out of the room, you took the chance to wind yourself down, taking a few more bites of your tenders. You could hear Simon moving the laundry to the dryer, slamming it closed before turning it on. 

But he doesn’t reappear, evidently hiding out in the tiny room off the kitchen where your washer and dryer were. He was probably collecting himself just like you. But he appears a second later, lingering out of the corner of your eye. You can see him looking at you but you can’t bear to look back at him.

“I didn’t…” he pauses, taking a breath, “I wasn’t…” he lets out a sound of frustration before he tries again, “I wasn’t okay while I was gone.” 

He doesn’t say anything more. It was evident that that was all he was willing to give up in the moment. But you want more from him, you need more. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get past this, Simon,” you whisper, “Everything’s so fucked up. I’m fucked up.”

“I am too,” he says softly, drumming his fingers against the counter, “We’ll fix it.”

His assurance marks the end of the conversation and you both resume eating the dinner he had ordered. But it’s silent and neither of you make an attempt to fill it. 

Once the food is eaten, you take a seat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest as Simon takes your laundry basket from your bedroom and puts the clothes in the washer. 

Your eyelids feel heavy and you wish so desperately that you could crawl into bed and sleep. You suddenly realize that you have no idea what time it is. 

“Simon?” you call out when you catch him passing by. He stops at your calling, raising an inquisitive brow, “What time is it?”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, unlocking it so he can see, “9:20.”

“Oh…” you respond, tucking your head back into your knees. 

Simon walks away at that and you briefly wonder what he’s doing now. But your eyelids are so heavy and you’re finding it so hard to think clearly. 

You’re pulled from your sleep a soft hand petting over your head. Your eyes slowly drift open and you’re met with Simon’s sweet, brown eyes. 

“Made your bed,” he says so softly, thumbing over your cheek, “Go ahead and get some proper sleep.”

You nod your head and sit up, briefly wondering how you managed to flop over on your side without waking up. Simon takes your hands and helps you to your feet.

You stumble down the hallway and immediately toss yourself onto your bed. You don’t even bother to crawl under the blanket, simply drop your head onto the pillow and let sleep overcome you. 

When you wake up next, it’s from a nightmare. You gasp into consciousness, eyes wide open in the inky blackness of your bedroom. Your heart pounds in your ears and you find yourself panting, trying to stabilize yourself. 

A heavy weight tosses itself over your middle and you almost panic before you smell Simon’s cologne. Immediately, you relax and sink back into the bed. 

“You’re okay,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep, “I’ve got you.”

“I want it to stop,” you find yourself whispering, feeling so utterly exhausted, “The nightmares.”

Simon tugs you over to him, tucking you securely against his chest, his arm like a heavy weight draped across your abdomen, “We’ll get you fixed up.”

As you close your eyes and sink into his embrace, all you can think is that you should have never been broken in the first place. 

You finally sleep through the night but you wake up feeling far from refreshed. What’s most shocking is that you’re still wrapped up in Simon’s arms – and he’s still asleep. The sun is well risen now, he should have been up and about a while ago. He never strays from his schedule.

You find yourself staring at him. It wasn’t often that you got the chance to see him so peaceful. His lashes were so long, brushing his cheeks. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the deep sound of his breathing. Your eyes slowly drift closed again and you let yourself drift off to sleep once more. 

When you wake up next, it’s because Simon is trying to carefully move you off of his chest so he can get up. You whine and find yourself clinging to him again.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he mutters, settling back against the headboard. He wraps his arms around you and lets you melt against him again, your head resting against his chest.

“You slept late,” you find yourself commenting.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat and softly rubs your back, “I haven’t had the chance to sleep much. Base is pretty loud.”

You want to mention that it’s never been a problem for him before but you bite it back. Instead, you hum in response. 

As you’re left in the still quietness of the late morning with him, you realize that you still have no idea how you feel about him. You don’t know how you feel about him being back. On one hand, you’ve missed him so, so dearly and you feel so complete with him by your side. You feel safer and more whole, like you could actually start healing again. 

But on the other hand, there feels like there’s a wall separating you two. The fight you two had is a heavy weight that seems to continuously pull you under the water despite how hard you fight to resurface for air. 

You love him, you really do. 

But you’re still so angry at him. 

And it feels like neither of you are going to actually talk about it properly. 

The two of you eventually make it out of bed and get moving around. You still don’t have any groceries but Simon simply orders something for breakfast again.

“Somethin’ I need to ask you,” he says, suddenly terrifyingly serious as the two of you stand in the kitchen eating.

Anxiety flares through you but you try to appear calm and cool, “About?”

“You said that,” he takes a second to collect himself, seemingly searching for the right words, “You almost slept with that guy for your job back.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, “Yeah…what about it?” 

Simon paused when he heard the defensiveness in your voice, “You really almost did that?”

You frown, “So what? I can do what I want, Simon.”

He sighs softly, holding his hands up, “I’m not tryin’ to fight, love.”

“I don’t know why it’s your business,” you mumble, using annoyance to hide the shame you feel, “I just needed a job is all.”

He nods, “You don’t need to worry about that, alright. I’ve got you.”

You take a bite of your sandwich, intent on trying to take the attention off of you, “There’s something I wanted to ask you too.”

“Go ahead,” he says softly, sipping on the drink he ordered – some kind of soda if you had to guess.

“That night…” you start, pausing when you notice the way he stiffens immediately. He plays it off by going back to his food, “You, um, you left to hook up with someone, right?”

He places his sandwich down and sighs, “Yeah.”

“...Why?” you finally ask, “I mean…”

You trail off and Simon remains silent. The tension is so thick you could practically see it between the two of you. Your heart hammers in your chest, anxiety steadily festering the longer he’s quiet. You think he isn’t going to respond at all and start to give up, hanging your head. 

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he finally says, “It was a…last minute choice and it shouldn’t have happened.”

He says it but you don’t feel any relief. That concrete weight on your chest isn’t eased in the slightest. It’s an excuse, something he’s saying to get you off his back. And that doesn’t feel good.

“I um…” you clear your throat to get rid of the way it sounds thick, “I’m sorry for that time, by the way. When I was throwing things and I-I hit you. I shouldn’t have done that, it was wrong of me. So, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, shrugging his shoulders dismissively, “You were upset.”

“Simon…” you mumble, food completely forgotten in front of you, “I want to talk. About everything,” Simon seems annoyed immediately but he tries to hide it. You know him too well for that, though, “I-It was a lot and I think we should talk about it – really talk about it.”

He says your name exasperatedly, turning to open the fridge so he can put his leftover food inside before he slams the door. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“But I do,” you say, following him as he storms out of the kitchen, “You said some really mean shit, Si. I want to talk about it!”

He storms into the bedroom, slamming it open as he busies himself with picking up inside. You can tell he’s uncomfortable and simply trying to take his mind off of it. But you’re not going to let him avoid it.

“I don’t,” he snaps, final and harsh.

“I do!” you argue again, “I-I want to know why you said that to me. I want to know how you could–”

“Fuck sake!” he hisses through clenched teeth, ripping his hoodie off of a chair he had tossed it onto. 

He pushes past you, tugging it over his head. You follow him out of the room, watching with wide eyes as he picks up his mask from the coffee table. He tugs it on, painfully silent as he fits it into place. 

“What are you doing?” you finally ask when he gets to the door, slipping his boots on with a grunt, “Where are you going?”

“Out.” he growls, jerking the door open so hard it rattles on its hinges.

“Don’t run from me, Simon!” you cry, grabbing hold of his sleeve to keep him from stepping out, “Are you ever going to tell me you're sorry? Are you ever going to look in my eyes and tell me that you're sorry for what you said to me? For leaving me? Or are you just going to do it again?” 

You can’t fight the tears as you cry out, trying to tug him back into the apartment. But he gives you one final look before he rips his arm from your grasp and slams the door in your face. You’re left alone again, frustrated,  sad and utterly confused. 

You wished he would stop leaving. 

You decide to stay up a little later than you had lately, waiting for him to come home. The oven clock read a little past midnight when you finally called it and crawled into bed. Tugging his pillow to your side, you wrapped yourself around it and tried to imagine that it was him in your arms again. Closing your eyes, you will yourself to fall asleep, no matter how much you want to stay up and wait. 

You’re jostled awake by the weight shifting on the bed. Your eyes flutter open as it creaked under the additional weight. You know it’s Simon, even though your back is to him. He remains silent, clearly trying not to wake you and unaware that he already has. 

The heat radiates off of him in waves, comforting and nice. But despite that, you feel tears welling up until they finally trickle down your cheeks. You can hear Simon’s soft breathing and you can feel him shift every once in a while as he tries to sleep. 

“I can’t do this, Simon,” you find yourself whispering. It’s quiet but you know he hears it, “I want to feel better again. I want to stop being so fucking angry at you but you won’t let me. You just leave me again and I want you to stop. I want…” you suck in a breath and find yourself struggling to continue, simply dissolving into cries. You quiet them as best you can into your pillow.

Simon is painfully silent and still. You’re positive he’s not going to say anything. He’s going to pretend to sleep so he can avoid talking about it because that’s what he does best – avoid. When things get too hard or emotional, he avoids it like the plague. 

You suppose it’s from the way he grew up. A mama’s boy who was punished by his father for showing any kind of emotional vulnerability. It led to him being terrified of it as an adult – he refuses to let himself show that kind of weakness, even to someone who means something to him. And you know that you do – mean something to him, that is. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, just an echo in the darkness of the room. But it draws you to silence, “I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice thick with emotion, “For what I said to you and for the way I acted that night. I fucked up, I know. It never should have happened. What I said should have never–” he lets out a heavy breath, “I never should have said it.”

You roll over, blinking the tears out of your eyes, which tumble down your cheeks. With a sniffle, you scoot closer to him, his warmth welcome and comforting. He opens his arms for you, letting you situate yourself against him. You rest your head against his shoulder, letting your hand rest against his chest. His own hand comes up to take it in his, bringing it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. 

“You mean…” he trails off again but you remain patient, knowing it’s difficult for him to fight through his desire to flee, “You mean a lot to me. I never want to lose you. You’re…important.”

You nuzzle your head against him, a silent acceptance of his apology. He kisses the top of your head and pulls you more firmly against him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again for good measure.

He didn't look you in the eyes and tell you he was sorry but he did the best he could. In the inky blackness of your bedroom, as you shared a bed, and he held you so sweetly, he finally said what you needed to hear. And that's truly all you could ask for.

PART TWO.

do not modify, translate, or repost.

[astraystayyh]

Breathe

hyunjin x photographer!reader. friends to lovers with so so much tension and pining. hyunjin is too pretty (yet again). suggestive in the end and reader is wearing a dress. inspired by Bathtub hyunjin.

thank you hyunjin yet again for being my eternal muse and inspiring this brainrot. wrote this while listening to All mine by plaza so.. please enjoy <333 feedback is highly appreciated 🫶🏻

Is it possible to drown in the depths of your emotions, until breathing becomes a forgotten process, one that eludes each one of your senses?

Yes, you believe, if standing before a vision of ethereal beauty, as you are now, all encapsulated within Hwang Hyunjin’s being.

The camera slightly shakes in your grasp as you linger by the threshold of the bathroom, eyeing Hyunjin’s silhouette submerged in the waters. He’s sitting inside the bathtub, fingers running through his raven locks, awaiting your return.

He doesn’t seem to notice your presence, nor do you wish him to. Instead, you remain silent by the door, allowing yourself a few seconds to savor the intoxicating aura he exudes.

See, he isn’t doing anything particular, nor is he adorned in anything enticing— a simple white shirt and matching linen pants. And yet, his presence fills the air, compelling oxygen particles to flee from your being, leaving you transfixed, unable to do anything but gaze at him.

“I can feel you staring,” he remarks casually, his eyes still drawn before him as he leans back, tapping the edge of the tub with his ring-clad fingers.

Your heart pulses against your ribs, a dance that the organ knows intimately by now, one that Hyunjin alone can orchestrate. It isn’t the first time he’s had this effect on you, it is a familiar territory you first breached when Minho introduced you to him.

Hyunjin is a friend, but his hands find your waist more times than deemed platonic, and you like his touch much more than you’d like to admit.

“I'm assessing my subject, you know?” A faint grin dances upon your lips as you approach the bathtub. Hyunjin is doing you a favor— you just booked your first photography gig, and your client only has one condition: to shoot it in a bathtub. You wanted to translate your vision to life beforehand, and Hyunjin volunteered to help you.

“And how do I look?” he inquires, his smile a sugary dream that coaxes forth his left dimple. You place your camera gently on the countertop, bending down to inspect him up close.

His eyelids glisten with the golden glitter you delicately applied earlier. His skin is dewy, glistening underneath the warm lightning, and his lips drip crimson, courtesy of the cherry chapstick you carefully tapped into place.

There is always a myriad of visions that come to your mind when you think of Hyunjin— a blazing fire where each flame surges higher towards the heavens, a burning dance of passion and confidence; or a delicate red rose standing resilient in an empty field, vulnerable yet unwavering in its strength.

And now, you see a siren, beckoning mortals with a voice of beauty, ensnaring them with its hypnotic allure, much like he captivates you in this moment.

“You look nice,” you settle on saying, and he playfully pouts, his thumb grazing against your wrist lightly, akin to the delicate flutter of a butterfly's wing. “That's it? You never compliment me properly.”

“Someone’s gotta keep your ego in check,” you shrug, grabbing a dozen of roses and scattering them all around his body. You nod, satisfied with the outcome, finally retrieving your camera.

“Let's start with a simple shot, look at the camera, as you would when seducing someone.”

Instead of looking at the lens, Hyunjin's gaze finds yours first. With a deliberate slowness, his eyes trace the contours of your form, sending delicious shivers down your spine. His pupils dilate, his gaze darkens, before he reluctantly tears his eyes away, finally shifting his focus to the camera.

it takes you a few beats longer to find your voice once again.

“Hold still, one… two… three,” you murmur, capturing a few shots, pausing for a few seconds to admire the warmth of the light bouncing off his honeyed skin. “Perfect.”

“Me or the picture?” he teases, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and you roll yours in response.

“The photographer.”

“You’re right, you're perfect,” he replies simply, and you're momentarily taken aback, your eyes widening slightly. He notices, a small smile playing on his lips as you grab his hand to adjust his pose.

“You aren't allowed to speak anymore,” you declare, guiding his index finger to his lips while his head rests on his other curled fist. He grins, before his expression morphs into a smoldering gaze, one that blankets your skin in hues of red from its sheer intensity.

“Look at me this time,” you instruct, and he nods obediently, directing his gaze towards you. Though your eyes remain fixed on the lens, you can sense the intensity of his gaze piercing through you—suddenly, the white dress you're wearing feels too sheer to contain the flames ignited by his stare.

“Mm,” you hum in approval as you look at the result. A sweet realization washes over you as you notice the subtle shift in his gaze— does he know his eyes unconsciously soften when they land on you?

With each click of the camera, your nerves dissipate, replaced by a growing confidence as each shot turns out exquisitely. They look worthy of gracing billboards worldwide, a privilege of working with a model as beautiful as him, one who portrays emotions as if they were crafted solely for him to feel.

“Good, let's try an overhead shot now,” you instruct, slinging the camera strap around your neck before climbing into the bathtub, legs on either side of his body. You’re hovering over him as he gazes up at you, his fluttering eyelashes echoing the erratic beat of your heart.

Your eyes briefly trace the contours of his now-translucent white shirt, a veil that delicately clings to his form, accentuating the sculpted lines of his physique—the arc of his v-line melding seamlessly into the fabric of his trousers. He possesses the body of a masterful dancer, a muse Michelangelo himself would have revered.

“Take off your shirt,” you suddenly request, and though your words are met with a quirked eyebrow, he obliges effortlessly. With a fluid motion, he peels the garment from his frame, sending it sailing across the bathroom's expanse.

“Good?” he questions but you remain silent because words have suddenly become beyond your grasp. Your client's request for a portrait suddenly feels inadequate and you almost itch to cancel it, because you know it won't exude the same beauty as Hyunjin’s. For each fiber of his being flusters you, makes you hyper aware of your every pulse point and how they all come together to chant Hyunjin’s name.

“Look up at me as you lean back,” you finally say, positioning the camera directly above his head. With each click, your heartbeat speeds up even more at the sight— collarbones and arms bathed in the play of light and shadow, his long, wet hair cascading over broad shoulders, and worse of all, a faint smirk that graces his placid face, as if he's aware of how breathtaking he looks in this moment.

“Should I do this?” he asks, picking up a rose and brushing its dewy petals against his lips. You swallow hard, nodding meekly before swiftly capturing a few more frames.

Emotions twist you into a peculiar being, yearning for your very soul to liquefy, transforming into the water droplets adorning the rose's petals, longing to caress Hyunjin’s lips too.

Hyunjin suddenly straightens his posture, hands coming to rest gently on your calves, fingers dancing along the hems of your dress with a delicate touch.

“How’d I do? Do I look good for you?” he asks and your knees weaken beneath you, his words rendering you a merciless leaf, swayed by the fiery winds he commands, with his words, with his touch, with his eyes, all solely on you.

“For me?” you echo, and he nods, his hand moving languidly up and down your leg, pausing delicately at your knee.

“Mm. You're the only one I want to impress.”

Your response escapes your being breathlessly. “And why is that?”

“Didn't you ask me not to speak?” he grins, running a hand through his hair. Swiftly, you place your camera on the counter before kneeling down, your thighs now brushing against his own.

“Speak,” you command, and in an instant, he seizes your waist, drawing your body close until you're straddling him, legs enveloping his middle.

“Say it again,” he whispers, and you thread your fingers through the strands of his hair, gently tugging at the edges until his head tilts back, exposing the expanse of his neck.

“I said…” you trail off, leaning in until your nose grazes the warmth of his skin.

Being this close to Hyunjin isn't unfamiliar to you; your interactions have always teetered on the brink of almost-kisses, your bodies drawn together like magnets, two halves of an orange yearning to reunite.

Yet, this moment feels different, much more fateful, as if the universe has granted you one final opportunity—to finally ignite in passion or perish into ash.

“Tell me. I want to know,” you urge, your voice a whisper against his skin, laden with unspoken desires.

“Because... I like you a lot. So much that you're the only one I think of all day. And I want you to like me too. I feel like I need it to breathe.”

His response catches you off guard with its vulnerability, the intimacy it drapes on this moment. The water envelops your intertwined bodies as your hands find solace atop his chest, his rapid heartbeat seeping into your palm.

“I always forget how to breathe around you,” you confess, a sheepish smile gracing your lips. The grin that blooms on his face is radiant, casting a glow on the room that cannot be replicated by artificial lighting.

“If you forget how to breathe, I'll give you all my oxygen,” he promises, his thumb tracing gently across your cheekbones. You see the sun in his smile, feel its warmth in his words that burn you. “I think it always belonged to you anyway,” he murmurs, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours. “I think... I wanna give you back what's yours. Would you let me, pretty?” he asks, his voice a tender plea.

And amidst all the planets you know and the countless universes that may exist, you cannot fathom a single one where your answer would be anything but yes.

“Please,” you whisper, and his lips crash against yours in a fervent dance.

Your lips part before swiftly meeting again, and you close your eyes, surrendering to a world where all your senses converge to breathe Hyunjin in—your hands exploring the contours of his chest, your mouth savoring the sweetness of his lips infused with your cherry chapstick, your nose inhaling his scent, a delicate blend of vanilla and tobacco pulling you into a dizzying dance, your ears catching the gentle rhythm of his breaths and the faint thud of his heartbeat, all resonating within you.

And you don't need your eyes to see Hyunjin; he's indelibly etched behind your eyelids from all the time you've spent admiring him before.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he draws back, “I should have kissed you much sooner.”

“Mm?” you grin, intertwining your hands behind his neck, “Was it that good?”

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

“Then show me,” you grin, a playful glint in your eyes.

His gaze sparkles with mischief, his lips curling into a self-assured smirk, his hands finding your waist once more. Breathing is not necessary if it gives you Hyunjin in the end.

“Oh, I will.”

[sunsburns]

kiss of life (ii.)

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!daughter reader

part one

summary: i actually suck at writing summaries but basically this is part two of part one of that soulmate au fic i posted a week ago lol

—or: luke castellan is being haunted by kronos and... well, you.

word count: 6.42k

warnings: sorry for any spelling errors, i haven’t checked yet, suppperrr angsty, luke castellan pov as he's slowly being corrupted by kronos, long reading time, descriptive injuries, blood, pre-tlt, luke is stubborn and a dick, loser!luke, annabeth smacking some sense to luke, grover being an icon, reader is lowkey unreliable tbh... cliff hanger (again... lmfao sorry)

a/n: part two!!! thank you guys for all the love on the first part! i am so grateful for everything and i love reading all the comments and reblogs. i hope this one doesn't end up flopping lmfaooo. i honestly wanted this to be a short angsty fic but i got carried away and now i'm planning a whole multi-part fic for this, phew. anyways enjoyyy <;33

At eighteen, Luke was cursed with nightmares. 

They clawed at the edges of his mind, threatening to unravel the fragile front of peace that he had fought so hard to maintain. Each night, he would awaken drenched in a cold sweat, the echoes of his tortured dreams lingering in the corners of his mind like a haunting melody.

The Hermes cabin, once a sanctuary from the outside world, now felt like a prison, its walls closing in around him with each passing moment. The moon, a silent witness to his torment, cast its ethereal glow through the window, illuminating the slumbering forms of campers. Some were children of Hermes, like himself, bound by the tenuous ties of blood and kinship. Others, however, were unclaimed, their parentage shrouded in mystery and uncertainty.

And as Luke lay awake in the stillness of the night, a sense of loneliness washed over him like a tidal wave, drowning him in a sea of doubt. In the depths of his troubled sleep, he could feel the tendrils of darkness closing in around him, threatening to consume him whole. And try as he might to deny it, he knew that his nightmares held a deeper significance, a harbinger of events yet to unfold in the shadowy pits of fate.

His nightmares were callings. A taunting voice would echo through the corridors of his mind, its insidious whispers weaving a thought of deceit and manipulation. It masqueraded as a voice of reason, a beacon beckoning him towards a destiny that promised demigods everything.

At first, Luke dismissed it as nothing more than the ramblings of a tortured soul, the byproduct of his own restlessness. But as the whispers grew louder and more insistent, he could no longer ignore the chilling realization that they were something far more sinister—a call to arms, a summons to embrace his role as a harbinger of the new world.

The nights he wasn't shaking from night terrors, he was tossing and turning at the thought of you. And he didn’t know what was worse. He couldn't escape you. The haunting image of you lingered in his mind even during sleep — your lips, your eyes, your skin, your voice, and that shared scar and your demise.

But at least, you'd given up on him by then. Your persistent efforts to reach out to Luke gradually dwindled into nothingness. Though you were still everywhere, a shadow that seemed to torment his every move, you no longer gave him even a fraction of your attention.

Gone were the days of you seeking him out, your footsteps no longer echoing in the halls of Camp Half-Blood in search of him. You refrained from asking for Chris's help, no longer burdening him with questions on Luke's whereabouts. The notes you once left behind were now relics of a time long past, their words fading with each passing day.

And as the full moon rose once more over the waters of the lake, you no longer waited by its shores.

Luke turned in bed, his mind restless as he tried to shake the image of you. He pulled the covers tighter around himself, seeking comfort in the warmth they provided, but the chill of unease still lingered in the air.

His gaze drifted across the row of beds, each a testament to the diverse personalities that inhabited the Hermes cabin. The floor was strewn with a chaotic array of sleeping bags, toys, and discarded clothing, while a collection of rocks adorned one corner near the closets, and drawings adorned the walls.

Despite the usual chaos that reigned during the day, the cabin now lay quiet and still. The children of Hermes, along with the unclaimed children and the ones of minor gods, had finally settled into the embrace of sleep. 

But amidst the calm, a sense of unease gnawed at Luke's consciousness. He couldn't shake the feeling that had settled over him after he noticed the empty bed and the slightly ajar door. 

Luke pushed back the covers and rose from his bed. His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way toward the empty bottom bunk, hoping not to wake anyone. The sight of an old penguin stuffed animal discarded at the foot of the bed made him edgy. His eyes trailed to the traces of blood splattered on the hardwood floor, stark against the dim light filtering through the cabin windows.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Luke picked up the toy, its soft white and black material now stained with crimson. Clutching it tightly in his hand, he made his way out of the cabin, the urgency of his steps echoing in the stillness of the night.

He knew all too well who the missing camper was – five-year-old Penelope, one of the newest arrivals to Camp Half-Blood and possibly one of the youngest campers. Found wandering alone in the woods near the camp hill just a week ago, she had been brought to safety by a group of fellow demigods on a quest. Luke couldn't shake the resemblance she bore to a younger Annabeth, with her wide eyes and insatiable thirst for knowledge. He wouldn't be surprised if Athena claimed her as her own one day–that is if he ever found her.

Luke's worry for Penelope weighed heavily on his mind, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest as he combed through every inch of camp. The traces of blood he discovered fueled his unease, each droplet a stark reminder of the dangers lurking just beyond the safety of the camp's borders.

In his search, Luke traversed familiar paths and hidden corners, his footsteps echoing in the quiet stillness of the night. He scoured the armour, the climbing wall, and the camp store.

Luke had known all about campers disappearing, whether it be on a quest or to escape and try to live a normal life with humans that never really lasted long enough as monsters would dwell within the shadows outside of camp. 

It was in the dim glow of the kitchen lights that Luke finally caught a glimpse of Penelope, perched on the counter in her pyjamas, her hair adorned with two loose pigtails. A sense of relief washed over him at the sight of her safe and sound, yet it was short-lived as he noticed she wasn't alone.

His hand hovered over the door, hesitating as he listened to the soft murmur of conversation from within. With a steady breath, Luke pushed the door open ever so slightly, peering through the crack to catch a glimpse of Penelope. And you.

You, who looked older than when you first met in the infirmary. There was an air of maturity about you, a gracefulness that hadn't been there before. Your features seemed more refined, your presence commanding attention in a way that spoke of inner strength and resilience. Luke couldn't help but notice how your beauty had blossomed, surpassing the standards of mere mortal allure. It was a beauty that seemed to defy classification, uniquely yours yet undeniably captivating.

Despite this, Luke sensed a shift in your demeanour—a resignation, perhaps, to the reality of his ignorance. You had lost any hope you once harboured for him. His guarded nature would forever keep you at arm's length. And while part of him knew that this was for the best, a small, almost imperceptible part of him couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret.

