#it's just another stranger's house and all you know is you're not supposed to be there. there's definitely a metaphor here I can feel it.

[virelaisnox]

Twice Loved, Once Cursed

Summary : Sacred, yet despicable. You were the lover who was lost in the long night, a night that continues to live in every beat of time that has followed him until now.

She is the symbol of a broken promise, a protection that has failed to be kept.

Previously, her body was tied to a stake, burned alive on accusations of being loyal to dark powers.

A blood-sucking devil—a creature of the night who destroyed cities, who stole and tore apart mercilessly.

Now, that same soul returns —born in the body of a holy, pure, and untouchable person.

And for the second time... he came bringing a fate that could not be avoided.

Warning : Dark religious imagery & spiritual conflict, themes of death, burning at the stake, and reincarnation, forbidden romance & morally complex relationships, power imbalance & emotional manipulation, mild sensuality. Pairing: Remmick x Fem!Reader

⚠️MINOR DO NOT INTERACT⚠️

[Chapter 2]

The creaking of the front door opening made you cringe and send shivers straight to the back of your neck. “Keep quiet. You can’t sleep on the couch. My father will be back soon.” You said in a tone that is so low, almost like a whisper trying to make your arrival unknown. Stepping lightly into the entrance of your house, crossing the sacred threshold that spiritually visited and under the sprigs of overhanging palm trees your movements were hurried as you took off your robe, set down your weapons to where it was usually kept, and the rest of your belongings. You didn’t light the firewood. No, you have to keep it discreet. Since you have no other sensible excuse to reason with your father because the groceries you had bought were scattered around the ground somewhere near the cotton field—you're supposed to make it seem as if you have never left the house.

The lack of response from the man behind you made you wonder and turned,

"Why are you still there?"

He took a breath in as if preparing what he's going to say next. “ —W-well, you didn’t invite me in,” He almost seems like he could trip over his own words, as if he tries his best to sound very convincing when he doesn't need to.

“It's rude to enter someone’s house uninvited, ya know?” He added, with a stiff laugh after. Odd. It is not that you did not appreciate the politeness of a guess. But, I mean, we are already all the way down here—why does he need another invitation from me?

“Oh you need that? why?”

As your question lingered in the air, he began to appear very frustrated, restless. He scratched the back of his head, and his eyes never seemed to meet yours. Avoiding.

You’d wait, yes, of course. After all, we have all the time in the world until Dad gets back, right? Therefore, with no further ado you chose to follow his need to be such a civilized person at just the right fuckin’ time.

“Alright, come the fuck in then.”

His grin spreads wide, seeming almost devilish and proud, as if he had just won a lottery when he stepped inside with a wide smirk plastered on his face.

“Quite a mouth you have there..” The man said.

Something else suddenly clicked in your brain, yet another one of the many to prove that this man was, in fact, who you’d wished him not to be. Nevertheless, you kept your mouth sealed.

“Poor little unfortunate soul had welcomed the grim reaper himself inside her house..” The spirits whispered.

“Here, clean yourself first ‘fore my father comes back.” You tossed him toiletries and clean clothes, a sleeveless shirt and pants that reached below his knees. Borrowed from your Father's.

“You've got to be in my room immediately. He’ll kill me if he finds out I brought a stranger home.” Your tone was assertive, carrying an undertone warning. — “Oh, don’t say that, we ain’t no strangers, eh?” His tone conveyed light-heartedness.

“Yes, we still are. What are ya talkin’ about? I don’t know you, you don’t know me. Far as I know we are strangers.” You turned your back at him.

You could hear him shrug, yet another tease fullness noted in his voice. “you’re in such a hurry to get me in your room?” his voice was low and gravelly. You could feel his piercing gaze even with your back turn to him.

“I don’t speak nonsense, now better get you ass cleaned up ‘fore i change my mind and tell you to get the fuck out my house.” He only returns your scolding with a pleased grin, as if he found satisfaction in riling you up.