For in the crossroads of his heart, amidst the shadows that threatened to consume him, there lingered a faint glimmer of longing. The thought of being intertwined with someone who could offer solace in his darkest moments, who could bring light to the depths of his despair, held an undeniable appeal. And as much as he tried to deny it, the chance of you approaching him once more tugged at the fringes of his resolve, tempting him to let down his guard and allow you closer than he ever dared to imagine.

"So, you wanna tell me what you're doing up this late?" You approached Penelope with a gentle smile, a cookie in your hand as a peace offering. 

Your words hung in the air, gentle and coaxing, as you tried to draw Penelope out of her shell. Luke watched from the shadows, his gaze flickering between you and the young camper, a sense of admiration stirring at how you spoke to Penelope.

Penelope hesitated, her gaze shifting between the cookie in her hand and you. 

"You don't know?" You persisted, your voice a soft murmur that carried a hint of playfulness. You settled beside Penelope on the counter, your posture was relaxed as you leaned in closer to her. "Is it... a secret?" you whispered.

Luke noted the subtle change in your demeanour, the way you seemed to adapt effortlessly to Penelope's shy nature. It was a side of you he hadn't seen before, one that resonated deeply with him.

As Penelope nodded in response to your question, you continued, your tone gentle and reassuring. "Let me tell you a secret," you offered, holding up your pinky finger as a symbol of trust. "I am the best secret keeper in this camp. I pinky promise."

After a moment's hesitation, Penelope tentatively reached out, her tiny finger linking with yours in a hesitant pinky promise. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

Penelope murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I got hurt."

"What?" You gasped in genuine concern, your eyes widening as you shifted your attention to the young camper. "Can I see?"

Penelope nodded silently, her arm outstretched towards you. Luke observed from his vantage point, his heart twisting with worry as he noted the faint hint of red near Penelope's elbow.

You took Penelope's arm into your hands gently, your touch tender and reassuring as you rolled up the sleeves of her pale pink pyjamas. Luke couldn't help but notice the familiarity of those pyjamas, a subtle reminder of Annabeth's kindness and resourcefulness in making Penelope feel at home.

"Oh, wow, that looks like it hurts," You remarked softly, your brows furrowing in sympathy as you retrieved a first aid kit from the nearby cabinets. "You're handling it very well," you praised Penelope, your tone gentle and encouraging. "So brave of you."

Penelope watched you attentively as you began to clean her wound, her small frame tense with discomfort. "I don't feel brave," she admitted quietly.

"No?" You glanced up at her, "why not?"

"I miss my mommy."

Her words were tinged with a sense of longing that struck a chord with both you and Luke.

Luke chewed on the inside of his cheek, his thoughts drifting to his own longing for his mother. Penelope's admission resonated with him deeply, reminding him of the ache that never truly faded, no matter how many years passed, no matter how deep he tried to bury it. 

It was a sentiment shared by every demigod at camp, a silent ache that echoed through the cabins and training grounds. Yet, it was a pain rarely spoken aloud as if verbalizing it would make it all too real, too unbearable.

The yearning for a parent, for someone to fill the void left by their absence, weighed heavily on each camper's shoulders. It was a burden they carried silently, masking their vulnerability with bravado and determination. But for Penelope, the longing was raw in its innocence.

At just five years old, she was too young to fully comprehend the extent of her emotions. She couldn't grasp the complexities of her situation, the world of gods and monsters that surrounded her. All she knew was the absence of a mother's embrace, the absence of a comforting presence to soothe her fears and wipe away her tears.

It was a pain she didn't deserve, a burden too heavy for such a young soul to bear. The gods, in their arrogance and indifference, seemed oblivious to the lives they had shattered, and the pain they had inflicted upon their own children.

"Yeah?" You responded gently, "How much do you miss her?"

"This much," Penelope replied, her small hands spreading wide.

"Wow! That's a lot," you remarked, a sombre note underlying your tone as you processed Penelope's words. After a beat of silence, you shook off the heaviness of the moment and mustered a smile for her. "There we go. All cleaned up," you announced cheerfully, pressing a bandaid onto her elbow.

Penelope's smile widened in response, a glimmer of gratitude shining in her eyes as she kicked her feet. In a quiet voice barely above a whisper, she murmured her thanks to you.

"So, you wanna tell me how you got hurt?"

"I don't know." This had been the most Luke had ever seen Penelope talk, and while her voice was still timid, the words slipping out hesitantly, she seemed to confide in you. "I woke up because my arm hurt."

"The cut was just there?" You asked, and when she nodded, you hummed sympathetically. "...I get those too, you know."

Penelope's eyes widened, "You do?"

"Yes," you affirmed with a soft chuckle. "A lot of people do. You get them from your soulmate. Did your mom ever tell you about soulmates?"

"Sometimes."

"Well, a long time ago, humans used to have four arms, four legs, and two faces," You explained.

"What?"

"I know, right? Super freaky. So freaky that Zeus decided to split them in half. So, now we have two arms, two legs, and one face."

"What happened to the other half?"

"That's our soulmate. Our other half. And Aphrodite gave us a gift to help us find our soulmate." The smile that had adorned your face slowly waned, "Every time you get hurt, your soulmate gets hurt too."

"Is that why you have a cut on your face?"

The question lingered, hanging in the air like a whispered secret. Luke held his breath, his gaze fixed on you, waiting for your response. But instead of answering, you reached out to Penelope, a bittersweet smile gracing your lips as you guided her off the counter.

"Let's get you back to your cabin."

Your words were gentle, a soft reassurance for Penelope's sake, but Luke could sense the undercurrent of sadness that ran beneath them. As you led Penelope away, Luke's heart ached in a way that felt so familiar yet foreign at the same time. It burned the same way it did when he returned from the quest when he hated the world and everyone in it, but this time, the only person he could find himself hating was himself.

He retreated from the door, clutching the stuffed animal in his hands. He felt a fleeting reminder of the times he would hide from the monsters with Thalia.

Luke's mind swirled with discordant emotions, each thought a whirlwind of uncertainty. He knew he didn't deserve your answer, didn't deserve the solace of your words. He had made it clear too many times to count that he never wanted a soulmate, never wanted you.

But despite his protests, despite the walls he had built around his heart, Luke couldn't deny the tug that pulled him to you, the hunger in his soul that refused to be ignored. It was a longing he couldn't shake, a yearning that whispered of a connection he dared not embrace. Knowing that keeping you away was the only way to protect you from the darkness that lurked within him was what kept him sane.

"Luke?"

The sound of his name tore Luke out of his thoughts like a violent gust of wind. He spun around, finding you standing on the porch to the kitchens, Penelope at your side. She held your hand, a small beacon of warmth and light in the dimness of the night. 

It seemed too perfect, too surreal, and Luke couldn't help but feel a pang of disbelief. Were you trying to kill him? It had been too long since the last time he spoke to you, let alone stood so close to you, and here you were, the epitome of what a demigod should be, even if you were still in the dreaded bright orange camp shirt.

"Hey," he managed to say.

You continued to descend the stairs, each step cautious and deliberate. "What- uh, what are you doing up?"

"I was actually looking for Penelope." Luke motioned to the girl hiding behind your legs. When he caught her eye, Penelope grinned and let go of your hand, darting over to Luke and jumping into his arms. He lifted her easily, a small smile tugging at his lips as he handed her the stuffed toy she had left behind. 

"Oh." You hummed, "I didn't know you're a Hermes kid?"

"I'm unclaimed," Penelope chimed.

"For now," Luke's voice was gentle as he held Penelope in his arms. "And what were you doing up?"

"I was looking for a bandaid. I got lost." Penelope's words were punctuated by a soft yawn, and she nestled her head against Luke's shoulder, her exhaustion evident in every movement.

You hesitated, your gaze shifting to meet Luke's. "I found her by the canoes... near the dock."

The silence that settled between you felt heavy, suffocating almost as if it threatened to engulf you both. Luke found himself wandering back to the memories of you waiting for him at the dock during the summer nights and the regret that weighed heavily on his heart for never approaching you. He remembered the countless times he stood among the trees, watching you from afar, paralyzed by his own insecurities and fears.

Were you waiting for him there tonight? 

No, you couldn't have.

Guilt gnawed at him, threatening to consume him whole. "Listen, I-"

"I'm gonna go." You cut him off abruptly, your voice carrying a hint of tension. "Counsellor duties and all. I've got cabin checks in the morning so... you know, I gotta print papers... and stuff..."

Luke frowned at your lame excuse. "It's midnight."

"It's never too early to start now." You huffed defensively. "Bye, Penelope."

"Bye," Penelope mumbled sleepily, her hand lazily waving in your direction as you walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the night and the trail leading to the Aphrodite cabin.

As they made their way back to the Hermes cabin, Luke held onto Penelope tightly, feeling the weight of her small body in his arms. The night air was cool against his skin, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of shame for the unease he noticed in you earlier. He wanted to say something, to bridge the gap that seemed to have formed between you, but the words remained trapped in his throat.

Once they returned to the warmth of their cabin, Luke moved with a careful grace, mindful not to disturb the sleeping campers around them. He gently placed Penelope back on her bed and tucked her in. But as he began to step away, her small hand shot out, wrapping around two of his fingers. Luke froze, eyes wide with surprise.

"Luke?" Penelope's voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence of the cabin like a knife.

"Yeah?" Luke's voice was equally quiet.

"I think your soulmate is really cool." 

Penelope's words hung in the air, a simple statement that carried more weight than he could have ever anticipated.

Seven hours later, the memory of your face lingered in Luke's mind like an unshakeable ghost. Tossing back and forth in his bed, he tried to rid himself of the image, but it clung to him like a shadow. Each time he closed his eyes, your face flashed before him, haunting his thoughts. Even when he turned away, the spectre of Kronos lurked in the depths of his subconscious, a reminder of the choice that still loomed over him.

As morning broke over Camp Half-Blood, Luke found himself seated at the breakfast table, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of his fellow campers. Annabeth's presence brought a brief distraction.

She slid into the seat in front of him during breakfast and gave him a strange look, slightly out of breath from the morning rush, a half-eaten apple in hand.

"Hey," she greeted him, her voice carrying a note of concern. Pausing to tie back her braids, she studied him intently. "Who you looking for?"

Luke's response came too quickly, "No one," he replied, his voice strained. Thankfully, Chris had left earlier because he was in charge of the climbing wall in the morning, he wasn't there to tell Annabeth that Luke had been looking for you. His eyes scanned the sea of faces in the dining hall, a futile attempt to catch sight of you amidst the crowd. He felt pathetic. "What's up with you?"

Annabeth raised her brows. "Archery? Together? Remember? Or did you forget?"

"No. I didn't forget."

She only stared at him, skeptical.

"What?" he asked, "why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Oh, I get it," Annabeth's smirk hinted at a newfound understanding, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She let out a laugh, the sound echoing through the dining hall, as she shook her head and rested her chin on her hand. "How long are you planning to keep this up for?"

Luke frowned, confused.

"This entire act you have with... you know," She didn't need to say your name for him to catch on. "It's getting out of hand, no?"

"I..." Caught off guard by her directness, Luke hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Choosing to play dumb, he feigned innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right." Annabeth's knowing look pierced through his facade. She was always too perceptive for her own good. Fixing him with a narrowed gaze, she gave him a playful kick under the table, the impact enough to draw a startled reaction from Luke. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she took another bite of her apple before teasing him further. "Well, Grover said you're killing yourself."

"What?" He blinked at her, taken aback, "I'm not killing myself. Grover's just being dramatic."

"I don't think so." She said, slowly, carefully forming her words. "I mean, if I had a soulmate..."

Luke's defences bristled at the mention of soulmates, a topic he preferred to avoid. "Is this all you wanted to talk about?" 

"I'm allowed to worry, "Annabeth reminded him, her words tinged with a gentle insistence. "Family, remember?"

The word 'family' carried weight, a reminder of their shared history and the bond they had forged over the years. It was a phrase Annabeth often employed to coax Luke out of his shell, to encourage him to confide in her. When they were younger, 'family' meant everything to Luke, thanks in no small part to Annabeth's influence.

"You don't need to worry," Luke assured her, though uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his resolve. "I know what I'm doing." But did he? Luke longed for the simplicity of a time before he met you when the idea of having a soulmate seemed like a distant fantasy. Now, every decision he made, every scar he bore, carried weight, knowing it could impact you in ways he couldn't comprehend.

"The least you can do is get to know her before she leaves."

Her words struck a chord within him, prompting Luke to cast a discreet glance around the dining hall, searching for you amidst the bustling crowd again.

"She's leaving?"

"Not forever, "Annabeth clarified with a chuckle, "Just on a quest. Search and rescue. Nothing fancy."

"...How do you know this?" he said after a moment.

"Chiron told me," Annabeth shrugged nonchalantly. "He also told me to tell you that the ceremony is tonight. I hope that doesn't kill you."

It did kill him a bit. At least, it felt like it did. Luke Castellan moved through camp with a sense of urgency, his strides purposeful yet tinged with a hint of apprehension. His fingers, calloused from years of wielding weapons, throbbed with a dull ache with the burn from the bow and arrow. 

Shoulders tense, skin prickling under the relentless glare of the sun, he scanned the bustling campgrounds.

The weight of his bow rested heavily on his shoulder, the familiar weight offering a semblance of comfort amidst the chaos. With practiced precision, he counted the arrows in his quiver, his movements fluid and sure. 

Then, he heard it—the sound that drew him like a siren's call. Your voice, lilting and laughter-filled, cut through the clamour of the camp, pulling him toward you like a magnet. There you stood, leaning against the doorway of the Hephaestus cabin, a clipboard clutched to your chest as you exchanged banter with Atticus, the skilled swordsmith whose craftsmanship had forged Luke's sword.

There was something different about you today, something delicate, more approachable than he had ever seen before. Last night, with Penelope, you had worn a similar expression—gentle, caring—but it was a side of you that Luke had never been privileged to witness. With him, you had always been guarded, reserved, as though afraid that he would cut or maim you.

As you scribbled something onto your clipboard, Luke found himself intrigued by the way your smile softened. It was a stark contrast to the confident facade you often wore, and for a moment, Luke felt a pang of guilt for pushing you away so soon.

Unbeknownst to you, you were drawing closer to Luke with each step, your path inexorably leading you toward him. Part of him craved to reach out, while another part hesitated, unsure of how to talk to you after all this time.

"Hey," Luke finally managed to utter as you drew near, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You paused, a hint of surprise flickering across your features as you registered his presence. "Hi?" Your response was tentative, laced with a hint of confusion. After a moment's hesitation, you glanced down at your clipboard, "I'm not changing my rank on your cabin. I know three is low, but I was being generous."

A ghost of a smile tugged at Luke's lips. He was all too familiar with the chaotic nature of Cabin Eleven, where overcrowding was the norm and taking turns on the sleeping bags was treated as a game. "No, no. I just..." He trailed off, suddenly realizing he hadn't thought through the purpose of seeking you out. "I think we need to talk."

The confusion in your expression mirrored his own, and for a moment, there was a palpable sense of uncertainty hanging between you. "Talk?" you echoed.

Luke nodded, his gaze meeting yours earnestly. "Yes."

"You want to talk...? To me?" 

"I hope it's not that bizzare."

He tried to smile for you, but it felt wrong. Luke couldn't shake the weight of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew all too well that he hadn't been the embodiment of an ideal soulmate. In his mind, there lingered a pervasive belief that you harboured nothing but hatred towards him, something that you made obvious with every interaction between you two.

He wondered if this was the way you felt during the days he avoided you. 

Luke had noticed the shift. There was a calculated recklessness to your actions, a deliberate disregard for your own well-being that bordered on self-destructive. You stubbed your toe on roots and table legs, tugged too hard at your hair, and scraped your knees. You started to pull your punches while sparring with Clarisse, just enough to ensure that he felt the sting of every blow. You never blocked a hit in the face, a twisted satisfaction in the knowledge that your pain mirrored his own. Together, you would limp into the infirmary, bloodied and bruised where you'd be grinning far too wide, barely offering an ounce of guilt when Luke held ice to his face.

You lowered the clipboard from your chest, letting it rest against your side as you faced Luke. The warm rays of the sun filtered through the dense foliage above, casting dappled shadows that danced across your features and forced you to squint against the brightness. The noise of children's laughter and the sound of feet pounding against the earth filled the air.

Your voice cut through the noise, "You've made it pretty clear that you want nothing to do with me, Luke," you began, your words carrying the weight of unspoken hurt. "You can't blame me for being surprised."

As you began to walk toward the next cabin, Luke fell into step beside you, "Can you just give me a chance—" 

"I think you're too late for that."

"I know, I just—" Luke's words faltered, his thoughts tumbling over one another in a desperate attempt to articulate his feelings.

"I have nothing to say to you," you declared abruptly, stopping in your tracks and turning to face him. Luke skidded to a stop just in time, his gaze meeting yours as you regarded him with a mixture of sadness and frustration. "Seriously. I understand, okay? Did I come on too strong? Maybe. Yeah, I'll admit that" you acknowledged, your expression softening slightly. "Maybe coming to you hours after your shit quest was stupid, but I gave you space when you asked—"

"I just wanted to wish you luck on your quest," Luke interrupted, his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of remorse.

With a quiet "Oh," you stepped back, your eyes momentarily averting his gaze. Were you embarrassed? Were you disappointed? Did you want to fight? 

"Sorry," you mumbled, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Thanks. I'm, uh, I'm seeing the Oracle after this. So... not technically a quest yet."

"It's your first one, right?" Luke's voice softened, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

"If you're worried about getting another scar, don't worry, I doubt it's anything dangerous," you reassured him, though your words held a hint of hesitation. There was a fleeting moment where your gaze lingered on him as if expecting a sudden change in his demeanour, but Luke remained still, his expression unreadable. "I just need to find Eros and go from there."

"Eros?" Luke's pace slowed, curiosity dancing in his eyes as he raised his brows in interest. Yet beneath the surface, a seed of annoyance sprouted, tendrils of jealousy winding their way through his thoughts. Your quest sounded far more intriguing than his own, and a bitter brew of envy churned in the depths of his stomach. Despite his inner turmoil, he attempted to play it off with a forced chuckle. "Has Cupid gone missing?"

"Apparently," you muttered bitterly under your breath, the resentment palpable in your tone. Luke sensed the edge to your words, though he pretended not to notice.

You sighed, "Is this conversation going anywhere? I really need to finish these cabin checks. I'm busy enough as it is."

Your words held an unspoken plea for him to leave, and though Luke understood, a pang of disappointment nagged at him. He couldn't entirely blame you; after all, he'd been an ass for months.

Both of you hesitated just outside the door to cabin eight, and Luke could feel your eyes on him. When you began to step away, his hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. You froze, eyes wide with surprise.

“I also wanted to thank you,” He said, words rushing off his tongue.

“For what?” you asked.

“For last night.” He wasn't sure why he brought it up, why he felt like he needed you to know. "With Penelope."

"It was nothing," you said, voice barely audible. "We gotta look out for each other, right?"

Then, you left, you hurried up the short staircase to the cabin door, barely sparing him a glance before knocking. From his place, Luke could hear someone welcoming you into Artemis's cabin. He watched you until the door was shut behind you, vanishing you from his sight.

As the ceremony approached, the hues of twilight painted Camp Half-Blood in a golden glow, a serene yet foreboding atmosphere enveloping the surroundings. Luke's unease mounted with the setting sun, casting stretched-out shadows that seemed to carry something unnoticed. He couldn't shake the image of the figure from his nightmares, its monstrous visage haunting his thoughts with each passing moment. Yet, amidst the creeping darkness, there was an allure to the unknown, a temptation that beckoned him; its words, its promise of seeing the truth.

His gaze remained fixed on the white marble archway, half-expecting the nightmare to materialize at any moment, its twisted form emerging from the shadows with outstretched fingers. However, it was you who appeared, ascending the steps with graceful determination. Your presence seemed to dispel the shadows, bathing the surroundings in a radiant glow that eclipsed the fears that had once gripped Luke's heart. You were a blinding vice.

"Didn't think I'd see you here."

A sudden jab to his side sent him recoiling, a sharp pain shooting through his ribs. Luke winced, his gaze flickering to you as you flinched, subtly reaching for your own side. Quickly diverting his attention, he focused on the girl who had spoken.

Clarisse arched a brow at Luke, a smirk dancing on her lips. "Jumpy."

"Give him a break," Chris interjected, joining Luke's side and draping an arm over his shoulder. "Luke had a rough night, he lost a kid."

"Is that so?" Clarisse's grin widened. "And Chiron doesn't know? I'm assuming he doesn't otherwise, he wouldn't have picked you for this."

Luke scoffed and crossed his arms, "I'm the best swordsman at camp."

Clarisse's sarcasm was palpable. "Oh, I don't doubt it. The most humble, too," she retorted, unfazed by his glare. "But let's face it, a search and rescue isn't exaclty your thing anymore. You're more of an action kind of guy. You live off the glory of victory. Chiron knows that."

She was right, Chiron did know that. Which was why he rarely requested Luke to stand in unless there was a catch. Then, the flames in the torches flickered to life, and silence enveloped the candidates. Each demigod chosen by Chiron swiftly took their place, standing tall and resolute by a marble pillar, eager to showcase themselves as the prime choice for the quest. Anything for Kleos. Anything for glory.

Chiron nodded, his gesture sharp and decisive, as he placed a firm hand on your shoulder before addressing the assembly. 

"The Oracle has confirmed that this quest is a search and rescue," he stated, casting a brief, confident glance in your direction. "One where you will use all your best efforts to bring Eros back to the safety of Mount Olympus and restore the lost balance. I'm sure you know where to find him." His gaze then shifted to the rest of the candidates. "Here, I have selected some of our most compelling candidates from which you will choose one to join you on your quest, ensuring your success. Annabeth Chase, Atticus Brang, Chris Rodrigues, Clarisse La-"

As Chiron listed the candidates, you carefully evaluated your options, your eyes calculating. In the dim torchlight, Luke could just discern the thin line etched across your face, stretching from the end of your brow to your-

"I choose Luke."

The ensuing silence felt like something they could all drown in, leaving everyone stunned. Even Annabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise, though there was a glint of amusement in her eyes as she spotted Luke's bewilderment. Surely, he must have misheard. There couldn't possibly be any way you had chosen him, could there?

Chiron turned to you, his tone measured. "Are you sure?"

You never shifted your gaze from Luke, who refused to meet your eyes as he stared fixedly at the pillar across from him. Yet, the clenching of his jaw, whether from anger or annoyance or something else, was enough to elicit a satisfied smile from you.

"I'm sure," you affirmed.

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[milswrites]

Happy Ending

Based on this request

Pairing: Azriel X Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel's brothers remind him that he deserves happiness too.

Warnings: An equal amount of fluff and angst.

Word count: 2.9k

Notes: I wrote this while in a massive slump so I’m scared to post this lol. Consider this my advanced apology in case this isn’t very good.

Azriel was spellbound; the male finding himself unable to do anything but bask in the majesty of your ethereal form. Admiration pooling in the shadowsinger's eyes as he absorbed the enchanting glow of your sun-kissed skin.

He watched you.

Mouth parting in awe as his hazel eyes lingered over your soft figure as you rose from the picnic blanket. Your beauty likening that of the Mother herself as the radiant light of the afternoon sun encircled the crown of your head like a lucent halo.

He watched you.

His usually stoic lips upturned into a gentle smile as a giggling Nyx ran into your waiting arms. Heart fluttering uncontrollably as he watched the young boy place a loving kiss onto your cheek before you reciprocated the gesture with a beaming grin.

He watched you.

Because if he didn't, then he was sure to wake; with you only the object of his wildest dreams.

~~~

"You're staring again," Cassian chimed, a wicked smirk crossing his face as he propped himself up from the blanket he was laying on in order to face a flustered Azriel, "It's starting to get a little creepy."

"I am not staring!" Azriel hissed through clenched teeth. And yet, despite having been called out for it by his brother, Azriel's eyes failed to leave your glowing form as you walked away from where the males were sat to head towards the river's edge alongside Feyre and Nesta.

"Did you know your wings twitch when you're lying brother?" Cassian teased, chuckling as he ducked his head in order to dodge the cushion a disgruntled Azriel had thrown his way. The shadowsinger managing to tear his eyes from you for long enough to send a menacing glare in his brother's direction.

"I mean, can you really blame her for not acknowledging you, Az?" Rhysand asked with a snigger, violet eyes dancing with mirth as he playfully nudged Azriel's shoulder with his own, "it's not your fault that the heir of the Night Court is just as charming as his father."

Unimpressed by Rhysand's egocentric comment, Azriel and Cassian shifted their gaze from where the group of females were playing with Nyx down by the river to look towards each other. Their apathetic brows raising in union before the two males proceeded to launch their cushions at Rhysand's face.

Scoffing at the shrill cry which followed, Azriel shook his head as he turned his attention back to you. The ghost of a smile working its way onto the shadowsinger's lips as he watched you hold on to Nyx's hands in order to steady the child as he paddled in the shallows. His heart swelling at the dulcet sound of your cheery laughter as the squealing boy playfully splashed the flowing water towards you.

Unfortunately Azriel's watchful admiration didn't last for long, Cassian's tentative voice once more breaking the silence of an otherwise peaceful afternoon, "Az ?. . ."

"Don't push me Cass," Azriel warned, eyes rolling as they briefly flickered towards the general in disapproval, "or cauldron help me, that stone Nyx is throwing won't be the only thing sinking to the bottom of the river."

"Oh sure, my lips are sealed," Cassian shrugged dismissively as he moved to lay back down, voice laced with amusement as he offhandedly added, "I won't even mention the fact that your shadows have taken a little trip down to the river to visit a certain someone."

Azriel's attention snapped back towards the body of water where - just as Cassian had noted - two rogue shadows had taken it upon themselves to curl around not only the tiny heir, but also you. The shadowsinger's heart sinking to his stomach as his wide eyes took in the disobedient shadow which had lovingly snaked its way around the curve of your waist.

A sputtering Azriel worked to tug the insubordinate shadow away from you, cursing as it refused to budge from where it was comfortably resting. The smoky tendril seeming to have a mind of its own as it stubbornly ignored its master's fretful call.

This movement didn't go unnoticed by you. Your curious gaze dropping to the shadow which was tenderly embracing your waist, a soft smile gracing your lips as you lifted your bright eyes to meet Azriel's own panicked ones. The bashful male blushing a deep shade of red as you cheerfully waved in his direction.

Azriel sheepishly waved back, a crooked smile stretching across his reddened face as he nervously uttered under his breath, "Cauldron boil me."

"I don't get it," Rhysand started, brows knitting together in confusion as he observed Azriel's failed efforts of trying to reign in his unruly shadows, "you obviously like her, and it's clear your shadows do too . . . So why haven't you done anything?"

"It's never come up," Azriel justified with a shrug, clearing his throat in a poor attempt of acting casual, "we're both busy people, sometimes it's just easier to stay friends."

Cassian snorted at Azriel's words, lips curling into a devilish grin as he chided his brother, "Liar. Your wings are twitching again."

Azriel rolled his eyes, wings curling in defense as he reasoned, "Look I don't even know if she's interested in -"

"Bullshit" Rhysand interjected, scoffing at the inaccuracy of Azriel's traitorous thoughts.

"Rhys-"

"Az, she is totally in love with you."

"But how do you even-"

"Azriel!" Rhysand exclaimed, resting a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder in order to ground him, "only a fool would look at the way she looks at you and think that she doesn't feel the same."

A shaky breath rattled in Azriel's chest, his dejected hazel eyes looking up to meet the violet irises of his brother's concerned stare, "It doesn't matter. Even if she does like me . . . I'm not good enough for her."

"Not good enough?" Cassian questioned with an uncertain laugh, pulling Azriel's attention from Rhysand to himself, "Az, you're a six-foot-four Illyrian with immense power and an - admittedly - impressive wingspan. I think it's safe to say that you're good enough for anyone."

Azriel released a sad laugh at Cassian's misunderstanding, the shadowsinger taking a moment to close his eyes and inhale deeply before speaking, "Thanks Cass, but that's not what I meant. I just . . . I think she deserves someone who is worthy of her love."

"You think you're unworthy?" Cassian asked in surprise, while, in the same breath, Rhysand reassured, "But you are worthy, Az."

"No," Azriel disagreed with a low shake of his head, his sorrowful eyes returning to where you were wading through the water with Nyx safely held between your arms, "she's everything good about the world and I won't ruin that - I can't . . . Sometimes perfect things are better left untouched."

"Az, why would you even think like that?" Cassian pressed in disbelief, hurt crossing his features as he listened to the shadowsinger's deprecating words.

Azriel's brows pulled together in shame, expression forlorn as he began to explain, "The things I've done? . . . The things I'm capable of doing? She doesn't need to be exposed to that life. Cass, she deserves better than me."

Rhysand guffawed at Azriel's remark, his head thrown back in glee as he clutched at his chest. Even Cassian found humor in the situation, the male hiding his deep chuckle behind a half-hearted cough, wiping faux tears from his eyes as the High Lord stated, "That Az, is the stupidest thing I have ever heard."

"I'm glad you guys find my insecurities amusing."

"We hear you Az - really, we do," Rhysand consoled his brother, the male's laughter simmering into a supportive smile as he rested a comforting hand on Azriel's knee, "I mean, you don't really think that it was easy for us did you?"

His words peaked Azriel's interest, the shadowsinger's pained expression morphing into one of surprised curiosity as he quirked a questioning brow at his brother, "Really? But I thought-"

"Come on Az, be serious. Do you think a day goes by where I truly believe I'm worthy of Feyre?" Rhysand asks, his wistful gaze moving down to the river where a beaming Feyre was teaching an excitable Nyx how to skip stones, "But that doesn't stop me from working my damn ass off every day to try and be the mate that she deserves."

"Yeah, just look at Nesta and I. We're far from perfect," Cassian commented, tears of joy lining the general's eyes upon seeing Nesta's glowing smile as she cheered their nephew on from the river's bank, "we fight like animals half of the time, admittedly it's mostly down to me saying things that I don't mean to say . . ."

As if sensing her mate's loving stare, Nesta's eyes moved to meet his own. The female sending a playful wink Cassian's way, earning a soft chuckle from the male, "but she always makes sure to tell me when I'm out of line, just as she expects me to do the same for her."

Azriel nodded in understanding, the self-placed shame he had once felt due to his lack of self-worth was now directed towards the fact he had never known what obstacles his brother's have had to overcome on their quest for happiness. Guilt swimming in the shadowsinger's eyes as he confessed, "I never knew you guys felt the same way."

Cassian smiled fondly at his brother, a strong arm moving to wrap around Azriel's shoulders as he gave the male a comforting squeeze, "Relationships aren't about one person being more deserving than the other Az, they're about balance . . . They're about loving someone so deeply that you want to make yourself a better person for them."

"You'll get there" Rhysand promised, his confident gaze working to uplift Azriel's spirit, "you just have to believe that you deserve happiness too."

"That sounds easier said than done" Azriel remarked flatly. And yet, despite his words, the shadowsinger was unable to hide the way in which his lips had started to twitch into a hopeful smile.

"It's not when you've found the person worth taking the risk for," Rhysand answered, his eyes shimmering with sincerity as he gestured towards you with his head, "And I think you've already got that bit covered."

A light blush dusted Azriel's cheeks, a timid laugh slipping from the male's lips as his adoring gaze turned back to you, "She is pretty great isn't she?"

"Pretty great?" Cassian asked with a snort, a teasing grin working its way onto the general's face, "Az if you don't ask her out soon, Nesta and I would be more than willing to steal her from you."

Azriel scowled at his brother, eyes narrowing as he opened his mouth to spit back a retort. Yet you beat him to it, the shadowsinger's words catching on the tip of his tongue as your soft voice called out to the group of males, "Are you guys just going to sit there gossiping all afternoon or are you going to come and join us?"

Cassian readily jumped to his feet, the male wasting no time in eagerly setting off in your direction. Lips pulled into a scheming smirk as he yelled back to you, "Be right over sunshi-"

Unable to finish his sentence, a strangled yelp fell from Cassian's mouth. The male clumsily tumbling to the ground as a rogue shadow slipped away from the general's ankle unnoticed. Azriel chuckling merrily as he passed the downed male with a grin, "Graceful as always, Cass."

~~~

Azriel had never seen a siren before. But here, sat on the bank as he watched you elegantly glide through the river as though it was second nature, the male was certain that your beauty - even in the water- was unmatched.

And just when Azriel thought you couldn't get any more radiant, he found himself enraptured by your celestial grace. His hazel eyes drawn to the delicate droplets of water which glistened on your plush lips thanks to the sun's amber rays.

You were beautiful, there was no doubt about that. Rhysand had picked the most beautiful spot on the continent for your outing today, and yet even the breathtaking scenery of the lush surroundings paled in comparison to you.

"Hey Az?" your gentle voice drew the male from his stupor, the lovesick fog in his affectionate gaze clearing just enough for Azriel to see your expectant eyes looking up at him from where you were swaying in the water, "Are you going to come in?"

Azriel's eyes grew wide at your question, cheeks burning red as the male searched for a suitable answer, "Oh, uh . . . you want me to -?"

A low groan of frustration sounded next to Azriel, an exasperated Rhysand roughly pushing the shadowsinger to stand as he whispered with a hiss, "Az, just get in the damn water."

Shrinking under the anticipatory stares of his family, Azriel swiftly removed his boots before awkwardly shuffling towards the river's edge. Cautious, he dipped a tentative toe into the flowing water before pulling back with an alarmed cry, wings curling in shock at the frigid temperature of the river, "I don't know if I ca-"

"Oh for cauldron's sake" Cassian huffed behind Azriel, a heavy hand falling onto the male's shoulder before he shoved the shadowsinger in.

Azriel had no time to react, a panicked shriek slipping from his lips as he forcefully crashed into the freezing water. Limbs flailing uselessly as he worked to make his way towards the surface, the shadowsinger's control slipping as the current worked against his feeble actions.

Relief was delivered in the form of your tender touch, your gentle hands moving to support the male as he gathered his wits and acclimated to the - somewhat - soothing chill of the river. Azriel's eyes blinking open only for him to be greeted by your warming smile looking back at him.

"Hi" you whispered, softly giggling at Azriel's uneasy expression. Eyes shining with adoration as you gently moved to wrap your arms around Azriel's shoulders in order to steady the fumbling male, "thank you for joining me."

"Hi" Azriel replied breathlessly, his cheeks still burning with a heated blush despite the cooling nature of the water which surrounded him. Noticing your close proximity, the shadowsinger gulped nervously. The male helpless in resisting his shadows control as they worked to pull his slightly trembling hands to rest against the curve of your waist.

Azriel now safe within your hold, the two of you happily bobbed along with the current. All thoughts of your watchful friends long forgotten as you allowed yourselves to become lost within the moment. Azriel's heart beating wildly as your ardent gaze never failed to leave his flustered face.

And it was here, tenderly wrapped within your comforting embrace, that Azriel allowed himself to wonder if Rhysand had been right all along about your supposed affections. The shadowsinger realizing that perhaps he needn't have worried about whether you would be able to love him - because maybe you already did.

"Hey sunshine!" Cassian's startling shout broke the silence which had comfortably settled between the pair of you, the general's voice filled with mischief as he teasingly called, "Az has something he wanted to ask you!"

Stunned, Azriel blanched at his words. A string of expletives falling from the shadowsinger's lips as he turned his anxious gaze towards you. The unsteady beating of his heart thundered in his ears at the daunting sound of your encouraging hum.

"Uh . . . um, I just wanted to . . ." Azriel's apprehensive gaze shifted towards his brother who was waiting on the bank with his head hung into the palm of his hand, panic building in his chest as the male found himself lost for words, "I was just wondering if you wanted . . . uh-"

"Yes Azriel," you beamed, softly nodding along to Azriel's garbled speech, "The answer is yes. I would love to go on a date with you."

Wasting no time, you sealed your lips against his own. Using the arms you had tightly wrapped around his shoulders to pull the flustered male closer towards you. Smiling into the kiss as Azriel's lips began to tentatively move against your own.

The shadowsinger clutched onto you as though you were his lifeline, fingers firmly pressed into your waist as he held you flush against him - lips chasing after yours as though he would surely drown without your sweetened kiss.

Yet the kiss was only fleeting, you having pulled away at the sound of your friend's ecstatic cheers. Azriel released a laugh of disbelief as you moved to rest your forehead against his own, your eyes bright and full of love as you breathlessly whispered, "Finally. I was wondering how long it would take you to ask me that."

"What?" Azriel asked in astonishment, his swollen lips parting in surprise, "You've been waiting for . . . me?"

"You're beautiful, Az" you exclaimed as though it was obvious, a soft gasp escaping from the male's lips at your words, "So unbelievably beautiful."

"But I- I'm . . ."

You hushed the male with a swift peck to his lips, "Just kiss me again, Az."

"With pleasure" Azriel answered with a smile, bringing his lips to meet your own.

[triptychgardener]

What does becoming a furry in Homestuck mean? (In reference to your recent Nepeta post)

Okay so the thing is the way that Homestuck treats furries is honestly kind of equivalent to how it treats queerness. As in, Homestuck initially treats it like a joke or a thing to mostly sneer at. Homestuck was very much part of the wave of disaffected ironic assholes of the Newgrounds and Something Awful type, especially to start with, and that sort of relied on shitting on demographics that were seen as weird and permissible to find cringe and make fun of.

Jade comes onto the scene, and a lot of people sort of groan at her whole furry shtick. Jade is largely, however, just a pretty sincere character, and even though she feels some embarassment over the idea of BEING a furry (i.e. her distaste for the idea of actually wearing a fursuit) she nonetheless begins the admirable refrain of combining the finest qualities of humanity with the elegance and nobility of the animal kingdom.

Her earnest affection for all things anthropomorphic sets up more than just her excellent taste. And as much as she is a bit of a pattern-breaker, one pattern she doesn't break is that of having a Signature Animal.

The four beta kids have a bunch of different things associated with them: the four elements, four items, four musical instruments. But the animals are practically integral to who they are as people and characters.

John's attachment to the bunny is obvious, and helps to spur on one of the most emotional scenes in the comic. (For him. Him specifically.)

It's also something deeply precious to him, as it's a gift from every single one of his friends in a very roundabout fashion!

For Rose, Jaspers is half the reason she decided to play the game in the first place. She missed her dead cat so dearly she was willing to play a game that might end the world for it.

(Pictured above, Rose lying about her feelings, water is wet.)

Dave seems to at least feel some affection for crows, or at least shame when he kills them.

And his fusing to become Davesprite is what allows him to survive as a "copy" of the original Dave. Once again, Dave's disaffected irony giving way to the necessity of becoming a furry to save the world.

And for Jade, of course, Bec.

And it's notable that, by the end of the comic, at least THREE of our main beta kids have merged with their animals, and, in a way, become the best versions of themselves.

Jade obviously gets to achieve her dream of becoming a furry, and in doing so gaining power and agency that she was always denied due to her position in the story.

Davepeta, as I stated in a previous post, is the true Final Form of Dave, the pawn that made it to the end of the board, the only surviving character from Homestuck's "original" timeline, and is truly happy with themselves.

And Jasprose appears to have fully hurled herself through the walls Rose put up around herself to protect her image, and thus absolutely mortifies Rose. She just seems to be having a great time.

Homestuck evolved from a story that was deeply cynical and mean-spirited about furrydom, to a story where three of our four starting protagonists, in their truest most powerful forms, combine the qualities of man and beast to achieve self-actualization. And to bring this back around to queerness, these three characters also happen to be canonically queer. So there's that.

This isn't even to get into how this might relate to Troll Lusii and the concept of "growing up" to be more like one's parent on a planet raised by animals, but that's for another day.

[shiny-jr]

outlander

Warning: Yandere. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al-Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia. 

Summary: In every land you travel to, there's a god with elemental powers. But why is it that in every nation you arrive to, the gods attempt to make you stay?

Note: Why has no one done a genshin x twst thing? This is more of a concept idea than anything else. I might do a series with it, or not, or just random posts. Feel free to ask about it or request stuff for it.

This must be a dream, either that or a never-ending nightmare.

Waking up alone on a sandy beach, as if washed ashore, was disorientating. There was nothing else on the shore save for shells and the occasional crab, no debris indicating a wreck and no scattered belongings. All you had on you were the clothes on your back, which were a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt, your pajamas.

In the center of your palms, was a marking you had never seen before, like a freshly painted tattoo in the shape of a tiny key. As curious as the strange new markings were and you wondered how they even got there, there was a larger question looming:

How did you get here?

GRIM

There was a cat on the beach. At least, it looked like a cat. A talking feline, with gray fur and the most impossible feature of blue fire lightly simmering in his ears.

It spoke, just like a human, with a grating high-pitched voice. It was a devilish little beast, with little fangs sharper than his comebacks that he supposed were funny.

The feline pridefully announced his name: Grim.

And when you told Grim your story of how you woke up by the water's edge with no recollection of how you got here and little to your name, the creature didn't appear to care. However, when he spoke of elements being used by people and names of nations and cruel living gods you never once heard of, only then was he very vaguely intrigued. Perhaps it was amusement, as he laughed and called you stupid for not even knowing of The Seven.

That's when you heard a growl, not from behind his fangs but from his stomach. If you looked at him from the right angle, he looked quite scrawny. The poor thing was hungry, you realized.

All it took was an offering of cans of tuna found in an empty cabin nearby, and you had him in your grasp. Following you around was only temporary, he insisted, he'd go along so long as there was food. While a talking cat was not the most conventional of guides, it was better than nothing, especially since he knew basic knowledge of each nation and where the nearest sign of civilization was located.

HEARTSLABYUL

Through the winding dark woods where mysterious creatures lurked in hollow trees and dead end paths, were meadows of flowers and peaceful grooves. However, don't let the tranquillity of nature fool you. In the distance were mountains��� not actually mountains, but volcanoes and hot sprints along this land's border.

It's been said that the very millions of roses and other greenery in this land, was formed when ash rained down on dry barren earth for nearly a month. Ash from those very dormant volcanoes that were the backdrop to this perfect scenery, which came in huge black clouds thousands of years ago and blanketed the earth.

A god, an archon, the deity of law that rained hell on earth over thousands of years ago.

Long ago this land was a country of criminals ruled by a god of chaos that reveled in havoc and disorder. Among the mayhem, was a small deity of fire with mighty powers and a vision for a future he was determined to see. Riddle, is what the deity was called.

Riddle gained a number of followers to listen to his words, and he created order. A small feat compared to the many wicked still running about in a lawless land ruled by a god that valued anarchy. So, using newfound strength, the deity of fire drew forth molten lava from the mouths of the northern volcanos, burning all those in its path while the deadly plumes of smoke and ash suffocated those that remained. Atop the remains of the destroyed towns and cities, he built a new nation of order for his loyal followers.

Today, it is a thriving nation filled with flowers and greenery. However, there is one issue. The god of pyro, Riddle, is a tyrant. Every law is expected to be followed without question and without fail, beheadings have become nearly a daily occurrence with the criminals often being charged with mistakingly picking flowers on Wednesdays, drinking the wrong sort of tea post-meals, or playing croquet after five pm.

You were fortunate to be spared after your audience with the god of law, for breaking the rule: one must never bring a cat to a formal affair. Before he could burn you were you stood, you interjected, answering that your companion was no cat, so you had broken no rule.

Well, he promptly apologized for the misunderstanding and in turn, offered to make up for it by inviting you to a tea party. It would be best to except his invitation, afterall, he was the same deity that buried nearly an entire country in lava and ash, then built his kingdom atop their remains. He was a tyrant that beheaded and burned people on the daily. It was wise not to get on his bad side. Besides, he appears to have taken a fancy for you. Riddle implores that you tell him more of your world while you ignore the whispers of rebellion.

There is no leaving Heartslabyul, not without the explicit permission from the god of law. The borders with their volcanoes burn any would-be invaders, allowing passage only to merchants and travelers who have received the pyro deity's blessing. Why would Riddle ever give you his blessing to see you go?

SAVANACLAW

Across the volcanoes and hot springs of the borders, the mountains turn green with dense jungles. Across the river lies the savanna where the world's most wondrous creatures run free. Times have been turbulent, the shaking ground was evidence of troubles with this nation's divine beings, or rather, now single divine being.

Earthquakes have always been a sign of something occurring either for a purpose or unintentionally by someone else. The harsher the quake, the greater the importance of the event. And not too long ago, a ginormous tremor shook the entire globe. Something of major importance had happened.

A god, an archon, the deity of intellect was the new sovereign after tragedy befell his elder brother.

In the past the land was under the protection of the god of strength, a mighty god worshipped by his people. This god had a young heir who was also beloved by the people. However, most forgot or completely disliked the younger brother of the god of strength, a deity of ground, Leona, who had a burning hated for his brother.

Leona amassed followers of his own in secret. It came as no surprise that the common and the wealthy adored the exalted god of strength. However, the poor detested him, because he offered no help to them, no matter how much they prayed and offered what little they had to his alter. Instead, their prayers for mercy and for a change in luck, were answered by the deity of ground. The change of luck came from the death of the former god and his son, paving the way for a new sovereign.

Today, there is uncertainty in the street. Many of the former worshippers of the god of strength believe in one thing. The god of geo, Leona, is unfit to rule. The poor and mistreated have emerged from hiding places in the shadows, filled with newfound confidence for their was finally a god that answered their prayers. However, there remains a growing tension between both factions. Followers of the new god sing his praises, while followers who mourn for his brother believe that everything is falling into disarray.

You were promptly introduced to the god of intellect by his followers that wished to spread the good word. There was something wrong, you and your companion both agreed. How could a powerful god of strength and his young heir just perish without warning? Something was amiss.

This was just a new follower, at least in his eyes. So he brushed you off, allowing you to partake in the best food and drink only his followers had the privilege of receiving. Testing your luck, you decided you would ask him if he knew of a way home. For now you filled him in, explaining your origins and recent adventures. For such a conniving and arrogant leader, he was surprisingly lax. It even appeared as if he wasn't even listening to your words, just dozing off on some pillows. Your words were at least more interesting to him than the rumors of possible unrest.

Perhaps he does know a way for you to return home, but he doesn't want to tell you. It's as simple as that. He likes the new follower, you. Besides, you're not going. There is always the option of traveling further, but why do so when the geo deity has what you need? Leona greatly loathes betrayal from his own worshippers, so you wouldn't leave Savanaclaw to see another god, would you?

OCTAVINELLE

In the seas dwell creatures of unimaginable horrors living deep within the watery depths, across the ocean over turbulent waves there are islands of paradise. The chain of islands composed warm southern beaches and cold northern snowlands. This may be paradise, but a toll must be paid to even get near the islands.

A tax is applied to all arriving merchants wishing to trade and tourists wishing to step foot on the island. It doesn't make much sense, until you see their towns and cities bursting with trade. Business was booming, apparently. The water is clear and pristine, you could see the vibrant coral reefs and schools of fish swimming below.

A god, an archon, the deity of contracts once came from these very waters when there was no land.

Thousands of years ago there was nothing but ocean out this far away from the mainland. That is, until a deity of water appeared from the depths. He promised a new nation to traveling merchants, so long as they worshipped him. The deity introduced himself as Azul.

Azul had grown bored of the dull happenings under the sea, for he had achieved most things beneath the waves. The ocean could not satisfy his endless greed. He had his sights set on higher elevation, with the lofty goal of being just as powerful on land as he was in the ocean. He moved waves, creating tsunamis outward but revealing islands once hidden by water. The merchants took to land and fulfilled their end of the deal, worshipping him while creating a prosperous nation of deals.

In present day, hardly anyplace can compare to the thriving hub the nation has become. However, loyal followers have begun to see his greed. The god of hydro, Azul, is a charlatan. The ocean in all its vastness was not enough to satisfy his desires, it was why he took to land. For the promise of fulfilling prayers, something always must be given in turn or the worshippers must risk going on a quest. But, it is not always as it seems. One way or another, a prayer asking for something will end in the worshipper becoming in debt to him.

In exchange for an answer to the continued question of how to return home, you have nothing to offer for payment except for ideas. Home was modern, this world was not yet on par with the technology you knew. So you offer ideas of inventions, a device to capture an image in time, a mechanism like a box with wheels, a tool to contact someone miles away.

He believes you're quite bright, you think it false flattery to deceive you but you would be wrong. Your ideas are truly brilliant, and will no doubt earn him more millions and influence in other nations on the mainland! Best to take the compliment with a smile, or else this swindler may find a way to trap you in debt. Azul insists you tell him more of your home and your lucrative ideas. Here, a contract, where he shall sell your ideas as goods and you shall reap the rewards! Whatever hearsay you've heard painting him in a bad light, is defamation! Don't fall for it so easily.

Sailing away from Octavinelle would just be a fool's quest. Unless you can escape on a boat that can weather the harshest of sea storms, there is no stepping foot off the island without the risk of drowning. Don't you have more profitable ideas to share with the hydro deity? If not, just listening to your voice would make Azul content than all the gold in the world could.

SCARABIA

Rolling sand dunes stretch as far as the eye could see, and rocky canyons border a savanna. Sandstorms fill the skies like a dark cloud, covering the dry hot land in a new layer of sand once again. Struggle through the scorching days and blistering cold nights, and there will be an oasis in the center between large flowing rivers.

Life follows the flowing waters, and an enormous oasis is planted in the center of the desert. For miles and miles along the banks, are blooming cities and towns. A great contrast to the desert outside, these settlements are overflowing with water, with the greenest gardens and greatest crops.

A god, an archon, the deity of commerce that gave life to a once barren land.

Thousands of years ago, a terrible famine struck the land. All remaining oasis had shriveled up, leading to starvation. A kind-hearted deity of earth took pity on the people. So he decided to extend a helping hand. People would call the deity Kalim.

Kalim used his abilities to create a lush environment, a vast and incredibly rich oasis out of sand in the middle of the desert. When he walked, grass and flowers sprouted from the sand. In days, he managed to create a garden of tremendous size and design, where his new followers could live in peace and luxury by the rivers. Towns and cities were developed, giving way to a grand nation where he resided in comfort and extravagance, surrounded by people that adored him.

Now there is a grand metropolis where there is just as much gold in the markets as there are flowers. The god of dendro, Kalim, is naive. For thousands of years he has been sheltered and treasured by his people. He is oblivious and clumsy, but at the same time he is not foolish. He knows of the people that have attempted to use his abilities for sinister purposes. Although, no one could guess a conniving being plotting against him, resides in his very own palace.

Exciting adventures and thrilling tales, the god of commerce loves to hear your stories of the outside world! First time foreigners are welcomed with open arms, but you are treated as a rare guest with your unique origin. This might just be the most peaceful land you had ever traveled to.

Come, partake in the celebrations! It's easy to forget that such a laidback and cheerful personality belongs to that of a deity that gave life to this region of the desert. Dance, chat, he wishes to do it all with you! The brightness of the fireworks and lively atmosphere is nearly enough to drown out the presence in the shadows you see from the corner of your eyes. A figure with a piercing gaze, watching the jolly divine being with envy in their eyes. With a power as tempting as his, there would be those wishing to snatch it. Kalim distracts you, offering more food and drink with a smile sweeter than any flower.

Why would anyone ever wish to leave this garden that was Scarabia? The outside, the desert and canyons, were harsh and unforgiving. The god of commerce did not wish to see you risk traveling and getting hurt. The dendro deity invites you to stay in the city! Surely you could be happy here with Kalim, right?

POMEFIORE

On elevated lands, between mountains and hills, were endless forests in which travelers often vanished in or were discovered frozen. A winter wonderland, although this wasn't so delightful. It was beautiful, but a deadly kind of beautiful, where you risked being chased by mysterious beasts or becoming lost in blizzards.

The snow may be pure, it may look picturesque upon frozen lakes and lines of white trees, but looks are deceiving. This was once a serene land with a temperate climate, but it has only gotten colder and colder in more recent months until there was not a single spot of green to be seen.

A god, an archon, the deity of curses who was so bitter like the cold that he caused snow to fall all year round.

Stories have told that the land was once warm in springs and summers, only growing cold whenever the divine being was cross. They were frighteningly beautiful and terrifyingly powerful, regal as royalty but at times wrathful. Vil, is what the deity was referred to.

Vil became envious of an emerging figure, so he invoked powerful blizzards and storms. In recent generations, there have been a growing number of his people breaking off into a separate faction that worshipped a younger compassionate god of healing. Enraged by the betrayal of some followers and resentful with biting jealously, many knew that it was only a matter of time before he would snap. This frightening divine being would not accept being dethroned, he would not allow himself to be demoted in the people's hearts.

Civilization continued to thrive, even despite the never-ending snow. And yet, people cannot help but worry what may happen if the cold doesn't let up by spring. The god of cryo, Vil, was pretentious. Anyone who openly voices their distaste for him or a preference for the god of healing, can expect to be encased in ice and used as a display. No one dares to even utter the name of his rival, for fear of incurring his wrath.

Misfortune brought you before the god of curses' throne. Mistakingly his followers had believed you to be worshippers of the god of healing, which you insisted not to know of. You had simply been lost. Maybe it was your gawking at his ethereal appearance, or the compliment you murmured under your breath, but you were not frozen a punishment.