†

After a few minutes, the man stepped out of the stall washed up. And by the Mother of God, you didn't realize your mouth was almost watering at the sight. How could you not? After all, no tale of yours has ever included a man setting foot inside your home—your father, God resting him, would’ve drawn his gun before the poor soul even took his next breath. It was hard to deny, his body, that was not completely dry, glistening under the dim white light making his lines and muscles stand out, toned and lean. His biceps contracted with each movement made as if to show off their glory. The v-line that disappeared under the towel wrapped around his waist made your mind wander wild, further than any good Catholic girl supposed to.

As luck would have it, again, he noticed. You quickly snapped out of your daydream. He saw how your eyes wandered across his bare body, the way you swallowed hard, how your legs trembled and pressed together in the mere sight of him.

“Like what you see, lil’ miss?” Goddamn right, i do.

He walked closer, his steps were certain and purposeful, like a wild animal eyeing its prey, his gaze piercing cold to your bones.

“I’m goddamn sure you crave more than you are afraid o’ me, lil’ missy..” He coos, his lips were moist, teasing the tender flesh on your earlobe, the kind of touch he reckon will make your body give out.

“Ey, didn’t i give ya clothes?” Your attempt to change the subject came to no fruition.

The space between you was scarcely more than a breath—too near to dismiss, yet just far enough to remain untouchable. One wrong move, and you'd find yourself entangled in something you couldn’t undo. After all, he was still a stranger, and you knew nothing of what he might be capable of if provoked.

“Oh, yes, yes you did—but I bet you’d prefer me without ‘em” He replied with a smirk, leaving you speechless. These feelings are truly mingled and overwhelming your reason—He was the demon who had charmed his way into the easily swayed hearts of mankind—and somehow, he had slithered his way into yours. But what was it that he truly wanted? What was he scheming behind those eyes that gleamed with too much knowing? As far as you knew, his kind never asked for permission. By his kind, specifically, those whites. They took. They plundered. That was their nature, but for whatever reason—spirits whisper different tales of this man—in his silence, there was something soft and suffocating about him. As if he knows your body can be owned, but your soul must be invited.

His gaze penetrated beyond the naked eye. He read you like the sacred pages of an ancient book that had almost been washed away by time. There was something deeper in his gaze beyond what you could ever know. It was as if he knew you more than you knew yourself.

“We've met before?” You asked once again, only to be certain. It is quite preposterous for two strangers to meet, and such as spider webs, they knead into each other.

“I don’t know—have we?” The question flew right back at you. His gaze filled with sorrow, regret, and longing. Your hands came up to caress his face with tenderness that almost brought tears to his eyes. The sight moved you to witness such a beast being unguarded, like a wound that had learned to stop bleeding. “Why are you crying?” You'd ask in a whispery tone. Your hands that were framing his face made him pull his gaze back at you. But instead of answering you, quiet sobs escaped him, barely audible, unable to contain the feelings that overflowed. Longing. Yearning.

All at once, the air around him transformed into the haunting refrain of a melancholic song, heavy with unspoken sorrow—Remmick despised this situation, as a man and a full-fledged threat like him, he appeared incredibly weak with tears that began to run down and dampened his cheeks.

“Oh, no, you poor darlin’ come here…”

With a quiet pull, you wrapped him in your warmth, allowing his heart to speak where his lips could not

“You’re safe now…” you whispered, though the words felt foreign in your own mouth. Strange, how you’d become the anchor when you were the one still adrift. He buried his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel your skin starting to get wet from his tears. He sobbed softly against you.

“It’s alright, darlin’... you must be exhausted…” The loving nickname easily slipped past your lips, as if it was second nature to you. He then replied with a nod.

“Have you…eaten yet—are you hungry?” Your voice a low hum. You certainly didn't know any better with the question you just inquired him with, thus, he replied with a crooked smile;

“Oh, i have more than enough…”

He looked you over with a slow, deliberate gaze—something in it set your nerves on edge.

“Aight’ in you go, sir.” Your movement was graceful as you led him by the hand towards the entryway of your bedroom. You felt his fingers twitch in your grip. He then obliged so without question, unclothed, unapologetic. His shy steps were tailing you from behind, resembling a puppy.

The door shut softly behind you. Your eyes flicked across the room, searching for any place he could rest. He cleared his throat,

“I could sleep on the floor—anywhere, really. You don't need to trouble yourself.” At his words, you turn to face him.

“No—I don't think so, no.”

He came up yet with another clever remark;

“It's fine, y'know, it's your house, your rules—”

You cut him off before he had the chance to run his mouth any further, “You right—my house, my rules.” Not another word spilled from his mouth, he just stood there and stared at you.

Suddenly, a foolish and irrational decision formed—yet, you were clearly aware of it. “We share, yeah? Just... leave me a little space to breathe—don’t take over the whole bed.” Your tone carried a hint of playfulness. He met it with a shrug, as if silently agreeing. “I'll be right back.” His eyes were practically glued to you, following, until your figure disappeared behind the slowly closing door.

†

Matthew 22:39

“And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

-`♡´-

The land breeze swept across the exposed skin on your back from the opened window, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The reflection of a girl across the silver oracle, was unblinking, staring back with a wavering gaze. You have vowed your unbroken promise before God for he is the one who owned you body and soul, your deepest, darkest secrets and desires was nothing left behind the veil, laid bare before the all-knowing. Your father wouldn't want more than for you to find yourself a man who is kind, loving, and catholic. Yet, here you are, the daughter of this town's sermon-weaver dressed in nothing but a piece of white—draped in silk. The length of the gown itself couldn't quite reach above the knee, laced underneath with a color that matched the wings of an angel.

You turned and clicked open the door handle, only to be met with the sight of the man lying peacefully, eyes sealed and relaxed, as if he had finally found a home, safe enough for him to rest, unharmed. Your steps approaching and your presence didn't go unnoticed. His eyes slowly fluttered open. The lighting in your room is always a shade too bright, though. His eyes always appeared darker than most, lifeless and empty, but now there is something otherworldly reflecting on his gaze. He watched you, then eased himself to the side—a silent invitation, the kind that didn’t need words. Your body landed softly at the edge of the bed with a soft thud.

“I didn't quite catch yer name, Sir.” You spoke softly. He was a breath away from doubt before he opened his mouth, at last, “Remmick. Name’s Remmick.” The man spoke, and I offered him a warm smile.

“Nice to meetcha’, my name is—” His interruption cuts you off before the first letter of your name even gets the chance to leave your lips.

“No. I don't need to know your name.” weird. But, probably better off staying that way.

“Alright, Remmick, whatever suits you.” You gave him a playful wink, a mischievous smile curling at your lips, enough to keep his gaze fixed.

It didn't escape your attention, how the light in your room made him feel uneasy—the way he frowned, squinted, and deflected as though was trying to dodge the radiance spilling from above.

Your arms slowly reached for the switch—the lights went off, and the room stilled in darkness. “Better?”

His smile bloomed as he nodded, clearly pleased,

“Yeah, better.”

The memories of the state he was in when you first saw him, somehow swims back up into the surface—brought back by the darkness that carries heavy secrets the spirits haven't told you about. The sharp crescent of his teeth, the eyes that glows crimson, although, that could be your mind pulling wild tricks on you. You weren't sure, you hoped it to be fully mistaken and proved faulty.

Somehow, you felt your body moved on its own, drawn, you found yourself lying quietly at his side. He shifted, subtly, gaze meeting yours—eyes wandering slow as if soaking up every edge and corner of your face and immortalized the sight of you for eternity. His fingers trembled as he found himself longing to feel you—then went completely boneless when you suddenly pulled his hand closer to your mouth, raining it with kisses. His breathing grows unsteady, eyes closing, sinking in the warmth of your lips.

“Yeah.. yeah.. you sure is. You sure is she..”

“Who?”

“Don't worry ‘bout it, don't you worry about a goddamn thing no more, sweetheart, I'm here.. I won't ever let ya go, no more.” His voice raspy, tone's unyielding as he whispered it against your skin like a silent prayer, sealed with his lips pressed to your wrist where your pulse fluttered.

“Why are you so cold?” You asked, eyes glinting with a flicker of light in the darkness.

A silence lingered in the air as he left you longing for his next words. “—I don't belong to this world no more, sweetheart.” He answered, spoken in a casual tone. You simply nodded, unwilling to press him for more. The night grew warmer, though he remained cold to the touch.