He decided to interrogate you himself, and through his stern questioning you found yourself a nervous mess as you answered honestly but blabbered far too much. Maybe this deity was amused, much like a king would find humor in a pathetic little jester. The divinity that froze nonbelievers into statues for his palace, found you quite endearing. Vil even once smiled at you when you spoke of inconsequential things, warming his heart to which the clouds carrying snow broke apart if for a moment, causing his followers to go into a frenzy fueled by hope.

When leaving Pomefiore is so much as even mentioned, all exits will be frozen shut by the god of curses. Why even venture outside the palace, when you have earned the favor of the cryo deity? Perhaps the land is warmer, but the neighboring nation is dangerous and he forbids the journey. Why would anyone leave after finally melting Vil's icy cold heart?

IGNIHYDE

A forest of dead trees serves as an ominous welcome, or perhaps it was an omen warning incoming travelers. Slopes gave way to valleys, and along the coasts was a heavy mist that painted the vision gray. Homes and buildings, magnificent temples and crumbling feats of architecture, appeared to be floating in white clouds, but in reality they were situated on cliffsides thick with fog.

In the center of the dying forest, there are ruins of a grand temple once belonging to a god that met a tragic end. However, its remnants are closely guarded by mysterious creatures of air that cannot be touched. Legends say the temple was once a place of worship for a fledgling god related to the main god the nation worships today.

A god, an archon, the deity of innovation that has never once shown his face to the public.

Thousands of years ago, a pair of divine beings appeared. They went largely unnoticed for many years, until their brilliant inventions brought awe to those around them, attracting worshippers and diminishing the power of other local gods. The one remaining brother from this pair, is a deity known as Idia.

Idia created wondrous inventions, unintentionally forming a nation of inventors in the process. Withdrawn, dark, and silent, he is quite the unconventional god and yet he begrudgingly rules nonetheless. As reserved as he may be, he is feared among divinity. All lesser gods aiming for his spot are quickly wiped out by his inventions, without him so much as lifting a finger and using his own abilities. They're reduced to mere memories, as nothing is left of them. In times of old, it was once believed that he was a harbinger of death.

On decent days, the sun may shine on the coast, but most days there are heavy clouds and fog. The god of anemo, Idia, is an enigma. Most think him a ghost, for never appearing and for his abilities. The highest families, the most brilliant inventors, even other divine beings may request an audience, but he will never show. No one has ever seen him, all that's known is he is a figure shrouded in black robes like a grim reaper. There are others who believe there are double, because two figures have been spotted once.

You become the first to see his face purely by accident. It seemed he was just as startled of you, as you were of him. Thankfully, you were not going to be blown off the face of the planet by hurricane-level winds. No other god would help, in fact, they wished to keep you here. So you had to turn to him for assistance in finding a way home.

It was only by promising that he could pet Grim, a deal to which the feline disagreed to, did the god reluctantly hear you out. After your explanation, he scoffed as if looking at a simple equation like 2 + 2. Of course he knew the answer, but he wouldn't give out the assistance you needed. The deal was to hear you out, not help you out. He'd become quite bold in the private conversation, a sharp contrast to his previous anxious demeanor. There was no arguing against he who could slaughter gods with a snap of his fingers. Although you aren't as intolerable as other mortals, this he admits.

Departing from Ignihyde is highly unlikely, given how dense the fog is. You cannot even see the ground you're walking on. While, yes, the anemo deity hasn't assisted you, he will, eventually, probably, maybe... You're the first mortal Idia has ever asked to stay, so why would you turn your back to him?

DIASOMNIA

A wall of impenetrable thorns stands in the way, magically opening and creating a clear-cut path through dense forbidding forests lively with critters. The thorn walls close, effectively trapping you. There was something different. It was unlike all the previous nations, the very air itself felt off. With every step deeper into these whimsical woods, it felt as if you were not alone.

Once upon a time, there was a dragon. No one knows how long the dragon has been alive, only that even the oldest tales say he was already ancient way back when. Valleys were shaped by his claws, the rivers from his tail, rare ore came from his fallen scales buried in the earth, the tallest mountains were but small hills to him.

A god, an archon, the deity of dreams is by far the most powerful and most ancient of all divinity in the world.

Peace was his personal preference, as he enjoyed new company which he never truly received due to his fearsome reputation. However, when other divinity sought out his destruction and his home, the deity of electricity raged. Destruction was left in his wake across the entire globe, and everyone came to know the name Malleus.

Malleus commanded thorns to be raised like walls protecting his home, and constant violent storms to ward off anyone threatening to cause trouble. For hundreds of years, no foreigner was allowed to step foot within the nation's boundaries. Anyone that tried would quickly be reduced to ash, and just a number added to the untold amount he's slayed in order to protect himself and his territory. Kind he may be to his own, but to foes he is merciless. With his black horns and piercing eyes, some refer to him as a devil incarnate.

A land unseen by outlanders, it's peaceful and magical in it's beauty. However, it seems that while your presence may be surprising, it is not a shock. You're taken by knights in gray and black, escorted away. The god of electro, Malleus, has invited you to his castle. There is astonishment and disbelief in people's eyes, a foreigner alive and well. Most like you would have been reduced to particles before they could even step foot past the thorns.

Much to your horror, or relief, once you're brought to the god of dreams, he seems delighted to have you here. It seems your presence was expected, as all he said was, "So you've finally come to see me, hm? I was beginning to grow concerned that perhaps I would have been left out of your list of destinations."

This was the last option, the only one you could turn to in finding a way home. Surely, the most ancient and powerful deity would hold the answer and assist you, since he had been so kind as to allow you inside his nation. Although as welcoming as he may be, you must remember that despite his fang-toothed smile and the twinkle in his eyes, this man– no, god, was archaic and all-powerful. He must have killed more people than you will ever know, wiped out whole armies and flattened entire nations. Malleus tilts his head at you, requesting that you recount your tale, with every minute detail.

This will be the end, there will be no escaping Diasomnia. Of course, you shall not know until later. For now, the god of dreams delights in your stories. You were the first guest he's had in thousands of years, and one of the few who did not wish to slay the legendary dragon that was the electro deity. Malleus knows what you desire, he has seen it in your dreams. However, he will not be kind and grant you what you sought. If he did, then what he desired would then vanish: you.

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑! 𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your people have a legend: mermaids only ever fall in love once. you never put much thought into it, until you come across a band of human pirates.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: romance dawn trio x mermaid!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: sleep who's she? ~7k baby (1.7k intro, 1.4k luffy, 2k nami, 1.9k zoro)

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: my contribution to mermay... on the last day of may, it gets increasingly more unhinged, sanji kinda gets bullied, robin is carrying the last two relationships, my own made up mermaid courting rituals, biting, a bit of violence

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: i had this playlist on repeat while writing 🙆

The last island had warned the waters to come were infested with dark creatures of slithering scales and tempting voices. Creatures that pull you in deep and leave you out to dry a corpse. Born from seafoam, storms, and desire. Mermaids.

“Mermaids?” Zoro drawled. 

“I met a mermaid once,” said Usopp, and everyone groaned unanimously. “She tried to take me down, but my charms were just too much, so she let me go.”

Everyone surely believed him, of course. 

And of course the motley crew ignored every reservation and warning and sailed headfirst into the treacherous sea. At first, nothing at all was out of the ordinary. The morning fog hung tentatively over the water splashing at the ship's hull as it powered through. Sure, the sun could’ve shined a bit brighter through the thick clouds, but it was a lovely day for adventure.

Nami stood at the helm keeping an eye on the horizon, relishing in the breeze hitting her face, when you heard an odd buzzing in her ear. She swiped at the air and rubbed her ear on her shoulder, but the sound only grew louder. Puffing her cheeks, she turned to ask Sanji to get her the bug spray, when she noticed he too was messing with his ears. 

She laid eyes on each of the crew scattered around the deck, enjoying the cool weather. Everyone shifted uncomfortably, faces screwing up as though in pain. 

“Do you guys hear that?” she asked needlessly, gathering their attention.

Zoro cupped his ears, nodding. “Yeah, it’s like…”

“Buzzing,” Luffy finished. He kept swatting at the air, searching out for some fly assaulting him.

“No, it’s… it’s singing.” Sanji faced the waters, the words of the village folk coming back to him as his eyes widened. He whipped back around to lock eyes with Nami just as she put everything together too.

She gasped. “Mermaids.”

The ship rocked and the weather shifted drastically in seconds. Already thick clouds doubled in number, drawing close and creating a swirling mass in the sky. Waves rumbled and rose to crash over the deck, sending the crew into hysteria to grab their bearings. 

And on top of it all, the most beautiful melody rose above the chaos, filtering into the ears of the crew and blocking all else out. Usopp’s hands slackened around the rope he held steady, eyes glazing over as he leaned toward the far off sound. Sanji’s eyes flickered up to the sky, roamed over the gray clouds, and fell to the waters below, his mind dizzied by the beauty and lithe of the voices. Zoro stumbled drunkenly over his own two feet, desire furling in the pit of his stomach, legs carrying him to the edge of the ship to catch a glimpse of the one singing to him. Luffy froze midclimb up to the crowsnest, head darting this way and that, mind clouded. Nami gritted her teeth, resolve formed to not give in to the angelic, mystifying, amazing song sung just for her—she left the helm unguarded, leaping to join her friends in calling out to the seas. 

The crew’s voices overlapped in thier pleading for the woman to come near, to give them all that the song promised. Their every dream would come true, if only the mermaid would help them into the water. The pod of mermaids encircled the ship, their harmonies intertwining in one mind. The ship might have kept on drifting, guided by rough waters manipulated by the mermaids’ hand, and crashed right into the reef and all the crew would be scooped up by the she-beasts, thrust into the deep to drown,

If not for one voice which rose above the rest in a demanding, desperate order: “STOP!”

Instantly, the clouds parted and sun bled through. The song fell through to indignant shrieks, splashes dying down to ripples as shiny tails descended into the blue. Nami blinked awake, feeling hungover and headached, looking blearily out on the water. Vision clearing, she caught a sight she would never forget; a woman lain on the far rocks, a single beam of sun illuminating the vibrant scales running along her skin till they met at a tail dipping into the water. 

The fact that their ship was headed right for those jagged rocks was an afterthought. She lurched back and sped into motion, barking out furious orders and smacking the men upside the head to push them into gear. Sanji stood frozen at the ship’s rail, gripping the wood in a vice, eyes glued to the creature. “Nami, it’s—”

“I know!” She gripped his shirt and whipped him around, slapping the side of his face a few times. “We’re going to crash!”

Sanji blinked, shook his head, and raced to grab a flinging rope, jumping high and tying in down in one swoop. Nami bolted to the steer, an eye out the window as she pulled with all her might to change their course. Usopp soon joined her, guiding the ship bit by bit to the left’s clear passage. She fell backward when Zoro’s shout reached them, “We’re clear!”

Risking a moment of peace, the navigator cupped her hands over her face, allowing her body to calm all its flighting-fighting instincts. The calm lasted for all of five seconds before the screaming began.

“Luffy! What—Why—What?!”

Nami sprang upright, locking eyes with Usopp, and the two sighed in unison before heading above deck. Whatever Nami expected, it wasn’t the terrified, shivering form of a mermaid baring her two fangs at a looming Luffy. The others stood a ways away, unsure what to do with themselves, but certain they didn’t want to get involved with this.

“Luffy!” Nami cried. “Did you drag her up here?”

Given the mermaid’s following hiss, Nami assumed that was the case. Luffy inched closer still, and the mermaid lost all her gusto, face falling as she scrambled away form him, dragging her tail behind her. 

The mermaid was beautiful; that was the common thread of thought. Her damp hair hung all around her face, nearly covering her deep eyes. Scales creeped up her torso and faded into skin around her chest. Her every movement was caught by the sun, her scales shimmering rainbow reflections into the air around her. 

“Stay back,” she hissed out, eyes narrowing upon Luffy. “Demon.”

Usopp scoffed, grabbing the mermaid’s sharp attention. “What, long-nose?”

Ruffling, chuckled awkwardly, he looked around at his friends for help, receiving nothing but raised brows. “I just mean—you’re the mermaid.”

The mermaid blinked slowly. She seemed to have forgotten the threat before her, all attention directed at a quivering Usopp. “I’m the demon? I’m the one who saved you. You think my people decided to let you live on their own?” She laughed, and the sound had a pretty ring to it. “No. I commanded them.”

Her eyes darted back to Luffy as he took to sitting criss-crossed in front of her. “I should have let you and this demon-child die on the rocks.”

It soon became obvious she knew Luffy ate a devil-fruit just by one look at him, and she was not happy about it. Luffy only tilted his head at her hostility, a little frown on his face. “Are all mermaids this rude?”

You balked, gaping before snapping your mouth shut, not dignifying him with a reply. Luffy persisted. “I like your tail. What do you mean you saved us? Why?”

Curling your tail closer to yourself, hands holding your upper body up, you glanced from the pirate captain to each of his crew. They didn’t look too threatening, but you’d learned long ago to never trust a human’s looks. Many a mermaid died on the grounds of humans looking nice. So Luffy’s question begged an answer. Why did you save them?

You shrugged a shoulder, eyes drifting out to sea. “My people need to eat.”

Usopp gulped. “We’re very gamy. You wouldn’t like us—”

“I wasn’t done speaking,” she quipped back, a brow raised. “Mers are carnivores by nature. Normally, we steer clear of humans.” You sneered at the word. “We find your kind to be a predator, and we’re a peaceful people.” The swordsman scoffed and rolled his eyes at that. 

“But times have changed. The fish have fled this sea.” You took a deep breath, shakily letting it out. “My people are starving, and they look to me as their princess for guidance.” Quickly clearing your throat to hide how the topic gloomed you, you snapped, “All that is to say that I strictly forbade the hunting of humans despite the starvation. They disobeyed me. That is why I helped you.”

You faced them all as your tail began to glimmer even brighter, slowly but surely parting down the middle. Your face contorted slightly as your scales seemed to mold into your skin, leaving you bear before the crew of pirates. You shivered in the breeze, raising your gaze once more. “Any other questions?”

There seemed to be none, silence running around the deck, and you prepared to jump back into the water before your parents sent the guard to find you, when the demon-child spoke up.

“Yeah,” Luffy nodded, face taken by seriousness. “How do we bring the fish back?”

You blinked once, then twice, and then a third time for good measure, but nothing in his expression betrayed hilarity. He wasn’t pulling your fin. The devil-fruit eater meant to help you. 

Demon. That’s what he was. You knew this fully well. It’s what your parents taught you from a young age. Devil-fruit eaters are the enemy of the sea, and thus the enemy of the mers. You’d followed this rule all your life… but then you looked at the one they called Luffy, you really looked at him right in his face… and none of that made any sense anymore.

Sure enough, Luffy led the charge against the oil corporation mining near your peoples’ home, threatening convincing them to move elsewhere. Within a few days of the miners’ departure, some mers managed to coax schools of fish back to their reefs. With the ecosystem and chain of life restored, the Straw Hat Pirates had no reason to stay.

And really, neither did you. What you did have, however, was a reason to go with the pirates. Adventure, the life you’d always dreamed of, away from the reef you’d felt tethered to for so long… and a certain member of the crew who had caught your rapt, undying attention.

There’s a legend that mermaids only fall in love once, never to find another who would fill the gap in their hearts. You would always call it foolish romance… but really, there might be something to it.

LUFFY

You were a goner the moment he offered to help you with those big, genuine eyes of his. As much as you tried to deny it—and you did try to deny it—you were falling in love with a human. A devil-fruit eater at that. What had you been reduced to?

And yet, there was no denying it. Especially not when you couldn’t bear to go an hour without laying eyes on him. Your mother said it was normal for mers to feel… possessive over the one who holds their affection, and that fact was not lost on you as you slithered through the water, approaching the pirate lazed out on the rocks he’d dragged you from about a week before.

Your eyes rose above the water first, little grin still below the surface. Luffy looked so relaxed, eyes on the clouds, every once in a while glancing at his crew on the anchored ship nearby. You braced your hands on the cool stone and launched yourself upward, fanged smile gleaming as water splashed Luffy’s legs. His laugh had you keening closer, dragging your tail along the rocks. Luffy grinned for all of two seconds before the seawater sunk in. Instantly drowsy, he tried to offer up another smile as you winced.

“Sorry,” you giggled. “I always forget.”

He laughed it off, already recovering as he shifted to face you. Luffy’s eyes followed your tail to where your fins dipped into the sea. “If only I could swim with you. Bet it’s fun.”

“If only.” You shared a smile for a little too long, but it never grew uncomfortable. Lingering in the moment, you gazed over at his ship, melancholy taking over as your smile faltered. “So… you’re leaving soon?”

“In the morning.” You clicked your tongue and tried your best to act nonchalant, failing miserably as you pursed your lips and combed through your hair.

“Why not tonight?” you offered with a tight grin. “You should get away as fast as possible. I don’t know how one becomes pirate king but it's not by sticking around a boring reef and its boring princess. Ha! I’ll even help bring your anchor up faster! Then you can be out by sundown.”

The silence crept up your spine, getting you all antsy as you lowered your gaze to the rippling waters. Shoulders tense, you could feel Luffy’s eyes on your profile as you picked at the algae along the rocks. He probably thought you were an idiot, rambling like that. And if so, that was fine. It would make him leaving so much easier. 

Luffy inched toward you and ducked to meet your gaze. “Come with us.”

“What!” You hit an octave the best soprano would envy, losing your grip and slipping right off the rock back into the water. Your hands grabbed at the slippery stone, panic all over your face before you plunged under the surface. 

You drifted under the waves, unmoving as the words replayed over and over in your head, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Glancing up at Luffy’s bright laughter, you caught sight of him peering down into the sea, his face muddled by reflections and ripples. He couldn’t be serious. He just couldn’t. 

Luffy grew nervous when you didn’t resurface, leaning over the water to catch a glimpse of your shimmery tail, when as quick as lightning you broke the surface and came nose to nose with him. Blinking wide, you breathed deeply, so close you felt his every exhale on your skin. “You mean it?”

“‘Course!” Luffy offered you his hand despite the fact he’d lose all his strength the moment he touched your sea-soaked skin. “Wanna join my crew?”

Yes. You wanted nothing more than to follow him to the end s of the earth and then some. Part of you had been hoping he would ask. The rest of you longed to take his hand and smother him in hugs till he pried you off him. But… the water swirled around your tail, threatening to carry you off in a current, and your lips quivered down. 

“I… I can’t!” you cried, dipping underwater before he could catch you, darting off into the blue. Panic bubbled in your chest, strangled gasps sending pops of air into the water around you. No matter what you wanted, you were bound to this reef. Your home, your kingdom… and above all that, to ever think of running off with a human was foolish beyond measure! So you wasted away all night long, lamenting around the sea, hiding above the coral and sands. 

Luffy watched the water all morning, trusting you would show despite your disappearance implying otherwise. Nami set a hand on his shoulder. “Luffy, she’s not coming.”

He had to hope. You wanted to go, he saw it in your eyes, and he wanted you to go too. Luffy didn’t think he could bear leaving without you, and he wasn’t exactly sure why. He knew from the moment he met you that he needed you on his crew—but why? He searched his head for an answer, coming up short. Giving the sea one last hopeful glance, Luffy sighed and gave Nami the go-ahead. 

The ship had barely sailed off when a shimmery, sparkling thing leaped out of the water, shouted his name, and plunged back into the blue. Luffy raced to the ship’s edge, a smile creeping up his face. You raked a trail of seaspray behind you as you darted just below the surface. Again, you propelled yourself out of the water. “Wait!”

Luffy threw his head back laughing, holding down his hat on his head. He shot Nami an I told you so look, to which she rolled her eyes and turned, lest he catch her pleased smirk. A round of chuckles ran amongst the crew as they slowed the ship’s leave, not that it mattered; Luffy was already slingshotting his rubber arms out at you, and the next time you appeared arcing through the air, your shout turned into a yelp as his arms wrapped around you and pulled you in. Another panicked shout of his name left you before you collided with the rubber man, the pair of you rolling to the deck.

You worried your tail crushed him, the hefty weight of it landing on his legs, but all reservations fizzled out the moment his arms wrapped you up in a warm embrace. Luffy’s head found your shoulder, your hands hooking around his shoulders. “I’m covered in seawater…”

“Don’ care,” Luffy muttered into your skin even as he weakened and sank into you. “I knew you’d come with us.”

“With you,” you corrected instinctively, pulling away to stare right into his eyes. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

He giggled softly. Luffy’s arms unraveled as he opted to instead cup your shoulders. “Good.”

From then on, where one went, you’d soon find the other. Not only on your end; Luffy quickly grew so accustomed to your presence that he began to wait for you to start eating, much to the amazement of his friends (Zoro almost admitted he was jealous before he saw the hints of puppy love in his captain’s eyes, and decided to let it go for now). 

You still had some things to wear off before you fully let yourself admit you were falling for a human. Luffy seemed to be completely comfortable just going around holding your hand, swinging them between your bodies as your cheeks warmed. Luffy never strayed far from your side, comfortably resting an arm on your shoulder or some other contact. You never completely told him off for it, somewhat liking how his warmth contrasted with the cold of your sea-ridden body.  

Now, it’s a given that Luffy cannot swim. He ate a devil fruit—everyone knew this fact very well. But now Luffy had his mermaid with him! All his faith went into knowing you would always swim to his rescue should he need it, so what’s the harm if he got a little bit more reckless surrounding the sea?

(The harm is to your stress. By God, he would be the end of you one way or another).

The number of times one of the crew has called your name, given you this tired and sorry look, and pointed out to sea. Luffy was likely to be flapping about in the distance. The most recent occurrence, Sanji set a hand on your shoulder and went to let down a rope ladder. “I’ll help you back up, lovely.”

Outwardly, you might gripe about holding his hand and having to save his devil-fruit ass from drowning every other week—but inwardly? You’d turn hell over before you let Luffy die. So you held his hand tightly in yours, wearing a smile so small only Luffy’s keen eye could see. 

NAMI

Without really realizing it, Nami had fallen headfirst for your awkward, waterlogged, fishy kind of charm (and she wasn’t at all going to complain). She first started feeling it when the freshly victorious crew met your mer royalty parents at the surface, your tail mesmerizing as it dipped just into the water, your upper body propped up onto some scattered rocks. Your eyes filled with hope the longer you spoke to them in words too far to reach. Majestic. That’s the only word to describe you.

Well, majestic and graceless. That second descriptor was added when you rolled off the rocks into the water, beaming up at your parents before doing a figure eight around the sea and vaulting into the air. You flipped tail over head, cackling as you hit the water with a splash. A tiny laugh left Nami, eyes shining.

She was the first to help haul you up a rope ladder, hands clutching your damp arms. Nami met your smile steadfastly. “What’d you tell them?”

You giggled, cheeks warm at how you practically laid across her legs, the rest of the crew gathered around. “I just told ‘em I found something worth leaving for.”

(You’d told them you found a pretty human girl and had to leave with her or else you would probably die).

You promised to return for your birthright throne one day, though that promise hurt you. You had a duty to your people after all, no matter how pretty Nami was. But until then, you had today, and you would make the most of it. 

Love wasn’t enough of a word to describe what you felt looking at Nami, and obsession was a bit too extreme (though Usopp would teasingly disagree). You simply… couldn’t help but gravitate toward her any chance there was, ever in her orbit. Where Nami was, you were soon to be found. Nami never told you to screw off or give her space; on the contrary, when your shoulder brushed hers, she pressed into you fervently, skin to skin and warm.

It only took a month for you to throw all caution to the wind and do the only thing you knew—go forth with the mer courting rituals (you were hopelessly at a loss, only doing what you’d seen the older mers do to beckon the attention of their intended).

Nami, clueless, accepted each gift of dazzling seashells and shimmery pearls with alighted smiles, taking you in her arms even when you smelled of the kelp forest you’d swam through to find the treasures. She laughed off the bites you gave her wrists, arms, and sometimes shoulders, snickering about how it tickled. And she sat and listened to every song you sat her down to listen to, closing her eyes as the melody calmed her, never needing any actual enchantment to draw her in. 

In turn, you assumed her habir of buying you things was some sort of human ritual. Why else would Nami’s cheeks be so rosy as she handed you a luxury hairbrush you’d raved about seeing in a shop window? 

“Did you see this new pearl she brought me?” Nami leaned toward Robin giddily, rolling the pearl in her palms. Her lip between her teeth, she stifled a too bright smile. “I’ll have enough to make a bracelet if hse keeps this up.”

“Then I’d say you’ll soon have a bracelet,” Robin mused, turning a page in her book. Nami tilted her head, eyes narrowed.

“What’s so funny?”

Robin’s lips curled up into a grin, eyes darting up to meet Nami’s. She barely contained her mirth as she flipped the book around and handed it over. “Nami, she’s been courting you.”

Jaw slack, Nami poured over the open page, heart stuttering. She slapped a hand to her temple, huffing a laugh. “So by giving her gifts, I’ve been courting her back?”

Humming, Robin took her book and closed it gently. She turned to face Nami entirely, brows raised. “You don’t seem upset.”

“I’m not,” Nami quipped, cheeks warming instantly. Robin chuckled behind her hand. “I—I mean—Uhm…”

The older woman stood and set a hand on Nami’s shoulder. “I’d expect an invite to swim fairly soon.”

Sure enough, not a day later, you shyly slinked up to Nami as she headed to the galley for dinner. Your hand found her wrist, tugging her aside as Zoro and Robin passed by wearing matching grins. You stared at your feet uncharacteristically, shuffling back and forth. Nami felt hot all over. She reached out a lissome finger to wrap around your pinky, whispering, “What is it?”

Swallowing thickly, you huffed a confident breath and snapped your head up. “Would-you-go-on-a-swim-with-me-tomorrow?”

A little smile worked its way up Nami’s face. Your eyes squeezed shut the second you finished your sentence, wincing like she might lash out. “I’d like that.”

Your whole face lit up, eyes wide as saucers. “O-Okay. At sunset. We’ll be docked at that island by then, right?”

Nami nodded and pulled you into the galley. Right as she passed through the door, before she could catch the teasing glances of the others, she turned and mumbled, “It’s a date.”

Nobody questioned it when you hissed your fangs at poor Usopp, booting him out of his seat right next to Nami, and promptly plopped down next to the grinning navigator.

Sunset came to slowly, in your opinion. All day you’d been tripping over nothing, nervous hands making your awkward legs even more coltish than usual. Around evening, the ship tipped too far left far too quickly, sending you careening right into Nami. You dragged the both of you down to the deck, face hidden in your hands as she laughed brightly.