You leaned your head where his heart should've beaten—yet it was quiet. There was no sound, save for your own breathing. His arms found their way to you, encircling you—folding you into a different world of comfort you never knew could exist. You felt yourself grow weary, lids heavy—the Lord's prayer spilled past your lips. Your voice was low, faint against his chest. At that moment, your prayer was a quiet act of resilience—at once a plea, a hope that God might be willing to redeem this man and love him whole.

“Our Father, who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name,

thy kingdom come,

thy will be done,

on earth as it is in heaven,

Nobody disrupts you, he leaves you reciting the Lord’s Prayer to a God who might have long abandoned you both. You had just come aware—after halfway through a prayer, there was another voice whispering the words alongside you, in perfect unison.

“—Give us this day our daily bread. (Give us this day our daily bread)

And forgive us our trespasses, (And forgive us our trespasses,)

as we forgive those who trespass against us. (as we forgive those who trespass against us.)

And lead us not into temptation, (And lead us not into temptation,)

but deliver us from evil. (but deliver us from evil.)

For thine is the kingdom, (for thine is the kingdom)

and the power, and the glory, (and the power, and the glory,)

for ever and ever. Amen.” (for ever and ever. Amen.)

“Amen..”

Before you drift into a deep slumber, he cups your face and catches your lips in a kiss filled with intimacy, slow yet certain, his kiss almost rewarding—the world seemed to pause for a moment just for the sake of you both. His kiss was a promise, unwritten yet delivered. His petal-cold lips made a trace of wet trails along your neck, like a prayer casted to a living altar, your body—a temple where he kneel, worship, and plead. Your bodies intertwined in a melody that could only be understood by silence and desire. Like an instrument, he picked your strings in an unmatched balance, heaved, and created a choir of heaven. Your bodies danced to precise rhymes—he - the artist, you were the muse. He was a musician, and you were the instrument. You were the lyrics. He was the tune. A fair trade. He leads this dance and lets you pick the song.

A breath that linked to a wild melody, chasing one after another, like wind that blows dandelions in a wild field. His movement was heavy and edged with a rush, like a wild cat hunting down its prey. Too fast, you had to remind him with a firm grip on his hair.

“Hey. Easy, beasty,”

He stared at you and nodded. A flash of guilt evident in his eyes. He kissed your shoulder as a form of apology that seemed too sincere for your own good. As if he was truly concerned for you.

Your smile was welcoming and inviting him to continue his ministration. His kiss grew bolder and purposeful, mapping down your body, trailing below your stomach. At that very moment, the whole world somehow stopped and stared, the deed of two sinners was occurring at the small, heated, oak wood room. As his movement grows urgent, you, on the other hand—grow nervous and anxious once you feel his hands halfway sliding off your laced knickers. He stopped and stared, waiting for you to give him a ‘go’. Your breath came out a shudder, he noticed. His hand reaches yours and gives it a gentle squeeze, reassuring. He kissed the wrist where your pulse is beating.

“Trust me,” He said, almost in a whispering tone.

To be frank, at this given moment, you weren't even sure if you could trust yourself. Yet, something in his eyes speaks aloud more than words ever could. There's a deeper meaning behind those gaze. That once upon a lifetime, you could read it clear as day, with ease, like how you read a Bible my father gifted me.

“I- I haven't—” You couldn’t finish your sentence. If speaking logically, there was nothing to be ashamed of, you couldn’t help yourself but feel so. The self-image of being a Preacher's daughter already comes naturally, from when people were starting to learn you by name and background. They'd expect nothing but a woman who celibate. A holy virgin.

There wasn't a hint of mockery coming from him, not one bit, never. Only the same familiar look he had been giving you from the beginning. You were hesitant, though something in the air tells you to trust him. It was likely the whispers of demons. Tempting you into sin. Thus, you nodded, blessing him with your approval. The rest of the fabric lacing you underneath was peeled off easily by his skillful hand.

Your spine instinctively arched at the feel of something moist and forked—splitted in half. Exploring free along your impatiently waiting bundle of nerves below. The motion was repeating, yet somehow variative enough to send you over heaven to hell. Eden to earth. He slowly brought his fingers toward his mouth, wrapping it around his lips—you almost moaned at the sight of him practically making out with his own two fingers that made you wish it had been you. The mischievous grin that was so distinctively his returned—before you felt his fingers slipped and pushed open the pearly gates underneath. Your jaw slack open, eyes shot wide, you couldn't tell why this man owned some kind of claws—pumping in-and-out of you and making your spine arched.