And finally, the sun descended across the sky, shooting oranges and yellows and pinks into the clouds. 

The wind kissed your face as you leaned against the ship’d railing, eyes darting back and forth over the rippled waters below. Fish flittered at the surface, bubbling her and there, muttering awful curses at each other. Nami sidled up beside you, eyeing your profile before gazing down. 

You snickered, drawing her attention. “Fish hear all sorts of swears and insults from the sailors. I wish you could understand them because I will never be caught translating that mess.”

Your laugh trickled off as you looked at her, eyes trailing up and down her form. She wore one of her bikini tops and a pair of shorts, nothing too special, but something flared up in your chest at the sight of her. Skin prickling, you whipped around and found Sanji not too far away. The cook took a drag of his cigarette, admiring eyes set on Nami. Your fangs peeked out of your lips, trilling a low hiss. Sanji choked and nearly dropped his cig into the sea, catching it betwixt his fingers at the last second.

Nami’s laughed gently, taking your arm and swinging one leg over the ailing, then the other. You gazed into her eyes deeply. “C’mon,” she smiled. “I thought we were swimming?”

With that, she jumped off the ship and plunged into the sea. You jerked forward, watching bubbles fizzle up from the deep before Nami’s head popped back into sight. She kicked into deeper water, calling for you. Taking a moment to sike yourself up, you stood precariously on the ship’s railing, preparing to make a graceful dive after her—when your foot slipped.

Yelping, you tottered offbalance and fell face first off the ship, just barely flipping around to land feet first in the water. The water fizzled and bubbled all around you, the usual sting of scales surfacing from the depths of your skin causing you to squirm slightly. Your senses enhanced instantly, so Nami’s rich, boisterous laughter flowed down from the air to the sea, embarrassment flooding your body. Slowly, you swam upward, water parting over your head and dripping donw your face. 

Eyes hooded, you came to face to face with Nami’s state of hilarity, clutching her sides as she struggled to remain above water. You waded toward her, hands finding her sides and giving her a break from kicking even as your eyes avoided her own. She hooked her finger under your chin, grin cheeky. “I thought it was cute.”

“Wasn’t meant to be,” you grunted. 

Nami rolled her eyes and kicked away form you. “I thought we were swimming?”

“Not here,” you said, coming back to your sense. You reached for her hand and led her along the coast. “This way.”

You placed her arms around your neck and sped through the water, taking the pair of you far from the prying eyes of the crew and nearby sailors. Nami tucked her face into the crook of your neck, chuckling as seaspray stung her skin. Your tail propelled you toward a secluded cove you once visited with your aunt’s migrant pod, and you reached your destination in no time at all.

Now, Nami had done her research. She knew what to expect… But then you actually started to swim, your tail not making the usual constant up an down movements. You took a deep breath, eyed her hopefully, and parted the water by arcing your arms outward. Using a single, powerful thrust of your tail, you glided through the water like a piercing arrow, rotating in a spiral corkscrew. You circled Nami, who treaded water with a confused furrow in her brow. 

She had been picturing the Dance of Sea Hearts all day, and yet she hadn’t come close. 

Taking a breath, Nami gulped some air and ducked under the surface, flinging open her eyes. The salty water stung her eyes but she remained wide eyed, gaze trailing after your lithe curves and spirals. She caught your eye and the whole world seemed shifted all at once.

Suddenly pickiing up speed, you swam on your side round and round Nami, creating a current that spun Nami in a circle. Cheeks puffed of air, she went up for another bout of air and sank back down in one fluid motion. It was odd sort of dance, your fins brushing her skin and your hands tangling in her hair, taking her hands and spinning Nami in circles till the girl’s lack of oxygen and dizziness created a euphoric lightedheadness. But she trusted you, so she rose up for air and descended under the waves once more. 

When you finally started to sing, Nami wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to return to the surface. You were one person yet your voice sounded like a choir, echoes forming under the water and overwhelming every living creature in the vicinity with the beauty of your vocalizations. She remembered when she heard your people singing her crew to thier watery depths… and this was nothing like that. Their voices beckoned her forth with promises of jewels and safety of wealth… but you didn’t promise anything other than the safety of your love. 

Nami’s lips returned to the surface, sucking in as much air as she could. As the water closed around the crown of her head once more, you floated right in front of her, careful to not allow any enchantment into your voice. You wanted to do this right, not the way your people usually took the hearts of humans. Lips parted, you strung out your song—the song your father sang to your mother, and her mother to her father, and his father to his partner, and so on. 

The dazed look in Nami’s eyes was nearly concerning, and you nearly feared you’d let slip some magic, when her hands cupped your cheeks and her forehead collided with yours. Bubbles flew form your mouth, song halted instantly. Nami gave you a tilted grin, picking up the melody where you’d dropped it, and you were putty in her hands. 

Deeper the pair of you sank into the waves, your arms enveloping her body and holding her close, your tail curling around her legs. Noses brushing, your voices twinned together as your smiles rose to greet each other. Nami tapped your arm rapidly, on the brink of suffocation, and you swiftly swam the both of you back to the surface. 

Gasping in air, Nami curled her arms round your neck, lungs no longer straining under the power of the sea. “Are we, like, mermaid married now?”

You laughed awkwardly, nosing her cheek. “Not exactly… Do you understand what I’m asking?”

“I do.”

“And?”

She pecked your lips. “I like you too.”

Though your heart threatened to sink, you accepted her kiss wholeheartedly, vowing to someday make her understand the depth of what you felt for her. The night grew long and full of laughter, splashing water hitting your faces as you committed a dance of your own making: having fun.

ZORO

Zoro knew the moment he laid eyes on you that you were dangerous. 

With sharp fangs, fins that flared when angry, and the most hypnotizing eyes that made him feel things when he looked in them—you were close to the myths he heard growing up on his home island. Except, unlike the myths, you were kind, and maybe that’s what made it worse.

Zoro also knew something else the moment he saw you jump in the way of a sword strike from an oil miner and proceeded to tear him to shreds. With a mumbled curse and flushed face, he felt a thump in his heart as you heaved, dark eyes taking him in like you intended to devour him whole. But then you smiled, corners of your mouth curling to reveal shiny teeth that should have been threatening, and all he could think was a very firm shit.

He wasn’t getting a crush on a mermaid. 

Yet, he found his eyes always drifting to you one way or another. And that voice—you swore you never used your enchantments on anyone, finding it unethical, but you had to be doing something to him. Each morning you went up to the crows nest and sang a song. Zoro was able to name every single one by now, but he’d rather die than admit it. 

(But you knew, having a keen eye to catch his eyes fluttering closed whilst you spun your melodies).

You composed yourself far better despite feeling a similar tug in his direction. You were a princess, after all—albeit a feral sea princess, but you held poise nonetheless. Of course, that didn’t change the fact that every time you laid eyes on Zoro you had this innate desire to bite him. Maybe then the cook would get the message and stop staring.

Either way, it was really only a matter of time before the culmination of looks, touches, and songs took its final toll on you both. 

You sat with Robin on the steps leading up to the helm, you head propped in your hands, eyes unabashedly laid upon the swordsman training on the deck below. Robin’s eyes drifted up from her journal, flicking between you and the source of your admination, before shaking her head. “You could talk to him, you know.”

Blinking, you glanced her way. “I do talk to him.”

“I mean,” Robin laughed. “Talk to him. About you and him.”

“Oh no, I can’t do that. It would complicate things.”

“And constantly undressing him with your eyes doesn’t?”

You cast her a little glare. “Don’t test me.”

Rolling her eyes, Robin shoved your shoulder, nearly sending you falling donw the stairs. “I’m sick of watching you two. It’s sickening. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of your own romantic customs?”

Cheeks burning, you stammered over incoherent words and wobbled to your feet. Pausing to breathe, you peered over your shoulder, losing yourself for a moment as you caught sight of the grace with which he moved. He moved on from lifting weights, instead going over his katas and form with sword, the Wado Ichimonji. 

Robin’s chuckles brought you back to reality. Pouting, you gritted out, “Shut up.” You whirled around and meant to march right up to Zoro—what you were going to say was the issue of future you—but you walked head first into a broad chest and fell in a heap of limbs on the ground. 

Zoro’s eyes went wide, motionless as you glared up at him only for your eyes to soften instantly. Zoro huffed a laugh and reached out his hand. You eagerly accepted his help, jumping back to your feet and falling right into your habit of admiring every detail in his face. Your surprisingly strong grip remained on his wrist, your eyes darting between the flesh of his arm to his chesnut eyes. Zoro frowned deeply, confused, trying to tug his hand away and reeling at how strong your vice was. 

Blinking quickly out of your trance, you released him, stared blankly, and bolted below deck. Zoro watched carefully, having half a mind to call you back; he’d walked over to talk to you, after all. He liked talking to you (it was a shocking revelation he was still having trouble accepting).

Robin felt like an intruder on such moments, yet always found herself in the middle. She snapped shit her journal and Zoro’s head snapped in her direction, quickly darting his attention elsewhere. Robin let loose a sigh of exasperation. 

“Ridiculous.” Before Zoro could process whatever that meant, Robin was gone, leaving Zoro clutching his hand ot his chest and wondering why his skin crawled with the lingering sensation of your touch. He really couldn’t take much more of this. And neither could the crew.

“Every time they speak I feel like I’m walking in on a hook up,” Nami complained to Sanji. “They make asking about the weather feel sensual.”

Sanji chuckled to that. “Patience. Not everyone is as emotionally aware as you, darling.”

A week passed, and the usual brief glances and looks of longing exchanged readily. And then came the night of your watch. Everyone always knew when you had watch because you made it everyone else’s problem the whole day. Groaning and grunting, you lamented your lost sleep, and the others usually chuckled behind their hands whilst you sighed.

Usually, you spent your watch alone, charting the stars to pass the time and singing old sea shanties to keep yourself awake. But tonight was different; tonight, someone joined you.

Zoro’s footsteps thunked against the deck, startling you from your daydream. Shoulders dropping, you sent him a smile and went back to leaning against the mast. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nope,” Zoro sighed. He followed you gaze to the night sky. “Have they moved?”

“Have they—?” You paused to stare at him, mirth glittering in your eyes. “Have the stars moved?”

He flushed from his neck to his nose, only worsening at the sight of your blue-moon smile. “You know—are there new ones? Constellations. Don’t new ones appear when we’re in different areas?”

His frantic explanations only humored you more, dragging tiny chuckles out of you even as you nodded. “I know what you mean. Sorry for laughing… There are new ones. See there?” You sidled up to him and pointed to the left side of the sky. “There’s the South Mother. I could never see her back at my reef.”

Zoro’s brows met. “South Mother?”

“I think you call her Ursa Major,” you explained. “To us, she’s our ancestor, banished to the stars for loving a human.” Realizing how close you’d drawn to him, you glanced at Zoro before swiftly clearing your throat and stepping away. The tranquil quiet filled the space between you, before the stories of your childhood rose to the surface of your memory.

“My mother always told that story as a warning. Never deal with humans. They get you cast among the stars.” A tiny scoff left you, smile forming. “But my father? He told me South Mother was a revolutionary. Why shouldn’t she have loved a human? If she found one worth her time, then that’s her choice.”

You chanced a look at Zoro, locking eyes with him. You found it in yourself to not look away. “I always liked my father’s version better.”

Zoro nodded tentatively, unsure what to say if he should say anything at all. He settled for sitting against the mast, motioning for you to join him. You dropped down quickly, taking a spot on his right and resting you head against the wood. Minutes went by in blissful silence.

“Can I bite you?”

The question caught him off guard, Zoro lurching up to stare at you. His jaw agape, he found your expression to be one of utter seriousness, blinking at him expectantly. His swallowed thickly. “I—In what context?”

You shifted around to face him, waiting for him to do the same. “In the context that I want to bite you so no one else does.”

Reeling, Zoro managed a laugh, lips curling upward. “I don’t think you have to worry about anyone else biting me.”

“So you don’t want me to?”

“I didn’t say that.” Gods, what was he doing? He lowered his gaze, watching your hands fidget nervously with your boot laces. You were nervous… Glancing up, he saw that same nervous energy swarming your face. “Can I ask why you’re worried someone else will bite me?”

You thought back to your conversation with Robin, and her advice, and regretted ever bringing any of this up in the first place. It was all so stupid. You’d done so well of pushing all of this down… but he was waiting for an answer, and you’re quite certain you’d give Zoro anything he wanted.

“In my culture,” you started, “we bite those we… feel things for. It lets others know they’re talking with someone.”

Zoro understood what you actually wanted to say, no matter how hidden in your words it was. “And you want to talk with me?”

You wanted so much more than that. Honestly, you were clinging to your composure. He’s lucky you even asked first. “Yes. I do. And I don’t want you… talking to anyone else.”

Squinting at the space over Zoro’s shoulder, you awaited the blow of rejection. Surely, Zoro had other options. He was a warrior—strong, wise under all that moss on his head, and kind. Yet slowly, Zoro moved into your line of sight. His heart thundered around in his ribcage, his next sentence feeling silly, yet true. 

“Humans do something similar,” he offered. “You bite me… and I’ll bite you.”

You hadn’t expected to get this far. Nodding gently, you threw caution to the wind along with all the pretense. “All that is to say… I… Well, I understand the South Mother because I met you.”

Zoro’s gaze softened, his hands drawing you closer till his exhale fanned your face. You knelt before each other, a single question in his eyes, to which you nod and lean in if only to be near him. His hand cradled the back of your head, lips dancing across the skin of your neck, finding the spot that made you squirm and biting. Zoro had no fangs to sink into your flesh but it hardly made a difference; the mark was there, along with several others littered along your shoulder.

Letting out a shaky breath you gripped Zoro’s jaw before he could go any further and brought his face level with yours. Running your tongue over your two jutting fangs, you muttered, “Where?”

Zoro craned his neck to the side, his breathing heavy and pupils consuming his irises. You gently traced the line of his jaw, completely enamored, before latching onto the skin where his neck met his collarbone. Careful to not wound him, you bit down just enough to leave your mark. Zoro’s slight hiss had you soothing your tongue over the mark, remembering the feel of his lips on your skin, and copied his earlier ministrations. Zoro would deny it over and over, but he whined, and you would take that knowledge to your watery grave.

Come morning, imagine the crew’s surprise walking into the galley expecting the usual dance of awkward feelings, only to find the pair of you thick as thieves showing off the fresh territorial markings splayed across your necks. 

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@100520s @murnsondock

[yuu-extended-yuuniverse]

Pokémon AU! (Yuu & Riddle)

Trainer looking at Grim: What kind of Pokémon is THAT???

Grim, offended: I'm not a Pokémon! I'm a TRAINER. Just you wait! I'll be the greatest Elite Four Champion ever! Myahahahaha!

Yuu: Does that make me the Pokémon in this relationship?

~*~

Riddle Rosehearts was the youngest trainer to ever become a gym leader in Twisted Wonderland, and remains one of the most ruthless.

Gym leader Riddle specializes in primarily fire type Pokémon! Which is why so many new challengers who come prepared with a full team of Water-types are so caught off guard when Riddle's partner Pokémon, Roserade, comes out! Who finishes them off with her signature move "Off With Your Head!"

Losers are enlisted to paint the hedge maze roses of the Heartslabyul gym to appear like Poké balls.

More headcanons and enlarged photos below:

Riddle

Heartslabyul is the first gym most new trainers encounter

It is situated in the same city as the trainer school, where Riddle enjoys tutoring on his days off

His partner Pokémon, Roserade, was gifted to him by a childhood friend (Trey) back when it was still a weak little Budew

Mrs. Rosehearts belongs to the ranks of Nurse Joys and originally wanted Riddle to study medicine. To everyone's shock, obedient young Rosehearts went on to become a formidable trainer and eventually declared, much to his mother's chagrin, his intention to become a gym leader and help new trainers

Riddle is still the youngest gym leader, at 18 years old

Despite his harsh exterior, many trainers still attribute much of their success to Leader Rosehearts' insistence on practicing the basics.

If you are strong and fortunate enough to ever challenge Riddle again, his fully trained 6 team includes Roserade, Ninetails, Flareon, Rapidash, Alolan Rapidash, and Shaymin.

When pressed, Riddle refuses to answer where he met a member of the elusive Shaymin Pokémon.

Riddle can often be found racing or playing polo at the Equestrian club, riding either of his Rapidashs.

Despite all the good he does, Riddle can often be too much of a stickler to the rules and unable to see outside-the-box

He first meets Yuu when he is kicking Ace and Deuce, two new trainers, out of his gym for trying to cheat their way through his hedge maze puzzle and disparaging the idea of going to trainer school, refusing to let them challenge him and effectively ending their dreams of challenging the elite four.

It is only after Yuu challenges him for Ace and Deuce's right to re-enter the gym, and uses both lessons Riddle preaches and unusual outside-the-box thinking to defeat him, that Riddle reconsiders his black and white view of the world.

He gives Ace and Deuce a second chance, on the expectation that they first go to trainer school for a week, and asks if Yuu would consider sharing their unique battling style with the students at the school (despite these techniques not being taught in any books)

In the end, all three, Ace, Deuce, and Yuu, earn their Heartslabyul badges, and Riddle wishes them luck at the next gym.

Yuu

No one quite knows where this trainer came from.

All anyone knows is that they showed up out of nowhere with a talking feline Pokémon no Pokédex recognizes, named Grim.

For whatever reason, Team STYX keeps trying to capture Grim for some nefarious purpose.

But despite Yuu's unimposing figure and having just recently started their journey, they are actually a very formidable trainer and have managed to battle off every one of Team STYX's attempts.

Yuu meets Ace and Deuce while the two of them are being kicked out of Heartslabyul gym and a fast friendship is formed.

Ace declares that they are all rivals now, but they still travel together from city to city.

To Ace and Deuce's horror, Yuu seems to enjoy sleeping over in abandoned and haunted houses on their journey

Ghost Pokémon seem to particularly like Yuu

Yuu sometimes runs into an interesting person during their travels, a man they have nicknamed Tsunotaro

Tsunotaro seems to always show up whenever Team STYX is getting up to no good, and helps Yuu battle them off and clear out various Team STYX bases of operation throughout Twisted Wonderland.

Ace and Deuce have never met this mysterious Tsunotaro, but if they did they would be shocked to discover that he is actually Malleus Draconia, Twisted Wonderland's infamous and terrifying Elite Four Champion

But to Yuu he's just Tsunotaro, a weird but nice guy who seems to think fighting off a crime syndicate together counts as a date

[elvirable]

Ambrosia (Act 1)

[ Astarion x f!Reader ] | ao3 link

rating: explicit | word count: 2k | status: ongoing themes/tags: vaginal sex, feelings realization, denial of feelings, light smut.. for now, and a whole lotta angst, will add more smut tho in the next chapters, soulmates, fluff, written as a glimpse into his mind during each act ———–

Astarion would never tell you, though - it was his little secret, one he hid away just for himself.

In other words: A delve into Astarion's thoughts, starting with the day he met you. *will update description at some point. ———– A/N: i wrote this as a peek into Astarion's mind throughout Act 1. plan to continue as i progress throughout the game. lmk what you think and if you like this style!

-------

Grief had a penchant for wearing different masks.

Phantom faces that slithered through shadows, white-hot wrath that clawed at the throat, an endless gnawing that swallowed one whole: all faces of a primordial monster that had existed before time itself.

Astarion knew all this. 

He had met them all – intimate with its simplest form, a cold polarizing solitude; a loyal companion for two centuries, teaching him to lick his wounds with malice. Others had taken everything from him, or they were too weak to lift a meaningful finger. It took several lifetimes to finally mend his precious pride back together. Why should he practice mercy when no one had shown him any?

And by some stroke of luck, he was free – at least for now. Opportunity had fallen before his feet; he could chase after power, clutch revenge in his pale fingers, walk amongst the sun. Red eyes clung to the light glimmering across the water and wavering leaves. A desperate urge pulsed up his spine, insisting he memorize each saturated detail before it faded away like the most ethereal dream. The exhilaration rose wildly before plummeting to the pits of his stomach.

Huh, that was odd. It had never dawned on him that grief could also bloom in the slow, golden sunlight.

Languid beams washed against his flesh and through the faint hem of his shirt. Every fiber of his skin ached, dull and shallow, at the sacred warmth that had been a stranger for so long. He felt this haunted and holy gift – the vigor of life from each ray of light running over his fair face. Reunited once again, like long-lost lovers.

It was the sound of boots thudding against dirt that pulled him back into the world, on the ravaged beachfront. 

With straight posture, a hollow smile painted itself across his lips. ==

“You have your mother’s eyes, you know.”

No, he didn’t know.

Quiet was this small voice that, for some odd reason, had grasped onto his conscience the night he died. It had sung loud in the beginning, but now it was just a whisper. Everything else had reduced to dust, long-buried beneath the cold earth. 

But if he could conjure the ghost of his mother, he couldn’t be bothered to. Astarion envisioned a sharp tsk , a scowl dripping with disgust if she could see the creature he was today: a thrall to his own hedonistic desires, wielding manipulation and seduction as an instrument. A vampire , taking solace amongst the shadows and draining the life around him.

Maybe he was the same, just calloused and rearranged by the fate spun for him. 

However, there was no need to exhume the past. It proved futile anyway; he couldn’t even recall the previous hue of his eyes, much less run his hands over his reflection. The only thing worthy of concern was survival. Memories had been shrouded by the same pivotal virtue, the one that carved the habit to become shapeless – to cater to every impulse and whim of those who could serve useful. Those who could protect him, at least for the time being.

And that was exactly what he tried with you, as his breath was inches from your slender neck and your eyes widened in hazy alarm, catching him by surprise. 

“Shit.”

You scuttered to your feet in the frantic silence, dozens of excuses fluttering to Astarion’s tongue. The fatigue of bloodthirst hindered his wit, but he raised his palms in reservation.

He had already taken note of your misleading presence – you were small, but heavens , would you put up a fight. Other companions had already turned towards you for guidance the past few days, and you were carved with a beauty that could intimidate. Though, there were cracks underneath that facade – ones with darkness in between. 

Peering into these cracks was his only outlet to earn your trust; after all, it was paramount for survival.

“I – I wasn’t going to hurt you,” exasperated breaths pushed from his throat. “I just needed, well.. blood.”

Basked in the dim firelight, your wary gaze studied him for what he really was: a vampire, a slave to sanguine hunger. He caught the stutter in your furrowed brows before they eased. Smug delight settled in his nerves when you, although with apprehension, allowed him to taste you.

Astarion eagerly obliged, immediately losing himself in the euphoria– the sweet vigor of your blood, how silky and rich. A low hum vibrated in his throat, and he barely registered when your palms pushed his broad weight off of you. Lush satisfaction that quenched his blood-thirst still coursed through him like a stimulant, but he still caught the tail-end of your groan.

“I don’t care that you’re a vampire. Just –,” you paused briefly to reel from your daze. “We’re all a team now, so I have to have some trust in you. Just ask next time.”

He felt happy, more alive – not only from the fresh blood still lingering on his tongue, but that you trusted him. Maybe not entirely, but the anchor had already been dropped; one step closer to wrapping you around his finger, even if you weren’t entirely flexible. He could feel it in your gaze, in the little quivers that rolled through you while his fangs sunk into your soft skin.

Once you had returned to sleep and his frenzied nerves quelled, he mulled over your parting words. You weren’t phased’ that he was a vampire, instead placing emphasis on trust. You were full of surprises – especially when the entire world met him with repulse.

Something that had been fossilized inside him tremored, as if it began to thaw. ==

There was a thin chill in the evening air, in the way nature prepares for a new season. And he hated you. 

Well, he didn’t hate you – frankly, he couldn’t get enough of you; that was the issue. 

You plagued his thoughts like a helpless addiction, better yet like a mirror; one he had repeatedly peered into, struggling to find the right angle and when he did – he was left staring at you.

Those careful eyes – a mocking reminder of everything he could have been. So different, so resilient, so disgustingly kind.

Since the day he laid eyes on you, he was the first to glimpse at your secret hidden in plain sight. Your habit of hiding yourself from everyone you came across, retreating behind stone-bared walls and tailoring a facade just enough to avoid drawing attention. Reserved lips were a mere confirmation you sealed away a vault of grief that you didn’t want – or need – clumsy, temporary hands to pry open. 

That discreet resolve particularly made you the sour dagger twisting between his ribs. Grief had been your companion as well, but its mark never trickled from anywhere else – not a warbled voice or frustrated bout. It was only noticeable through a fleeting glint in your eyes. Meanwhile, he had made this medley of rage and anguish his armor. It had fused to skin, and he no longer knew how to scrape it off. Astarion dedicated decades to cursing the Gods. You ignored them.

He knew he should despise you and eagerly await the day he could shatter this mirror you were – but all bitterness dissolved in your presence. You had become his wonderfully terrible affliction; withdrawals could damn near kill him if they were to happen.

Ribbons unraveled from his chest with each conversation, whether it pertained to the graveness of the journey or a simple ‘good morning’ from your lips. Strange yet blissful, he could feel himself surrendering every bitter pang for the peculiar sensation of… comfort .

Once laced with such harshness, his mind eased with familiarity. An interesting chord of harmony, he thought, the two of you. From the start of the journey until now, you shared an enriching balance. He would encourage you to be more outspoken, while you stirred him to be authentic and soft – even if you weren’t aware. 

You were stable like bedrock; never once expecting to be selfless or pious, instead only demanded transparency – at least to the extent he was willing to concede. Aside from the occasional brow-raise or retort, judgment never twisted your face. Respect was a new sensation to him, as you gave him yours.

This dynamic, this balance ; it was irresistibly and invariably warm. 

==

The rendezvous sort of just fell into habit. 

Every night he would savor the ambrosia from your neck, and one evening tension gave way to carnal desire. Whether it was a simple cathartic release or not, he didn’t care; tender moments bathed in amber firelight or the hush of the night had always left him craving more.

“You’re such a tease .”

You’d whisper those words every so often those sacred nights, and a rakish grin would slide across his face without fail. Lust gripped him, but never once weaved with routine; the way your legs parted to invite him in left Astarion with an insatiable urge to indulge in everything you were willing to give him. He could spend the entire evening with his head between your thighs, cold hands steadying your quivering legs as his tongue lured you to new heights of pleasure – giving you exactly what you needed. 

When he was with you – skin pressed together, desperate hums like honey – he began to relish in taking things slow. 

He preferred the nights where your bare body writhed beneath him and melted against his, while he eagerly coaxed wispy whines from your lips. No matter how wet and ready you were, his girth always met resistance as he parted your warm, sensitive walls. Your skin buzzed at the sensation of his cock splitting you open, like every time was the first you’ve been touched.

Desire laced every word he whispered into the curve of your neck, each encouraging and soft. His pace was slow, pushing into the depth of your core, buried deep enough to kiss your cervix with each thrust. Low, guttural grunts left his throat as your body’s natural instinct clenched around his throbbing cock. 

Despite his centuries of experience, he found himself struggling to restrain from succumbing to the all-consuming euphoria of it all: your lashes wet from your tears, precious gasps warm against his skin, the desirous ache to fuck you the way that pretty face beckoned to be fucked. 

The unbridled intimacy – which felt so real and tender was enough to send him over the edge. His veins hummed with yearning as he drank in the vision beneath him; your skin flushed, shaky whines that sung his name as he pushed you to pleasure. And when you wrapped your legs to press him deeper – he surrendered to the white-hot bliss. 

Although Astarion would never tell a soul, his most treasured moments were spent after desperate breaths calmed and the entire world stilled.

It was never long before you lulled into sleep, and your weight slacked against his broad chest. He lingered over each detail with softer eyes; the gentle curl of your lashes, a freckle he had missed the last time. Peace graced such beautiful features, ones that were usually still with resolve. There had never been another face quite like yours in the two centuries he had lurked amongst the earth.

Your chest rose and fell slowly before you would eventually fidget, still deep in slumber, to slink an arm over his waist. His gentle hand grasped the one that rested against his chest, careful not to stir you, as he ran his fingers over your silk skin. Such delicate hands, he mused, that had to grapple their way through life.

He pressed a silent kiss against the back of your palm before laying it back on his chest. 

In the silence, something washed over him – that rousing feeling that he never knew quite what to make of. 

His eyes swept once more to watch the shuffle of your face, buried now against his side. Your hazy sighs warmed his bare skin. Astarion could almost laugh, imagining your face reddening if he ever shared how affectionate you were in your sleep.

Though he would never tell you – it was his little secret, one he hid away just for himself.

[naffeclipse]

To Survive Pt. 2

Reader x Orca!Eclipse

Commission Info

I'm back with more cuteness requested by dear @crazedauthor with an orca!reader and orca!Eclipse. Now, the two of you have children, and things are so peaceful after so much grief. A little scare happens when you wake alone, but Eclipse arrives quickly to make it better. Family shenanigans occur.

Content Warnings: Mentions of death and blood, and a reader with children.

———

On a crisp, pale morning, you open your eyes to a gentle new dawn. Awareness rushes you like a tide, but it does not drown you. The memory of the night before swishes against you, as soft as sea form, and you smile in your sleepy hazy.

You went to rest upon an ice shelf, carved into the side of a great wall towering pale blue over the Arctic sea, with your mate and children. In the arms of your love and cradling your two babies, one new, one a little grown, you drift into sweet, milky dreams. 

After agonies of loss and isolation, you have found your pod again.

This very home was hollowed out by Eclipse’s hands. Tirelessly, he worked when you both learned you were expecting a child. You’ve never seen him in such excitement. His eyes shone like shards of ice in sunlight and he never slowed a moment until you begged him to come hold you and sleep a while.

Your eyelids flutter, crusted with sleep. Lounging in the bliss of the quiet, you appreciate the stillness for so rarely is all so peaceful. Once the baby came, there were tiny cries little hands grasping, and tiny flukes flipping. Eclipse held the babe in his clawed hands with a tenderness that stirred you with emotions. You fed your little one and whispered promises. Your little pod is safe. Your little pod is whole.

Then the second child came, and now an eager toddler was swimming quickly away around a bend of ice only to be snatched by Eclipse and cooed at in rumbling tones. The baby stayed in your arms when Eclipse wasn’t trying to hold both. Their wriggling bodies combatted his strength and gentleness, and you would laugh.

Sighing gently, you turn over, mindful of your dorsal fin against the frozen floor. 

It’s quiet… Your mind returns to bloody seas and wicked nets tossed by human hands, then silence.

Your palms slide over the emptiness beside you. Bolting upright, your tail slaps against the floor in your alarm with a cool sting. You swivel your head. The dome blue of your home holds no refractions except for the barest light off of your body alone.

Your mate. Your babies. The youngest should be in your arms, mewling for milk. The eldest should have fussed long before the sun rose over the horizon for a playmate. Somewhere between, Eclipse should have kissed your shoulder and asked a question: what fish would you like for your morning meal?

You slept too long. Exhaustion should crawl at your edges and your patience should wear thin as your babies require ever-present attention. Horror crashes upon you. Adrenaline pumps through your veins as you thrust yourself off the ice shelf and into the icy waters below. Blubber and thick skin keep you safe from shock, but your heart swings against your rib cage and pounds against your sternum. Breathlessly, you intake air. You swim under the entrance and out into the vast expanse of the ocean.

Your pod. Where is your pod?

You cry out over the waves. A rawness invades your throat as Eclipse’s and your babies’ names drag at the vulnerable softness within you. Stinging arises at the corner of your eyes. Opening your arms, you dart back and forth over the entrance to your home. Do you set out to find them quickly or do you stay home should they return by themselves? 

The ringing in your ears peaks and then stops under a familiar echo of your name. Twisting in the waters, far out beyond the wall of ice, is your mate. He bobs above the surface. Brilliant red frills frame his face as his eyes land upon you. In his arms, he cradles your children.

Almost collapsing under the surface, you inhale a tight breath. You force another one through, and another, deepening each inhale and exhale until the constriction around your chest eases. 

The sight of your mate and babies keeps you afloat. 

Eclipse carefully swims and closes the distance between you. The moment he nears, you open your arms for the youngest one. Maffei. Your darling daughter. Her face is round and plump, and what tiny frills adorn her are deep with deep red and orange hues. Her arms are thick with fat rolls. Her tiny fists unfurl, and a squall leaves her in demand for your arms around her.

The eldest, Fornax, excitedly calls for his parent. You answer with reassurance. You are here. You gaze over your child, your lovely son, the firstborn of your pod. He pushes away from his father quickly, showing off the cool tones of his flukes and fin-tips. Eclipse told you he looks so much like, but you see his strength in Fornax’s smile, in the way he swims after a fish though he’s too slow now to catch one.

Eclipse suggested the names you so dearly treasure now. He’s imagined for many years children, and the names he had prepared are perfect for the bundles now wriggling in your arm and swimming around you like a tiny whirlpool. 

Now you both have a family.

“Maffei, Fornax,” you breathe and then hold Eclipse’s gaze. “Where were you?”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, love.” He draws himself closer, resting an arm around your waist. You shift until your back rests against his chest. The familiar weight of his chin pressing lightly into your shoulder cools the rising panic within you. “I believed you would sleep longer. Don’t be afraid.”

For several moments, you collect yourself as Eclipse gathers you in his arms. He presses a kiss to the crook of your neck. Looking down at Maffei, she fits perfectly in your arms. She babbles lightly. Little coos rising and falling in musical notes lay a gentle hand over your heart.

Fornax splashes. The cool wave of water hits you gently, causing Maffei to squirm and pout her pink lips.

“Fornax,” Eclipse says in a firm but gentle voice, “Don’t splash your sister.”

“Sorry, papa.” Your son’s tail flicks. A slight sheepishness overtakes him as he drifts up to you and looks down at his little sister in your arms. “Sorry, Maffei.”

“Good boy,” you murmur and bow to press a kiss to his forehead.

He smiles with small, nubby teeth lining his gums before darting away with another ripple. The water crashes against each other. You keep Maffei shielded this time. 

Eclipse rumbles a pleased sound. Looking back down at you, he presses his cheek against your head.

“Are you alright?” he asks in a low rasp.

“Yes.” You crook your finger and softly brush Maffei’s cheek. “I am now.”

“You looked so weary,” Eclipse continues softly. The vibrations in his chest touch your spine. “Last night, you were up so late with Maffei. I meant to return before you awoke. The little ones were so eager to spend energy. It is my duty as your mate and their father to take care of you all.”

He brushes the hair from your forehead softly. You lean deeper into his touch while watching Fornax explore a side of the ice shelf, touching and digging at loose bits of the frigid wall.  

“They are very rambunctious,” you tease and turn back to grin at Eclipse. “Just like you.”

He laughs, deep and hearty. Maffei gives a small cry of complaint. You can smell the faint scent of milk on her. Eclipse coos sweetly.

“Little love, don’t fuss. We’re both here. It’s alright.” Eclipse tenderly strokes Maffei’s head. Seemingly content with the attention, she leans against your chest and settles. Her tiny tail is not yet developed enough for swimming on her own. She requires constant arms to hold her above the surface as her ability to hold her breath grows stronger and stronger.

You turn slowly back to Eclipse. Your heart has grown softer and fonder of your mate since watching him as a father. He is attentive and constant in his efforts to provide for their every need. 

Gently, you press a kiss to Eclipse’s mouth. His eyes, twin flames of burning yellow and red, widen before he returns the gesture with equal fervor. He pushes gently and cradles your mouth with his before releasing you.

“You are a wonderful father,” you speak softly. “You are the most loving mate. And this,” you look at your children, “feels like home.”

Eclipse’s tail flicks underneath you as his body seems to tremble with emotion before he gently presses his forehead to yours.

“How so, my love? Tell me all,” he demands in a rumble.

You take a moment and fall back to days when you were in the shelter of your mother’s arms, and your aunts would sing lullabies to your younger cousins. 

“Babies were held close, and everyone offered a hand,” you recount gently the memories of your childhood, “No one went without.”

You gently tickle Maffei’s chin, and she grabs your finger with her fat little hand. She gives you a searing look. A soft laugh escapes from you. You apologize to her before she returns to settle against your bosom.

“My mother would have loved to hold our babies,” you whisper softly.

“Yes,” Eclipse rumbles low, “My mother would have been pleased to see our children, and she would approve of my mate.”

You flush softly at such a thought, then grow somber within it. Despite all the pain, you are both still here. Your family is beautiful and worth every moment of agony.

Fornax returns but stops short of splashing Maffei. He instead treads slightly to swim around Eclipse, and tug at his arm, begging for a playmate.

A wicked grin spread across Eclipse’s maw.

“My father would play with me often,” he begins, and you eye him suspiciously as he takes Fornax under the arms. “Like this.”

He lifts Fornax above the surface. His body is small and slipstream, and his tail drips heavily back to the sea as he giggles at a high-pitched sound. To your dismay, Eclipse tosses the child over the surface and back into the water with a heavy splash.

“Eclipse!” you shout, aghast. 

Flicking up small waves, Eclipse darts for Fornax and scoops up your not-so-little baby, and he’s laughing. The boy demands relentlessly that Eclipse toss him once more. Thundering in joy, Eclipse obliges. Fornax sails through the air and back into the water with a furious splash. 

“Eclipse,” your voice climbs shrilly. “Stop tossing my son around like a baby seal!”

“I would never allow harm to befall him,” Eclipse promises in a mischievous roll of his tongue. 

“Again! Do it again, papa!” Fornax slaps the water with his hands and his tail cuts through the salty brine.

Then Maffei turns in your arms. Her little eyes fall on her brother and father playing roughly along the surface, and she chortles in a way that reminds you of Eclipse. Her tiny face ignites with delight.

Slowly, with all forces against you, you relax. Fornax beams brightly when he emerges from another tossing. Constantly, Eclipse is calculating, carefully adjusting the throwing of his son and watching him closely to ensure there is no harm done.

Perhaps he might feel your radiating judgment, for Eclipse turns back. He tucks Fornax underneath his arm and drags him back to you despite your son's protests and needing to be thrown once more over the waves. 

He nears, a great grin splitting his maw. You are helpless in returning the gesture in the radiating heat of his joy. His arms surround you, and Fornax is caught in the embrace as well as Maffei. 

Looking down softly over his pod, Eclipse surveys you quietly. Fornax wraps his arms around you in kind. He blows raspberries at his sister who giggles quietly. Their tiny tails squirm against your side, and you feel at peace.

“I will always protect our pod,” he declares, his eyes searing with his intent and truth.

Your heart swells in your chest. Pushing close, you kiss Eclipse sweetly, until the baby fusses and Fornax asks when he can be tossed again.

You will never lose your pod again.

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, non - con, humiliation, obsessive thoughts, victim - blaming, hinted kidnapping

I'm thinking about the type of man who can't decide if he loves you or hates you - forever lost between these two painful, opposing feelings.

It's not like he doesn't feel the pull - his heart clenching and aching at the mere sight of you, bloodshot eyes watering and cold lips trembling with need. He's not stupid, he knows he feels something towards you. You're sweet and kind and patient - you're the only person who turns to him when he tries to speak up. You smile and chuckle to ease the tension when his mind turns off abruptly, you gently brush your fingers against his as you hand him the documents and wish him a sweet little "Good luck!". You bring homemade cookies and fizzy lemonade to the office parties none of your colleagues care about.

You're a fucking bundle of sunshine and roses - so of course he feels something for you, and that something is hatred.

How dare you act so high and mighty, like you're so much better than everyone else - so much better than him? Do you think you're too good for this dead corporate job that seems to suck the life out of people? Do you think you're some type of Godsend to all the miserable overworked souls? He's sure you do, and it makes it hard to look at you.

It's hard to look at your smile that lights up any room you enter. It's hard to avert his eyes when you try to ask him about his day. It's hard to take in your form in those painfully long bright dresses - hanging just above the knee, teasing the mind with so many possibilities of what's underneath. It's hard to ignore the tightening inside his pants, the heat between his thighs - the way his throat dries up and his heartbeat speeds up when his gaze travels to your wet, glistening lips despite his best efforts. It's hard to be in the same space as you - so it must be hate, right?

Yes, he must hate you. He hates you so much he often fantasizes about pushing you to your knees right there in the office - in front of everyone, and just forcing his length down your eager little throat. He imagines you'd struggle weakly, but would eventually give in - thick wet tears running down your puffy cheeks, your mascara ruined and your red lickstick all messed up as he smears his pre - cum all over your open mouth. You'd sob, your fists shaking against his thighs before your new role as nothing more than his cumdump sinks in and you're made to endure any and all abuse he wants you to.

Other times the setting of his fantasies is a lot more personal - a lot more intimate. Sometimes you're laying in his own bed, sprayed open like a starfish - tied up with your eyes covered, completely unaware of your surroundings. The only similarity that remains consistent is his roughness - even in his hate-fueled dreams he's impatient to touch you, to have you, to ruin you. His strong hands itch to tear apart the only barrier between his fingers and your body, his teeth ache to rip into your soft, welcoming flesh. He's shaking all over, anticipating the sweet little moment when it will become too much for you - the pain, the fear, the unwanted pleasure - and you'd cry out in that adorable tiny voice you used to greet him with.

He hopes you'd feel betrayed. He hopes you'd be repelled, shocked, even disgusted when he pumps you full of sticky warm cum and finally takes off the mask covering your eyes. You'd meet his gaze just as he loses himself in the ecstasy of your vulnerable boy - sparkling eyelashes wet and matted to each other as the gasp dies at your parted lips. Then he'd kiss you - but not gently, not like a lover. He'd violate you with his lips and teeth and tongue, he'd explore every inch of your insides and make you feel defiled. Sullied. Unable to be loved by anyone else again.

Yes, he thinks, he would love to teach you a lesson. It's only fair, right? You drive him mad every single day - so maybe it's time for him to return the favour. And if your tea tastes just a bit off today - and if he's a bit too willing to drive you home, well, maybe you shouldn't have been so nice. You shouldn't have smiled so sweetly at him. You shouldn't have held his hand so tightly.

You only have yourself to blame, really.

[weird-an]

Billy blinks.

It's too warm, he thinks. The shadow likes it cold.

A monitor beeps. He shuts his eyes, annoyed by the sound.

Oh.

He can do that. He tries to listen inside himself, to hear its orders, its resentment, but he only hears his pulse beating in his ears.

He's alone. It's not there. The corner of his mouth quirks.

It's gone. He can move. He blinks again, because he's surprised, because he can't fucking believe it.

His finger taps the bed sheet. The fabric's a little scratchy, but it's the best thing in the world. He can feel it, he can touch it, because he wants to.

There's the beep again. Billy glares at the monitor, apparently showing off his vitals. There's a million strings and cables attached to him, to his arms and neck and holy fuck, there's Steve Harrington on a chair next to his bed.

Maybe Billy's dead and went to heaven. His dad has been wrong, heaven is fucking gay, because the fantasy of his last wet dreams is in his room, so close Billy could touch him.

Harrington drools on his fancy polo shirt. He has the audacity to still be the prettiest guy Billy has ever wanked to. And laid his eyes on, too.

"Good mornin', sleeping beauty," Billy drawls, even though he's got no idea what time of a day it is.

Harrington startles awake, big bambi eyes wide and pink lips forming a perfect O. Yep, Billy's in paradise and it's queer as fuck.

"You're awake!" Steve squeaks which shouldn't be as cute as it is. Heaven is for homosexuals - someone should put it on a poster.

"I just covered for Max," Steve says, face flushing. Billy wants to bop his nose to see if it can turn any redder.

"Pity," Billy tells him, because this has to be a fucked up version of paradise where people care about him. He halfway expects Neil and Liza Minelli to barge in with a dance number and a bunch of roses.

"I mean, we were all worried about you," Steve rambles. "That monster nearly... killed you."

Billy stares at his chest. There's bandages everywhere. Not really sexy. He nearly died. He probably should be dead.

"Oh." Billy's throat turns dry. "Bad weeds grow tall, I guess."

"You're shorter than me," Steve says after a heartbeat. His eyes sparkle like they are in a fucking Disney movie.

"No fucking way, I'm taller." Billy glares at him. Steve winks. Billy feels even warmer.

"Billy! You're awake" Max yells. Billy didn't notice her coming into the room. She gapes at Steve. "Are you flirting with my bro... Billy?"

He is. Hallelujah to that.

"No?" Steve lies unconvincingly.

"Gross." Max makes a face. "I'm giving your hot choc to Billy."

She hands Billy a sad looking paper cup. It's probably more water than chocolate. It smells like the best damn thing on earth.

"Should he already dri-" Steve asks, but Billy already downs the cup.

This is heaven on earth at least, he thinks.

"I put a lot of stuff in my mouth I shouldn't," Billy tells Steve.

Max makes a retching sound. "I'm getting the doctor."

[cravetive]

PERICULUM | KTH (M)

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖🕊 Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Fem!reader

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖🕊 Synopsis: the day of your wedding has finally arrived, the day when you will leave your heartbreaks and disappointments behind and begin a future with the man that you love. you are supposed to be happy but instead, you find yourself gripped with a bad case of cold feet and soon you will have to come face to face with your past and the unwelcome guest that arrives with it.

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖🕊Genre: non-idol!au, smut, maybe a plot?

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖🕊 Warnings: swearing here and there, pining?, sexual tension, yandere, fingering, oral sex (F! receiving) , dirty talk, creampie (of course), teasing, unprotected sex, little bondage, hardcore, foreplay, dom/sub dynamics, kissing, Taehyung needs therapy like yesterday, cheating?

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖🕊 Authors note: I'm back but I'm not better, this might not be my best work and I apologize for my absence greatly. of course, I am a creature of habit so this might have some spelling errors, please allow me some grace whilst I get back in my groove.

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖🕊 Word count: 8k ( give or take )

The sun cascades through white curtains, casting a golden hue inside the room you now sit in - its rays glowing on every visible surface. It is complemented by the squeals and excited voices of the bridesmaids that roam around frantically, Their light sage dresses flowing against the Italian breeze that empties through the agape windows, the supple gust that caresses your cheeks bringing forth the scent of white roses that decorate the wedding reception outside. 

Today there will be a wedding, your wedding to be exact.

After numerous heartbreaks and misfortunes, you would be walking down the aisle in Castello Brown into the arms of the person who guaranteed you safety, making the inconceivable idea of marriage a reality.

You and Joseon had met in the strangest of times, in which the both of you were in your most raw state. Vulnerable and searching for warmth in every place plausible, and just like that, almost as if the universe had synched with time you found comfort in each other. Like cold water on a hot summer day, a soft pillow for the both of you to lay your heads on. 

The promise of a future blurs the lines of the inevitable truth, you are settling.  

But you love him….you do. 

Or at least, do you think you do? 

If you were, to tell the truth to anyone including yourself, you’d open your mouth and confess the uncertainty that currently grips you. It remains nuzzled inside your belly, making itself part of your organism until it reaches your bloodstream, latching onto your heart, spreading through each beat it dares take. Growing heavier and ungovernable the closer you get to saying your vows. 

It debilitates you in the most unpleasant form, bringing forth memories of a man who you once knew, who you once loved. It's hard for you not to feel like an imposter, as if you are taking the place of someone else, someone more deserving or perhaps it’s because you can't stop daydreaming of another version of this day, a recurring dream of your wedding where someone else stands there waiting for you instead of Joseon. 

The memory of his face inhabits your mind menacingly. His touch, his voice, and his scent leave a virulent residue inside of you. 

Yet, you avoid the whispers that roam your mind. Opting to ignore the truth that lingers there, forcing yourself to believe that you’ve made the right decision. Undermining the effect it has on you because everyone must feel like this on their wedding day, right?

It's just cold feet, or maybe it's because you haven’t had a good meal. Your appetite is affected by the anticipation of your big day - the way your corset presses against your ribs, a factor your mind is inclined to believe. 

Anything but the onerous honesty of what you are unfeignedly feeling. 

Joseon will be your husband, he will be the man that you love and cherish for the rest of your life because you said yes, because he is where you feel most secure. Unlike the trembling hands of the man who your heart lingered for. Where you found yourself always scared to fall, doubting he could ever catch you. Your fiance is who the universe has sent for you and it is in your best interest to believe that, it is what you need to convince yourself of until there is no scope of contemplation left inside of you. 

Joseon has to be your person. 

“Alright, ladies I need the bridesmaids to please accompany me downstairs for a few pictures” Sasha, your wedding planner announces whilst she steps into the room, her all-black formal attire standing out amongst the pastels and soft colors that ornament the day. 

The bridesmaids pour out of the room obediently, leaving behind echoes of laughter in the hall they disappear into. Sasha glances in your direction and provides you a warm smile, one that you reciprocate momentarily before your eyes shift back to the mirror in front of you. You can't allow her to look at you for a moment longer, scared that she might be able to notice the precariousness blooming within you. 

“Everything is going smoothly Y/n” she reassures you, perceiving the nerves that rattle through your bones. You pretend like that eases you, like somehow that is enough to stop the trembling in your hands. 

“And you look stunning” she adds and this time you turn to look at her again, another smile spreading across your cheeks, this one more genuine. 

“Thank you” your words come out as a whisper, ending in a squeak and then a trail of giggles which she shares with you. 

You clear your throat as it drains from all moisture caused by the question that makes its presence in your head and you almost feel guilty for even being curious but you ask anyway. 

“How’s Joseon?” Sasha smiles, oblivious to your current feelings, she thinks the question is rather romantic but in reality all you want to know is if he’s feeling as ill at ease as you are. 

If you aren’t the only one feeling out of place.  

“He’s ready,” she laughs “He can't stop saying how much he wants to see you already.”

Your stomach twists with the information and an intrusive idea perks in your mind, perhaps if you do see him before the ceremony then all these questions racing inside your mind will disappear.  Maybe they will evaporate into thin air the second you lay eyes on him - like they do in the movies. 

Perhaps his familiar face will silence the hesitation that has built intrusively inside of you. 

“Tell him I want to see him too” you state but it sounds more like a request, a desperate one. 

“Don't worry, you will get to soon” Sasha affirms but fear settles in your gut. The kind of terror that is baseless,  influenced by the anxiety that devours you swiftly and you reluctantly conclude that seeing Joseon is no match for the doubt that inhabits you. 

It wouldn’t change a thing. 

“Yeah” you sigh, nodding your head whilst attempting to dry off your clammy palms against the silk fabric of your robe. 

“Well I’ll let you finish” she cheers “You have abouuuttt” she mumbles, looking down at the watch she wears on her wrist “About 45 minutes to get ready, and then we will be on standby for your entrance.”

You inhale sharply, the sound of an absent clock thundering inside of your mind. Is it too late to change your mind? And if you do, would you hurt Joseon? But you already know the answer as you watch your wedding planner exit the room, only exhaling when she is completely gone.

“Are you nervous?” Brie, your make-up artist whispers, as if she is asking something no one should hear and you jump at the sound of her voice, too lost in your thoughts to realize she is still there. Her gentle laughter pervades the space and for some reason it irritates you, taking her innocent joy as mockery. 

Why was everyone so happy? So excited? When this was your big day, your moment. You’re the one supposed to be feeling elated, and ecstatic. But yet, no matter how hard you try, you are incapable of unearthing those feelings inside of you. You are left with no other option than to cling to the possibility that this must happen to everyone, that you aren’t the only one accompanied by this feeling on your wedding day. 

Your eyes find Brie’s, her stare reflecting sympathy and selfless happiness and you realize the anger that builds up inside of you is misplaced. 

Though you don't offer her the truth and perhaps it is because you honestly don't know what you are feeling, all you know is that you are blinking more than usual and your heart slams against your chest, hoping that if it manages to collide with your sternum hard enough it will rip open for it to escape. 

So, you shake your head and negate the profound emotions that you should urgently expose but that you yearn to hide.

“I'm ready” you breathe “more than I’ll ever be.”

“That’s good” she hums while she blends in the blush on your cheeks, her tone is doubtful and you can feel yourself begin to panic. Does she not believe you? Has she noticed your uneasiness, but of course how could she not - you’re usually a chatterbox, sparking the most random conversations, laughing at the most absurd things but now it's as if you can’t open your mouth unless it's to say how fine you are. 

“It’s okay to be nervous” Brie speaks again, turning to grab another one of her brushes. Your moistened eyes come up to look at her once again, dread dropping like a splash of ink inside you “This is a big step, not everyone is brave enough to do it.”

For an instant you are drawn to confide in her, to tell her what’s happening. If someone else helps you carry the burden then it can’t possibly weigh so harshly on your shoulders, right? 

“Brie” you begin to speak, a warning preparing to follow after. 

‘Don't tell anyone this but I don't think I'm ready’

“It will all be over when you walk down the aisle and then you'll laugh about it for years to come '' she says and your mouth clamps shut, swallowing your words. 

“Yeah” you agree, a small smile appearing on your face to appease her. 

And you pray that she’s right, that once you see the faces of all your loved ones, of Joseon then all these conflicting feelings will subside. 

There's a soft knock on the door, the subtle sound reverberating inside of the silence that has begun to form inside the room but you ignore it, reluctant to have to face yet another person whom you’ll need to hide from in hopes that they don’t notice how you fall apart. 

“I’ll go get it” Brie lays down her brush and walks towards the door. Your eyes drift back to the mirror in front of you and your next breath hitches in your throat. You don't recognize the reflection in front of you and within a period you begin to dissociate. 

She’s a bride. 

An imitation of all those women in the wedding magazines you’ve read for months now, the pink tint on her lips and blushed cheeks providing her an innocent appearance - the waves in her hair that are pinned to the back of her head waiting for her veil to be placed a detail you can't miss. You raise your hand to brush against your cheek, stroking the skin there softly as you succumb to the realization that something is missing. 

Because the only thing you can’t replicate from those brides in the magazines is the happiness behind their eyes. 

“Oh my god!” Brie’s high-pitched voice reaches your ears and you turn to look in her direction. You can tell she is holding something in her arms, a package maybe and you furrow your eyebrows at her sudden excitement. 

“What is it?” you ask, sliding forward in your chair. 

Brie turns and you get a glimpse of what has just been delivered, her face leaning down to inhale the aroma. The bouquet she holds is a cluster of soft pink and white, the colors seamlessly blending in a beautiful arrangement.

It prompts every single muscle in your to tense, your eyes widening in terror at the gift you’ve just been given. 

“Look! Someone sent these for you” She smiles widely, your hands clamp tightly onto the armrest of your chair whilst your heart plummets to your feet. 

“I wonder who these are from” Brie exclaims, her teasing tone causing your skin to grow pale as she reaches you. Your eyes remain on the flowers in her hands, too shell-shocked to react in the way she expects you to. The flowers are a symbol of something you have desperately tried to forget, a past that has no place in your memory today but that has been brought forth by the cruelty of the person who has sent them. 

Peonies.

There only exists one other person on this earth who knows how much you love them, who knows your fixation with its petals and colors. The sight of them is like a bucket of cold water being poured over you, it awakens every sense of insecurity inside of you and leaves you bare. 

“oh there's a card!” she chirps, pulling the small envelope embedded between the petals for you to see. 

You attempt to feign indifference but the way you snatch the card from her hand and stumble away from her sight exposes all your colors. Your hands tremble against the small white envelope, pulling and tearing until your fingers are raw, your chest heaving from the distress taking over you.  

You blink away the tears that glaze your pupils, raising the small card into the light where you find his handwriting and your corset tightens around your waist. Your lips quiver while you read the words there, a message that is short and simple - only taking him a few seconds to write and a lifetime for you to recover from. 

‘Best of wishes to you and the man that you don’t love’ 

The world dissolves around you and you anchor onto his words, your mind growing painfully quiet and the tantrum that your heart throws begins to subside. Your armor cracks as he unveils you in a manner only he can. Snatching away the lies you’ve been telling yourself to stay sane, no longer being able to hide behind the denial you’ve sown yourself to. 

The nostalgic evocation of him blinds you and a blood-curdling scream erupts within you, manifesting itself as a loud gasp that you choke on. 

“What does it say?” Brie asks, taking small steps in your direction, concern in her expression. Your eyes shift to her quickly, your hands subconsciously pressing the card to your chest in another poor attempt to conceal the truth. 

“Uh” you breathe, digging for an answer, for an excuse. 

“Oh, it’s just an old friend” you whimper. 

But Taehyung isn’t just a friend - not in the slightest or at least he wasn’t. No, Taehyung was not just a person, not someone you could easily forget or disregard. He was everything all at once. The definition of the right person at the wrong time, the reason why you’ve sought shelter in someone else’s arms. Too complicated to explain, too painful to recall. 

“Oh that’s sweet” Brie utters hesitantly, her eyes following along while you frantically pace around the room, nourished by the rush of adrenaline that pumps through your veins. 

“Is everything okay, Y/n?”

You snap your attention to her and you halt your movements, the card still pressed tightly against your chest. “Of course, I just need-” you inhale and your mind goes blank. What do you need? What would alleviate the torment you currently feel? 

“I just need a moment” You shut your eyes, trying to learn how to breathe again “Alone” you emphasize. 

“Oh of course” Brie responds, her worried eyes expressing words she doesn’t speak whilst nodding her head. 

“I’m just a bit overwhelmed that’s all” you gulp nervously. 

“No I get it” she reassures you and with one last worried glance, she makes her way towards the door. 

It is only when the door slams shut that you notice the heat that has blended itself in the air, sweat beginning to form on your freshly applied make-up. It leads you to rush to the open windows, your shaky hands reaching for the curtains which you pull onto desperately - praying for the scarce breeze of September to seep inside and offer you relief.  

You stare back down at the card that you cage inside of your hands and your eyes flutter shut as a loud sigh leaves your lips. You wish you could say you didn't see this coming, that somehow this was some kind of big revelation but Taehyung was an animal of habit, the habit of making his presence known when you most wanted to forget him. 

Your eyes move to the clock that sits on top of the nightstand and you shudder - you only have 20  minutes left until the ceremony begins and here you are losing your mind over someone who belonged to your past. You remove your robe, exposing your white lace lingerie, the intricately patterned fabric pressing against your skin, a gift you have prepared for your soon-to-be husband. 

You’re determined to push forward, to walk down the aisle that promises you happiness because it’s what you deserve. No longer would you allow Taehyung to play with your mind, not in the way you had previously - you convince yourself that he no longer knows you at all. 

The wedding dress that lays on top of the bed draws your attention and you stand still for a moment, inspecting the all-white gown that should be but isn’t on you. You sigh and reach for it, feeling the soft charmeuse fabric under your fingers. You try to convince yourself that once you put it on all will be well and these perturbing feelings along with that note will be left in the past, like a sick memory. 

Amongst the rest of the other things that you’ve shared with Taehyung. 

As you rush to put on the dress, you hear the soft hum of your phone ringing and you turn to reach for it, you know you are running late - it's probably Brie reminding you of the time. You look at the screen at the unsaved number and sigh as you answer the call. 

“I know” Your hand rubs over your temple whilst your eyes fall shut, an ache forming there. 

“I just need a bit of help putting on the dress.”

“I can help with that”

The voice is low and rasped, carrying a certain familiarity that you fear recognizing. It flows through your ear like a song, your brain recalling each time that you’ve heard it before, the many times your heart fluttered over it. 

“W-ho” you choke, your eyes opening quickly “Who is this?”

“You forgot my voice so soon, my love?”

You stand up quickly, dread forming in your gut as an inevitable realization comes to your head. 

“How did you get my number?”

“Ah you didn’t forget” he chuckles lowly, a certain taunt in his tone “I knew you wouldn’t”. 

“Taehyung” you whisper which is paired with a heavy sigh “Why are you calling me?”

“Did you get my note?” he ignores your line of questions, delivering you one of his own. 

You stare at the crumpled card thrown on the bed next to your dress and you turn away. 

“What note?” you retort. 

“You are great at many things Y/n but at lying? You were never good at lying” he states, his tone bringing chills down your spine. 

“What do you want?” you demand, a quiver accompanying the question. 

“Just wanted to hear your voice one last time before you became a married woman” he hums, as if his statement means nothing.  

“Taehyung” you warn.

“Oh come on Y/n” he chuckles once again “didn’t you miss my voice too?”

“No, I didn't” you snap. 

“Not even a little bit?” he asks, a smirk spread through his face which you can picture even from the other line. 

There is a knock on the door and you flinch at the abrupt sound. Your heart beats a mile per second and you fix your eyes on the clock once again. 

You have 10 minutes left.

“It was nice catching up Taehyung but I have a wedding to attend,” you say before ending the call,  throwing your phone across the room. You don't have time to sit and ponder what Taehyung wants, it's not about him today. You won't allow his selfishness to absorb you once again, in the end, that is all he wants. Your steps are rushed as you approach the door, hoping it’s Brie who has returned to help you with your dress.

You leave the door open before quickly turning, heading back to the bed where your wedding dress lays, the small Swarovski diamonds shining as the sunbeams on the fabric.  

“Brie, can you please help me I have 10 minutes to get ready and I'm so sorry about before I had a lot on my mind but I'm ready” you ramble, picking up the dress from the bed and beginning to remove the buttons on the back.

The door shuts and you hear footsteps approaching you.

“Can you please hurry Brie, I don't want Joseon to think I left him at the alter or something” you giggle nervously but as you turn to glance at Brie, in her place is a man, he wears a black suit with his hair brushed back and the grip on the fabric on your dress loosens, the dress falling to the ground. 

You scan the man’s face carefully, his small child-like smile luring your heart to thump faster. He’s taller than Joseon, his posture confident and relaxed, his intense and machiavellian stare the next thing you notice and of the small mole that sits on his right lower eyelid. 

“Taehyung,” you say. Your wide eyes blinking as if it would make his presence go away as if he was but a figment of your imagination. 

A small smirk appears on his face as his eyes travel your bare skin, a low hiss falling from his lips. 

“W-what are you doing here?” you ask, eyes narrowing on him. 

“Look at you” Taehyung breathes “a bride”. 

“Taehyung don't fuck with me, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you” he explains plainly, taking a step forward which you respond by taking a step back. 

His eyes linger on your face, his stare gripping and longing and if it wasn't for the way you avoided it, you could’ve picked up on the subtle sadness in them, of an emotion that he hides behind his cunning bravado. 

“Well, you have” you demand “Now please go”  Your tone clings to fear - fear of what will occur if he remains in your presence any longer. Your resolution, the one that you had spent years building inside melts away like butter. You take in his presence and you don't dare say this out loud but for a second you pray that he stays for more than just a few minutes, that if by chance or perhaps luck he will say that he wants to stay, for more than just a few hours. 

“Y/n” he mutters, the delicate tone in which he says your name a weakness you had never been able to overcome. In his mouth, he holds words he has prepared for this exact day - reasons and explanations he should’ve given you in the past but had never had the guts to. 

“Don't marry him” he says instead.

Your eyes don't dare blink as you process what he has just uttered, your entire body stiff with the request. It feels like a slap on the face, an unforgivable offense but you can’t bring yourself to react except for the tears that swell in your eyes. 

“Why?” your bottom lip trembles and every muscle in your body pleads for you to turn away, to shut out his voice - to pretend like you didn't hear the purpose of his visit. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” 

“Did you think I would let you go through with this? Your surprise shocks me” he chuckles, moving towards you while you move away - until your back is pressed against the wall and he stands but a few inches away.

“Taehyung, please just go” you speak confidently, you try to find other words that would persuade him away from you but your mind goes blank, you know deep in your soul that you don't believe any of the things you push yourself to say and so you swing a cheap punch in hopes that it will land. 

“I love Joseon.”

Taehyung closes his eyes as Joseon’s name flows through your mouth, indignation building inside of him with the recognition that it's his name you should be whispering. He leans closer, causing you to sink deeper in the position you are in, fearing that if he dares touch you then your entire act will begin to deteriorate.

“Are you wearing the perfume I like?” he whispers “You are too cruel, Y/n” he opens his eyes and he scans every feature on your face, including your panicked eyes. 

You don't open your mouth to speak a word, entranced by his dark auburn pupils, your mouth falls agape and your chest rises and falls at the same tune his does. It has always been so easy for you to fall back into Taehyung, regardless of how many times he came and went and though you grip onto the scraps of dignity you have left, you know today is no exception. 

“Taehyung” you mumble, his name heavy on your tongue. 

He leans in closer and his fingers lightly trail the exposed skin of your thigh, the tingling sensation causing you to flinch at the absent touch and contrary to what you want to believe, everything inside of you wants to lean into it. 

“Look at you” he sighs “You look like a princess” he moves his lingering fingers closer to the lace of your white lingerie, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns there. 

“Is this for him?” Taehyung hums, harshness pouring from his throat. 

“Does he know?” he asks, his stare calling for yours “that when you fuck him you think of me?” he bites, coaxing a whimper to fall from your mouth. 

“That when you stare into his face ever so lovingly that you imagine it's me and not him.”

“don’t” You shake your head, your hands reach forward to push him back but he doesn’t budge - a menacing expression on his face. 

“Huh” he scoffs, a smile spreading across his cheeks “I guess he doesn’t.”

You remove your stare from him, your lips pressing together and you hate him, hate him for the way he is making you feel right now. You hate the way he has stepped back into your life as if nothing has changed like you have belonged to him this entire time - like he’s not an intruder. 

“That's not true” you snap back “In fact, I don't think about you at all” your eyes filled with disdain traveling back to his. 

Taehyung nods his head mockingly, feigning understanding but he doesn’t move from his position, his hand still brushing the skin of your upper thigh. He leans further in, burying his face into the nape of your neck, his nose brushing against the skin there - causing your breath to wedge itself ardently in your throat. 

“When you lie your voice raises in pitch and your nose scrunches slightly and if it was anyone else they would probably miss it but I-” he pauses, his breath cascading over your skin, the sensation leaving shivers down your spine. 

He raises his stare to your face once again, a small smile forming on his lips as he takes in your flushed cheeks. 

“Don't you worry love the only person you have to lie to moving forward is my twin brother” Taehyung remarks, his slander pointer finger softly sliding down to your belly button. 

“And yourself of course” he adds bitterly.  

You had met Junseo first, he was reserved and quiet, often hiding away in his books. It was the reason why you realized only 3 months later that you both shared the same history class and that he sat next to you. In the beginning, it had been a mesh of small cordial smiles and polite hello’s and then eventually, you had both found yourself in thorough conversations where you dissected his knowledgable mind, meeting after class for coffee and ultimately sharing your first kiss in the university library. 

It had been perfect, movie-like almost until one-day Junseo failed to attend class, and as a joke, his brother took his place. You hadn’t noticed it was Taehyung instead of your well-mannered boyfriend until your lips had met. The yearning on his lips as they collided with yours was unfamiliar yet exhilarating, it was as if 2 lovers had embraced each other after years of distance. 

You couldn't accept it, not even when they both sat across from you whilst Junseo finally introduced him to you,  all while Taehyung watched you intently, taking in the strain your nervous system went through as you tried to assimilate the information. 

Wondering if you would tell his twin brother of the kiss you both had shared or of the other transgressions you partook in on your bedroom floor. 

If you did, who could blame you? They were practically the same person but you didn’t then and you haven’t now. 

“You will marry him and you’ll spend the rest of your life looking for me in him, in others in the hopes that they can replicate what only I can give you” his mouth parts, his tongue slipping out to lick along the skin of your neck causing your legs to clamp together and an unwarranted sigh to escape you. 

“You’ll see my face reflected on every surface that you look onto seething for my presence but you’ll never find me” Taehyung glides his hand against your abdomen, softly and sleekly, becoming dangerously close to the part of you that aches for his attention. 

“I can almost see it, Y/n an old and empty woman consoling herself with the idea that she did the right thing” he annunciates, his fingers slipping past your silk white thong and finding its place between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit as he trails kisses on your shoulder. 

“Taehyung” 

His name is meant to sound as a warning, as a sign for him to stop but it bellows out as a moan, liquid gold falling into his ears. 

“What my love?” he hums, moving his face to meet yours - his mouth coming to capture yours which had remained agape. 

His hand doesn’t stop, his fingers pressing onto your sensitive nub in circular motions whilst his tongue floods your mouth. His fingers move slowly against your warm drenched pearl, carving out each movement he knows you love, the ones he taught you made you climax in the blink of an eye and you become puddy under his touch, moaning against his mouth as he drives you closer to that euphoric senseless feeling you have craved for so long.

Taehyung pulls away from your lips, his tongue licking along your reddened plump lips, a hiss pouring out of his as he catches your blissful expression, the feeling of your juices covering his fingers enticing an animalistic desire inside of him. 

“It feels good, doesn't it?” he groans, a question you can’t answer regardless if the answer sits on the tip of your tongue, you are breathless and completely wrecked. 

The speed at which his fingers move increases, an evil smirk spreading across his face as his eyes darken with utter admiration. Taehyung has lusted for this moment for so long that now that he stands here, it feels surreal. In his mind he has replayed this scenario time after time, touching himself to the thought of watching you cum. 

“Answer me” he pleads, his brows knitting in concentration - replicating the pleasure on your face. You nod quickly, your eyes fluttering shut whilst your body trembles. You try to remember what breathing feels like, try to find it within yourself to bring air into your lungs but your walls clench around his fingers and your mouth falls open - a trail of moans and whimpers cascading out of it. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Taehyung hums, his tone innocent as if his words don't implicate anything like nothing matters and you wish that you could come back to your senses, it's wrong that he’s touching you like this and it's wrong that you are letting him. You wish that you could push him away and berate him but you want him everywhere, all at once and in this moment nothing matters, not even your morality. 

Your body complies to his request with a loud whimper and within a second, his hand peels away from your throbbing cunt, his arms reaching behind your legs until they are wrapped around his waist. He moves towards the bed where he places your body on top of your wedding dress, the one you are supposed to be wearing at this moment whilst your expecting fiance waits for you at the altar. 

You look up at him with lustful eyes, noting the veins that run through his hands as he removes his suit jacket, the dark blue fabric flying across the room. 

“Fuck you look gorgeous” Taehyung mutters, biting onto his lower lip. His hand reaches for your cheek, caressing the skin softly - his thumb gliding against your lips until you part them, sucking it inside. 

Your tongue twists around the digit causing him to moan out loudly. 

“Im going to fuck you so good love” he promises.

He reaches to undo his belt buckle whilst bringing your body further up the bed until your head is almost at the headboard. He slides his belt off with a swift pull, his eyes beaming with ardor as he watches your willing body lay underneath his. 

“Give me your hands” Taehyung instructs, a playful grin emerging on his face. 

“I-i” you hesitate. 

To do as told would be to be left under his devices, a victim to his rigorous plans and you know better, you ready yourself to decline because you shouldn’t be here in the first place and you know someone will be knocking on your door any minute now, concerned for your whereabouts but your body screams for his attention and so you oblige like Taehyung knows you will. 

In a swift movement, your hands are tied to the headboard above you, the black leather of his Hermes belt pressed tightly against your wrist, you let out a small whimper and when you turn to face him once again, he’s standing at the end of the bed. 

Taehyung eyes trace every inch of your skin as if it is the first time he has seen you in this light yet, it's not. He can give master classes on your naked body, and go on 3 hour rants of how to make you cum. He knows you, he knows it all. 

You quiver slightly, begging for his attention and if it wasn’t for the heat that rises through your entire body, you’d probably feel pathetic. 

“What's wrong love?” Taehyung coos. 

“Taehyung” you whimper. 

“Yes?” 

He’s teasing you, luring you into saying what he’s been daydreaming of hearing for weeks now, ever since the invitation arrived in the mail. He couldn’t bring himself to accept it, it was always supposed to be him in Joseon’s place, he needed to be the one responsible for your happiness, not his charactless brother. 

Him. 

He wanted to hear you say that you chose him. 

“Please” it’s a sigh, a breath you whisk out of your lungs as your body trembles in anticipation. 

Taehyung unbuttons his shirt slowly, each button getting his utmost attention - his eyes never leaving your laying figure. He knows you are running out of time but Taehyung does not care to rush, in fact he will milk this moment for all it’s worth because if this is the last time that he gets to see you like this, whimpering his name then he will make sure neither of you forget it. 

Besides, the way you lay tied to the bed, expecting his touch lures a heightened level of lust to spread inside of him, causing his heart to beat faster, for his hardened cock to press against his freshly ironed cashmere pants. He can't bring himself to think straight, not when you wait for him in your white-laced lingerie and the only thought that crosses his mind is of how good your warm walls will feel around his cock. 

Taehyung drops the shirt from his shoulders, slowly crawling on top of you. His head lowers until his lips brush against your abdomen, leading your body to quiver at the feeling of his warm breaths cascading over your skin. 

His slender hands grip your waist, carefully hooking his fingers around the waistband of your thong and with a swift movement they are gone, your lower body now exposed for his admiration. 

The loud sound of your heart slamming against your chest is all that you can hear, the mere anticipation of what he will do leaving you breathless. You watch intently as he slowly parts your legs, his soft hands moving under your thighs - removing the weight from your body until your needy cunt is but inches away from his face. 

Taehyung collects saliva on his tongue and he spits, covering your folds in his tepid saliva but he doesn't allow enough time for you to react as his tongue begins to slide against your cunt, licking as if your slit is a sweet delicacy. 

You try to keep yourself from moaning out but the hiss that erupts from your mouth betrays you, accompanied by a trail of struggled breaths and soft moans. 

He loses himself at the taste of you in his mouth, your juices spreading across his face and he can't deny the thrill the tremble of your legs causes him. He can't stop, savoring your wetness with each lick of his tongue. 

The urge to run your fingers through his hair leaves you frustrated, your arms pulling on the restraints that halt your desired movements. You can feel it, the pressure in your lower abdomen. It drives your eyes to flutter shut and for your moans to become obstreperous. 

His tongue focuses on your drooling hole whilst his nose rubs against your clit, the combination taking you to a complete state of euphoria. Your hands grip the leather of his belt harshly and your body begins to tremor, you are close - dangerously so. 

Your hips buck against his face causing his grip on your ass to tighten as he tries to keep you in place but it's no use, your hips rotate against his tongue hungrily - your body seeking your sweet honeyed climax. 

“Oh god,” you huff, struggling to catch your next breath. 

“Yes.”

“yes right there, oh god.”

“Taehyung!” the scream that crawls out of your mouth sounds pained but it's far from it, it's a call for more, the need for his soft lips and warm mouth becoming ungovernable. 

The blend of his saliva and your arousal flows past your thighs as you allow yourself to call out his name once more which only leads Taehyung to bury his face deeper into your willing cunt, his tongue moving in circles against your throbbing nub. 

Your body stiffens with the next movement of his tongue, clamping your thighs against his head. A string of curses leave your lips as your climax overloads all your senses but Taehyung continues devouring your cunt, collecting your entire orgasm into his mouth. 

“You taste amazing” he hums breathlessly, his tongue licking the residue of you from his lips. 

You watch him through hooded eyes as he leaves open-mouth kisses on your inner thighs and then on your hips, his now disheveled strands of black hair lingering over his face. 

You whimper out whilst his hands soothingly brush against the skin of your ass, bringing your lower body back onto the white duvet that covers the bed under you. His eyes meet yours, his utterly lust-darkened pupils contrasting with your worn-out gaze. 

“Do you want more, love?” Taehyung asks “Think you can handle it?”

You nod despite knowing your body has not recovered from the high that has just rocked it, your breaths labored but your body presses for more. If your skin could speak it would divulge the way it has missed him, of the many nights it has spent seeking him. 

A faint yes comes out of your lips and Taehyung kneels before you, bringing your legs around his waist. His hands slide against the skin of your inner thighs, easing the strain his tongue has left you. 

He lowers his boxers, revealing his hardened tortured cock, which he alleviates with a few pumps from his hand. A soft groan falls from his lips as he looks down at you. From where he hovers in front of you, he takes in the beams of sweat forming on your skin, the way your chest rises and falls with every breath you take and the flush on your skin, the tincture a recalled memory of late nights in your dorm. 

He lowers the tip, teasingly gliding it against your warm clit, and the throbbing there causes his whole body to quiver with the ache that has remained buried inside of him. Your body jolts in response and your breath hilts in your throat. 

“You want me, love?” he chuckles lowly. 

“Yes,” you exhale sharply. 

A sly smirk forms on Taehyung’s lips and with a swift thrust he dips inside of you, vasting in the blissful sensation of your tight walls stretching out just for him. His hips move steadily, careful not to hurt you and before he can begin to move his entire length inside of you, you’re already a mess of whimpers and moans, the pulsations of his cock vibrating against your walls. 

He’s bigger than you remember and when he finishes burying himself inside you can feel his cock brush against your lower abdomen, the pressure that forms there causing you to let out a loud moan. He waits patiently for you to adjust because all Taehyung has is time and the unreasonable need to turn you out. 

“Look at you taking it all” Taehyung whispers, his eyes fixed on your bodies interlinked.

Your muscles ease and he begins his masterful strokes. Bringing his hips back and forth skillfully. His hand slid to your breast, guiding his thumb to draw out the movements of his hips on your nipples. 

With each thrust your body quivers, your legs pressing around his waist. His other hand brings your hips up higher until your ass is on his lap, driving his cock to hit angles you didn't know existed. 

“You may not miss me love, but your pussy says otherwise” Taehyung hums through groans “It takes me so well, like it was made for me.”

Your entire body shudders at his words, an overwhelming feeling of flusteredness coming over you. From his mouth, he spills a truth that you can’t deny, regardless of how much you’ve fought off the urge. He is the only one that you can allow yourself to lose with, the only man that can see all of you in this way. 

Utterly vulnerable. 

Your eyes study the pleasure in Taehyung’s expression as he plunges inside of you, it is pure satisfaction - his eyes closed and his eyebrows knitted in concentration as if he wants to engrave this in his memory. The sight alone causes your mound to quiver, for your core to drip around him. 

“Fuck Y/n”

His hands keep you in place as he picks up the pace, pounding his cock into you quickly. The sound of your previous orgasm gliding on his thick member leaving a chorus of pleasure inside the bedroom, the sound bounces from the wall and erupts into every crevice in the room whilst you both moan in unison. 

His movements are erratic and you can tell he’s close. Taehyung can feel himself losing restraint and all he wants is to fill you up with his cum, to witness your pretty cunt oozing with his nectar. 

“Tae hah” you shriek, the faint burning sensation beginning to form on your lower belly once again, you can tell this climax will be more intense than the last, your legs beginning to tremble from where they remain wrapped around him. 

“Just a little more, love” Taehyung exhales. 

You let out a trail of curse words, coaxing him to bring his eyes to yours, the yearning in both your gazes amped by the snap of his hips. 

The sounds of your intertwined moans are interrupted by a knock on the door and your body stiffens, your eyes widen in fear and you know you’ve run out of time - your guest waiting for your arrival. 

“Y/n?” Brie’s voice is muffled by the door separating her and your naked bodies. 

“Taehyung” You look back at him, panic in your tone but Taehyung does not appear to be startled by Brie’s abrupt return. It’s as if she’s not even there. 

“Shhhh” he instructs, moving from his kneeling position and coming between your legs, his body lying on top of yours now. 

“Don't worry” he whispers into your ear, his hand rising to brush away the strands of your hair that cling to your damp skin. 

“Just focus on me” Taehyung moves himself inside once more. You look up to him, concern written all over your expression but the feeling of your incoming climax is all too overpowering.  His tempo is cautious now, subsiding the alarm in your nerves, and you lose focus of the issue at hand. 

It’s like it doesn’t matter but it should. 

“I know you are close” he nods, leaving small kisses along your jawline “Let me make you cum one last time” Taehyung pleads. 

This is wrong and you know it, a line has been crossed but your legs wrap themselves around him once again, the clear indication that you have no intentions of ending what has already been started. Taehyung’s lips find your neck as he continues - sliding his hands below your ass and bringing you closer, his kisses he leaves on your skin hot and passionate.

“I don't think she left” You can hear Brie’s worried voice once more but you try to drown her out, withholding a moan in your mouth in hopes that she doesn’t notice that you are still there. 

“Answer her” he pants “before she calls someone to open the door.”

The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind but of course that would be her next course of action, given the state she had left you in when you asked for some alone time. You looked up at Taehyung, a curl forming against his lips as he stares down at you. 

He’s enjoying this in ways you can't even understand. 

You don’t think yourself capable of uttering a single word. The only thing coming from your mouth are bare moans and whimpers but you part your lips to speak, hoping Brie won’t catch the tremble in your voice. 

“Brie” your voice quivers. 

“Oh god Y/n! Are you okay?” Brie approaches the door, setting her ear against it in hopes that she can hear you better. 

Taehyung takes this opportunity to move faster inside of you, the bed beginning to squeak against the force he implements with his hips. You look up at him quickly, a loud moan threatening to pour from you. 

“Go on” Taehyung groans, his voice playful and excited. 

“I-i am fine” you whimper, your wrists twisting against the restraint. 

“Everyone is waiting for you” Brie pauses, looking up at the ceiling in desperation “Everyone is worried.”

“I” you begin but your climax has built too great for you to control, your entire body beginning to spasm as Taehyung withdraws his cock and slams back inside. Your eyes fall shut, unable to provide an answer to the concerned woman on the other side of the door. 

“Y/n?” 

“Fuck” you sigh loudly. 

“Is everything okay? Do you need help with your dress?” 

“Do you?” Taehyung laughs, his hand gripping your thigh as he too feels his climax nearing. 

“Taehyung please” you beg, rolling your hips against his.  

“What's wrong love?” he questions with a huff. 

You know he needs to stop for you to concentrate but there isn’t any part of you in this moment that wants him to, not in the slightest. You open your mouth once again, trying to give Brie a coherent response but as it falls apart a loud moan escapes in its place, one that Taehyung capturs in his mouth as he places his lips over yours. 

Your body begins to tense as your orgasm ripples inside of you, each loud moan being whisked away by Taehyung’s tongue and soon his muffled groans can be heard as his cock shoots strings of cum inside of you, the feeling of his warm milk causing goosebumps along your skin. 

You both remain still, riding out the high that has blinded both your senses. Your chest chest’s rising and falling in unison, labored breaths fanning within each other faces. You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. Afraid that if you do you will have to come back to reality or perhaps because you’d melt into Taehyung’s stare once more. 

You feel the weight of his body ease and then with a swift pull, he unravels the belt that once had held your hands together, your wrists left sore from the harsh leather. 

“Y/n” he calls for you, the sound of his soft tone bringing warmth to your body. 

Your eyes open gently, your vision blurred until Taehyung’s auburn pupils come into focus and you cling to them, on the way their color fluctuate and blends into each other. Your weary gaze then trails to the almost undetectable mole that remains on his lower lash line, the one that you should’ve noticed the day you crossed paths. The small insignificant spot is the only thing that differentiates the two brothers. 

Would it have mattered?

If you had known back then that it was Taehyung instead of Joseon, would you have pulled away from his kiss with distaste? The question that has tormented you for years rises above the surface, bringing forth a bitter feeling inside your chest. 

Would it have changed anything?

“Run away with me” The words flow out of him effortlessly, with so much simplicity that you can’t even bring yourself to react to the proposition. Earnisty clads itself to his expression, his eyes holding within them pleads that he has been preparing to make for years. 

“What?” you whisper. 

“Come with me” he implores, his voice breaking as he extends his offer once again.

[polarisjisung]

HOW DREAMIES ASK YOU TO BE THEIR VALENTINE

pairings: nct dream x fem! reader

genre: fluff (established relationship in all except haechan's)

wc: 4k (it was meant to be shorter...)

warnings: one swear word (literally one I promise), mentions of shitty work environments but nothing in detail, not proof read, reader is implied to be shorter than jisung, use of pet names

notes: HAPPY V DAY 🥰🥰

MARK - candle light dinner at home

Mark's job is his passion and his best form of expression has always been through music— most special occasions, like the day he'd asked you to become official or your birthday, Mark would write and compose a song especially for you— this time Mark wants to switch it up. He felt like it was almost too predictable for him to plug a pair of headphones in your ears and serenade you, he didn't want that. Mark believes in making each and every moment together special, and asking you to be his valentine deserved a little extra attention.

It's a known fact that Mark isn't to be trusted in the kitchen, it just isn't his forte, which is why you're usually the one cooking and he'd do the dishes.

Tonight he decides you deserve something special, it's a couple weeks before the 14th, and since the new years he's been taking some extra special training from jaemin on cooking up some of your favourite dishes. At first things started out palatable at best, but now, even jaemin could argue that they were delicious— that was the thing about Mark, nothing could beat his dedication and man was he dedicated to expressing his love for you.

You finish work late tonight and you're already planning on what take out to order once you get home, like you usually would, admittedly you don't actually like take out all that much, which is why Mark is all the more eager to see your reaction to his efforts.

The second he receives the text that you're on the way home, Mark is running across the kitchen and setting up the table, a romantic setting with a home cooked candle light dinner, something you were sure to like. Hes grinning from ear to ear as you step through the door, enveloping you in a bone crushing hug the second he lays his eyes on you.

"there's my pretty girl"

"here I am" you smile, kissing his cheek, mark can't shake the feeling that you seem a little down.

You seem tired, Mark assumes it was a hard day at work, and suddenly he feels the need to make sure everything is extra perfect.

There's some rose petals scattered along your dining table, pretty pink cocktails with a little edible glitter sprinkled along the top laid on each end of the table next to a beautifully plated serving of your favourite foods. Of course there's a small hand written note placed by your plate, a love letter with Mark's best fancy hand writing, lettering the words will you be my valentine across the envelope.

Mark waits for you patiently by the stairs, you were usually pretty fast at getting unready but Mark felt as though he was waiting for hours— though he didn't mind all that much waiting for you.

"It smells really good babe, I'm starved" you say when you see him leant against the bannister of your stairs

"let's not keep you waiting then hmm?" he smiles wide as ever, grabbing your hand and escorting you the table, it's not unusual for Mark to pull out your chair as you sit down, but you can't help but gawk at the spread in front of you, tears welling in your eyes

"you made all of this mark?"

he nods, proud of himself, though he's a little hesitant seeing the watering of your eyes

"you don't like it?" he wishes he didn't ask the question, watching you burst into tears at the confirmation

"I love it of course i do," you wipe the tears, feeling mark let his arms hang around your waist from behind you, "I just, today was hard and this, means so much to me"

Mark smiles, he realises you haven't noticed the pink and red envelope by your side, and he knows that you're feeling guilty about the tears— as much as he believes in talking through your emotions, Mark realises that's just not what you want right now and so he quietly presses a kiss to your cheek, wiping his thumb past where the tears had rolled down, and places the envelope between your fingers.

Had you not stopped yourself, you think you'd cry again.

"I love you" you whisper, voice cracking as you do, "of course I'll be your valentine" and that night, you swear you fell in love with Mark lee all over again.

RENJUN - going above and beyond

Renjun regularly buys you flowers, and each time there's an absolutely unbeatable look on your face, whether it's an intricate bouquet or a simpler bunch of tulips, he swears the smile on your face gives him reason to live, every single time. You're his muse, his biggest inspiration and to him a DIY valentines proposal only seemed right.

Thanks to your chronically online tendencies, you'd been fawning over those glitter rose bouquets to him all week, unintentionally for the most part, but considering the bouquet he'd last given you was slowly withering away in the vase you kept them in, renjun found himself scrolling through multiple tutorials, and ultimately, covered in glitter from head to toe the following week.

For anything concerning you, renjun likes to go above and beyond, he was a simple man for the most part but for you, simplicity just wasn't a feasible option in his mind.

He spends the whole month planning the perfect valentines proposal, and just to make sure that the seed of insecurity can't sprout itself in your mind, Renjun makes sure to ask you to be his valentine a month in advance.

It's a weekly date night like usual except its all the more extravagant. Renjun had made a reservation at a fancy riverside restaurant and chosen out the most perfect outfits for the both of you, it was no doubt he had a good eye, undeniably you also happen to look drop dead gorgeous in the simplest of clothes.

He knows he can't push you against the wall and smash his lips against yours, given the oppurtunity he absolutely would but considering the setting, he opts for expressing his thoughts to you instead

"you look perfect" there's a soft blush that creeps up on your face as the waitress guides the two of you to your table— you don't fail to take notice of how empty the restaurant seems

"renjun? you booked out the whole restaurant?" he nods, a sheepish smile lining his lips, he knew you didn't always like that he spent so much on you, but to renjun it was worth it, and this time you don't dispute it with anything more than an eye roll. He made you feel nothing short of a princess.

Renjun pops the question with full confidence, his hands tugging tugging at your fingers from across the table— the bouquet he'd made for you sitting across from you in a vase that looked oh so similar to your favourite, now shattered one

"Be my valentine?"

You'd been dating for years, of course you'd say yes, but it made your heart flutter every time, knowing he had made the effort to ask

"forever and always jun, you're stuck with me"

He'd have it no other way.

JENO - sweet and simple

Jeno loves you more than words can describe and really he doesn't think he can put it into words even if he tried. He already does so much for you on a day to day that even he struggled to find ways to go above and beyond when it comes to birthdays or valentines. He asks you about 3 weeks in advance, not too early but not too late, the perfect timing. It's a simple moment but it's special, jeno makes it special.

You'd been living together for a while, and jeno figured the perfect way to surprise you would be after a night out with your girls, since you refused to be home any later than midnight, saying you needed your beauty sleep. He wishes he'd gotten a balloon pump given the amount of pink red and white heart shaped latex balloons he'd blown up in the past two hours, but he knows your reaction will be worth it.

You knock against the front door, slightly tipsy, but nothing too major, eyes scanning over jeno who for some reason still seems to be in his dress shirt and trousers from work. He couldn't tell you he got to work straight away after getting home, wanting everything to be perfect meant he had no time to waste.

"there's my handsome boyfriend" you swing your arms over his neck and jeno let's a nervous chuckle escape, you barely notice the tension in his laugh as he helps you inside.

"did you have fun doll?" you nod against his chest, and jeno's eyes crinkle into a small smile

he's already taking your shoes off, knowing that kicking your heels off after getting home was an absolute must for you, you don't pay any mind to his actions, he always did this. Instead you're pressing a quick kiss to his cheek

"thank you" you'd say, or at least try to before jeno has you in his arms carrying you up the stairs to your bedroom, bridal style— now this, this was certainly new

"jeno put me down" your giggles resound through the house but jeno doesn't let up, smiling down at you in his arms

"I've got legs nono and they work just fine" he shrugs at your words

"yeah and your boyfriend has arms that work just fine too, don't have these arms for anyone but you doll"

safe to say you're a blushing mess until jeno finally places you down outside your shared bedroom door, letting you open the door yourself

A gasp escapes your lips at the sight of the large bouquet of flowers sitting on the bedside table, one practically the size of your head, maybe even bigger, filled with red roses, and a card alongside. There's a million balloons bumping against your feet and a small banner with jeno's handwriting reading "will you my valentine?" resting on your queen sized bed— jeno notices how your smile reaches your eyes

"so doll, be my valentine?"

"only since you asked so nicely" you say, and jenos lifting you up again, pressing a kiss to your lips

"think you just made me the happiest man alive"

HAECHAN - a heartfelt confession

You'd always been his sunflower, when things were tough you were there to help him through it all, his beacon of happiness and all things good in life. But haechan had never quite explicitly let you in on those feelings of his, you were supposed to be just best friends, recently that didn't seem enough for haechan.

He'd always had confidence, and despite the little slither of insecurity that lingers in the pit of his stomach at the possibility of rejection, he makes every effort to make the moment perfect, for you.

It was often your hangouts would take on a more date like form, this time however haechan had made the conscious effort of making this as close to a date as possible. He'd practically begged you to wear that beautiful baby blue sundress he bought for you for your birthday, and claimed the rest of it would be a surprise— placing a blindfold over your eyes.

It's only 5am, far too early in your opinion, to even be awake on a Saturday, something you groaned about just a little as you were warily following the pull of haechans hand.

"Hyuck are you kidnapping me?" you asked, only hearing haechan's laughter echo in your ear a little while after, you take it as a no and continue walking, the texture of the ground beneath you becoming softer and almost slightly wet, you can't help but let your curiosity grow.

"I could be in bed right now hyuck, pretty please can you tell me what we're doing?"

had it not been for the blindfold, you'd see the way his eyes roll and his nervous smile grew into an amused one

"you could be in bed any day sunshine, trust me this is a once in a life time thing" he hoped, in reality haechan had been convincing himself that rejection just wasn't an option, there was no way you didn't feel whatever spark this was between the two of you the same way he did.

Your scream cuts his thoughts out, and yet again, he smiles at the sight of you, hair flowing slightly in the breeze, your lip stuck between your teeth

"hyuck there's something on my leg— are you sure you're not kidnapping me? It's okay if you are just let me know so I can put up a fi—"

you don't expect to find yourself in a sunflower field, when haechan finally removes your blindfold.

There was no way the lee haechan would confess to you, quite frankly the love of his life, without serenading you. So there he is perched up on a chair that he'd set up before picking you up, strumming away at a guitar as he sings your favourite song.

"Sunshine will you be my valentine?"

You freeze when you see him stood in front of you, that angelic face of his only inches from yours— you nod.

"You know I love you right" this time, despite all the times he had posed the same question, you realise that the I love you means a lot more than usual

JAEMIN- spur of the moment (sort of)

Jaemin is the best boyfriend you could ask for and more, something he wants to continue to live up to, but considering he's set the standard so high, jaemin struggles sometimes.

He realises that not everything needs to be hugely extravagant and that as long as you liked it, jaemin did too.

That doesn't stop him from scrolling through Pinterest and tiktok for ideas, all of which he's already done in the last few years or thinks just aren't good enough. He settles on going to the store to grab some valentines essentials before making his mind up. That's where the teddy bear catches his eye, a practically 6 foot tall Teddy bare reading the words will you be my valentine in red cursive that had his heart beating out of his chest, it was just so cute, jaemin and to buy it.

The idea finally dawns upon him when he's finding a way to fit everything into the back of his car, those stubborn helium balloons trying to fly out, forcing him to hold them down with the two chocolate boxes he'd bought, with the fluffy brown Teddy bear at the centre. A little adjustment here and there, and if jaemin did say so himself, it looked beautiful, some finishing touches and it'd be perfect.

Everyday, jaemin picks you up from work, despite the fact that you have your own car, jaemin makes it a point to both drop you off and pick you up from work with perfect timing, you don't know how he does it really. But jaemin always manages to bring you your favourite coffee and pastry when you're feeling down, or always has painkillers in hand for the days you work longer hours, knowing you'll feel a headache coming on the second you walk through the doors of your office building. He picks you up with a smile every day, and, as always, exactly what you need.

Tonight after a failed business idea proposal and a heck of a lot of judgemental glares from the specific work colleagues of yours who didn't seem to like you, with no actual reason, you don't know how jaemin's going to manage it lift your mood, all you know is that he will.

"hi pretty" he flashes you a sweet smile, as he steps out of the car to take your bags from you

"hi jaem" you smile at him, he recognises its nowhere near as full and bright as usual and you're thankful he doesn't push on the topic

"I'll just put these on the backseat, do you think you can just grab a bottle of water from the back?" you nod at his request, reaching out to lift the trunk

Jaemin somehow manages to prove himself every time, it was like he bad a 6th sense, solely for you.

The soft glow of the fake candles jaemin had bought to set the scene lights up your face as he turns to sneak a look at your reaction. You swear you've never seen the back of his car so packed, full of your favourite things, makeup essentials, snacks, flowers and the most adorable fluffy brown bear. You barely take into account half of it, mind blurred with the sheer admiration you had for jaemin.

Like always he made your heart flutter, being his valentine only made your heart swell further.

"what's wrong?" he notices the way your eyes brim with tears, holding your cheeks between his palms, you don't waste a second to pull him close, placing your head against his chest.

"nothing, everything's perfect"

"so?" he raises his brow at the teddy bear before looking back at you

"of course I'll be your valentine nana"

CHENLE - kind of cheesy but crazy cute

Extravagant and over the top may as well be his middle name, chenle was a firm believer in go big or go home. When it came to you it seemed all the lavishes were multiplied ten fold.

Chenle asks you at his pool party just at the end of January. Who even has a pool party in January? well chenle does, he claimed it was to celebrate the longest month of the year finally passing, really it was just an excuse to get everyone together again.

And chenle loves to show you off, but he appreciates those one on one intimate moments with you especially. He knows not to ask when the party is in full swing, though he does steal you away for a few kisses. It's only when the party dies down and its just the two of you left behind that he drags you to the other end of his garden, to show you something.

"What is it you want to show me lele?" you ask, not noticing the candles spread across the area in front of you, chenle had placed them all there in an attempt to set the scene just a little.

There's still some music playing in the background, now a softer slower song echoing through the area, chenle let's his hand slip into yours

"may I have this dance m'lady?"

it was rare chenle was every this chessily cute, a red flush spreading across your features as you smile, nodding

You swear when your eyes lock that you've never been luckier, dancing in your damp swimsuit cover up with him as the soft breeze blows by you, his own eyes gazing down into yours so gentle.

"would you be my valentine?"

Chenle assumes the kiss you press against his lips means yes

JISUNG - late night picnic by the riverside

Now jisung wouldn't class himself a romantic, he was far from it. He was kind and caring and a total sweetheart but he wouldn't quite say romantic. This plan of his however, has him thinking otherwise.

You had always mentioned thinking stargazing was one of the cutest date activities, especially for a couple like the two of you who took so much interest in astronomy. Jisung sees it as the perfect way to ask you to be his valentine.

You're at the park, the same one you liked to take late night strolls on, sit on the bench and eat those snacks you bought from the convenience store just across the street at. It's pretty large and despite your frequent visits, jisung realises you barely make any use of the riverside that runs along the far end of the park— usually since the two of you get too tired to walk even half the expanses of the park.

It had taken jisung a good week and a fair few discussions with his friends,and even one with his mum, to figure out the best way to execute his plan, so that everything would be perfect. He'd packed a little basket of your favourite snacks and a blanket to place on the grass, and knowing you well enough, jisung had thrown an extra jacket over his outfit. You were bound to get cold.

"Jisung, how come you have a basket?" you ask, your fingers intertwined as you make your way down the gravel pathway, stars reflecting in your eyes as you stare up at him, fuck the sky, the only stars jisung cared about were the ones that shone so brightly at him, and only at him, in those perfect glossy eyes of yours. And if that's what stargazing was, jisung could do it all night long. The rest of his life in fact.

"Jisung?" He barely realises that he hasn't answered your question and when he does, still slightly dazed from your sweet stare he only shakes his head a little.

You don't question it further, jisung could be a little caught up in his thoughts (mostly you), a lot of the time, but you didn't mind

Only one small sigh and jisung takes it as a cue to throw you over his shoulder, carrying you to the other end of the park, he couldn't let you walk if you were tired now could he?

It's only a few weeks into the new year so the weather is still a little chilly, and jisung notices the way your hands grow cold in his, a knowing smile biting at his lips

"feeling cold?" you shake your head but jisung's shrugging off the jacket resting over his torso already and placing it over yours instead, the musky scent of his cologne only adding to the warmth you feel as you stare up at the sky above. You don't realise his eyes on you, that unwavering stare composed of nothing more than love. He doesn't mind, taking a soft breath to compose himself before popping the question.

For some reason jisung can't bring himself to do it. He finds himself far too immersed in the moment. As much as he'd always wanted to go stargazing, especially with you, jisung can't hope but keep his eyes on you, so mesmerised by the sites in front of you as you try and identify the constellations.

"That's the constellation of love isn't it sung? cass– um, cass something"

cute jisung thinks, as he follows your finger upwards, smiling to himself

"hmm not quite angel, but if I show you you have to promise me something?" you turn your head back slightly to look up at him, resting in his lap with his hands resting either side of your waist

"anything"

"be my valentine?" he asks you with that gummy smile and bright eyes, before letting his hands wrap around yours, guiding your index slightly up and to the right,

"cassiopeia, that's the one"

really and truly, he's internally freaking out at the lack of response on your side, but when you smile up at him with that toothy grin, he feels the warmth rising in his chest.

"hey valentine, do you think I could get a kiss?" jisung swears his smile couldn't grow any wider.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

hey! I'm pretty new to your stories: currently reading curse words and loving it! (I started the first book with the mindset that I wouldn't be caught enough to miss some real life stuff because of reading... guess what, I missed some real life stuff reading.)

but now I have a question: the books have a pretty intricate plot with a lot of good payoffs for small things. which is very cool from a reader's point of view, but from the writer's one— can you maybe share some stuff about your process? especially in the early stages, how do you go from the initial spark of an idea and what this is about to a fully formed plot? would be cool if you're willing to share

anyway have a great day I'm off to start the third book hehe!

One thing to know about me is that I have just the worst possible imagination. Absolute pisspoor garbage imagination, nothing going on up there. When I want to plot, my process is simple:

Find a problem, then solve it.

Curse Words was born of several disparate story ideas coming together, but mostly I wanted to play with the magic system -- I wanted to write a story where spells were metaphysical parasites that possessed mages, and each mage could only cast their unique spell. The whole thing came about when reading The Princess Bride, specifically the chapter where Buttercup dreams of being a perfect baby and the doctor looking her over and regretfully informing her parents that she was born with mo heart -- I was possessed with this powerful impression of a slightly wacky doctor peering over the top of his rose tinted glasses to inform a pair of parents that their baby had a curse trapped in her heart. From there, it's find the problem, solve the problem.

I wanted to separate Kayden from his family and put him in an unfamiliar environment for the story so that he and the audience would be on a pretty similar level re: world information; isolated magic and a magic school is the easy way to do that. Okay, so why is this school isolated? Why is the curse thing not common knowledge? Why do the public fear curses and have such limited access to magic that it's not a part of Kayden's day-to-day, if it's so useful? Solve the problem; look at the economy. The unique nature of spells makes them difficult to scale up, and the unpredictable nature makes them inferior to technological solutions to problems in most large-scale issues. What does this say about how the Industrial Revolution would've affected the usefulness, and therefore the public perception, of magic? The logical conclusion is the Purity Revolution.

This school is gathering and teaching all these students; why? I wanted a clear division between witches like Kayden and a privileged elite that formed most of the school body; why are they different, how are the elite kids here, why are witches accepted and integrated into the student body? Solve the problem; look at the economy, the politics. Where are these rich kids getting their magic? Why pull in witches? One question answers the other. Why didn't Kayden and Kylie know that curses were spells in advance? Seems something that should be common knowledge. Look at the politics; tie that in. Logical conclusion: magic trap. We have this magic lake with a monster in it that we introduced super early for dramatic purposes and haven't explained yet. What can we do with that? Let's invent empowered water. Let's look at what that means for the creation of potions worldwide. Let's tie in the management of unmanageable spells. Let's elaborate on the structure our magic trap.

Now we have a channel of power. Curses parasitise witches; some are blessings, some are more trouble than they're worth. The school collects curses, domesticates them, makes them more useful, locks away or renders harmless that which it cannot make use of. More curses are collected over time, the school grows and grows and Refujeyo becomes stronger and stronger as they control more of the world's magic supply, but every system has a capacity. What's the effect of this infinite growth? Here we have a clear and unavoidable economic metaphor, so obvious that not centreing the story on this concept would basically be dishonest. Who's managing this collection, what does it say about the power of the school within mage society? How would such a school relate to the rest of Refujeyo; how would Refujeyo, collecting power like this, relate to and be viewed by other magical traditions, and by nonmagical society? Run through the reasoning, solve the problem.

Why would the school only approach Kayden as a teenager, after his curse caused problems? Surely the school would want to collect as many curses as if could as early as possible. There has to be a reason why they waited. This is a good one because it flows directly from the complex political relationships between Refujeyo and commonfolk politics that have to exist, AND ties neatly into critical character motivations that have to exist for book 1's main twist to function (notably, Malas Aksoy's actions). Sort this out for book 1 and accidentally create a critical political point for the rest of the entire series.

I started writing book 1 with the idea of the court case and subsequent twist about Kayden's curse being the big mystery, but Kayden still needs something to actually do at school. We have this mage who we threw in to rescue Kayden and Kylie from the lake, and had Max hero worship her for flavour; she seems to be becoming central to a lot of interactions for some reason. A lot of dramatic stuff is therefore automatically happening in her presence, but why is this incredibly accomplished and intelligent mage fucking up so much? We've established her as careful and thorough. We need a reason for all these accidents beyond random chance. Someone's sabotaging her -- why? Let's look at our established characters and figure out who has means and motive, and who the most fun red herrings would be.

How could a place like Refujeyo, such a complex and time-consuming project that would have to involve the cooperation of so very many mages, even get built? How would it survive long enough to be powerful? When and where did this happen? We've already established the Purity Revolution; maybe there was something more coordinated than just random undirected economic forces. We've established some incredibly powerful mage families and the old system of apprenticeship and inheritance; we know that the most powerful family in Refujeyo used to have a prophecy and owned a very powerful place that helps prophecies specifically. They could coordinate something, given enough motivation and the help of enough other powerful mages. What kind of motivation? Let's go back to the Purity Revolution. If tech develops alongside magic without central oversight of some kind, what could magic enhance? What problems could be foreseen that would make this kind of investment worth it? How does Refujeyo save the world?

Tie this into our power channel. Refujeyo's attempt to save the world endangers the world due to infinite growth and power being passively collected by those who benefit from the dangerous status quo. It fits our economy metaphor, because they're essentially the same thing, just putting in magic instead of money as a means of power.

Find a problem, then solve it.

The important thing with this method is to keep your solutions cohesive. If you come up with a new different reason for every thing, your plot will look scattered and disorganised. We don't want to look like we're just pulling the story out of our arse. I mean, we are pulling the story out of our arse, that's what writing fiction is, but it's a big part of our job to help our audience suspend their disbelief on that. Whenever possible, you should look for answers that solve multiple things and weave disparate parts of the story together; this is especially true when they relate to the core plot or central theme of your story.

Also, leave gaps for reader inference. You don't have to answer every single question, you just need to make sure that some plausible answer exists for every single question. Sometimes this involves saying less, not more, and letting the audience figure it out.