“Remmick.” You called out.

“Remmick..” The sound of his name spilled past your lips, making him tongue-tied.

“Remmick..” Your voice low. He turned his attention quickly to you, like a puppy whose favorite word had been uttered

“Yes.. what do you need?”

“I- I can't.. I can't..” You whined.

“Yes you can… you can do it for me…" Say it..” he coaxed, which now sounded more like a demand, not a request.

“Come on, who's the good girl..? Say you can finish it for me.” There is a softer edge to his tone this time.

Remmick was a restless, sleepless creature. His stamina was not bound by limit. Despite being the one who had to catch up with his pace. You still feel the need to prove that you were the one he needed, that you were perfect for him, that you were just as he expected.

Curses that spilled past your lips sync in tune along his. He groaned and sent vibration straight into the center of your need. Your body squirmed—the sheets on your bed were all wrinkled. Remmick consumed you whole like a man possessed, dying of thirst, and you were the springs, an antidote to a deadly disease which his soul. He sips it clean, drowns, and is drunk in your love liquor. He gasped, rushed in urgency to drink you down.

Despite the roller-coaster you were put into, you still spare a glance to see how he's being.

The beast mourned you like you were his last meal. He devoured and weeped for you as though he greets you a goodbye, a farewell of which hadn't yet to come. Well, shit! It couldn't be that good, could it?

Your body arched like a bow shoots freely, fingers’ gripping the sheets as if trying to find something to hold onto whilst the world around you collapses in euphoric waves. Your voice was a holy whisper free from the altar, muffled and holy, chanting his name like a prayer you've learned as easy as breathing—and as you are nothing without it.

He stays there, movements growing weary and slow, and he finally learned how to take his time, absorbing the final offering.

And once the storms calmed, the world slowly returned. The pounding of your heart, the sound of your breath, the night humming. He crawled beside you, his face looking like an ancient secret which you have unlocked, no words needed, only a gaze that speaks, and gentle wrapped around your waist. A peaceful silence stretched. It was not an empty silence. But silence that filled with meaning and bond. And you know, even in this state of tiresome, you didn’t feel empty. On the contrary, for the first time in your life, you felt found.

Found.

You exhaled out a breath, like the first breath the earth blows when dawn comes. His hands stroked your your dark-silken locs with such gentleness, tucking them behind your ears. An appreciation formed in a kiss landed on your temple before he started speaking.

“You alright?” he asked, which you replied with a nod.

“Yes, I'm - I'm fine..” Still with the same pace of your heart pumping and your pulse thrumming. You were standing on a thin line between needing to ask or just leave the curiosity unanswered. You'd choose the second option in a heartbeat had it been someone else. But, it's him. A man who had just given you a piece of heaven.

“Rem..” A beat falls after. He responded, with a slow turn of his head. “Yeah, princess..?”

“Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Depends. But, ask away.”

“I saw you cry, you know? Why is that—somethingyou wanna tell me?” he stared back at you with a plain gaze, as if he was some kind of innocent creature, like he wasn't the one behind all those deaths and havoc—succeeded to make it to the newspaper.

You felt a wave of possession washes over you. No. Scratch that question.

“No. Tell me. You better tell me. Why did you cry? Something the matter?” My tone thick with urgency—forcing the answer out of him.

“..it was nothing, just—just that you kinda reminded me of someone from the past.” Your gaze automatically dropped to the eye-catching, sparkly golden object, enlacing his ring finger. The ring appeared too ancient. Too old. An untold history wrapped in gold. The kind of gold that costs an undying oath until death does its part.

There was a comforting silence lingered that none of you need to fill, but you spoke up anyway.

“Was it your lover? Your family?” you asked, your question linked to his last statement.

“She was.. she was both at the time.” He answered, tone sorrowful.

“Oh you poor baby..” Your voice was a melody to his ear. “No, it's fine. I already made peace with it.”

He was the kind of man who viewed kindness and affection as something that came with a price. And he doesn't have enough to pay. Something rough and merciless acts were the only ones he had grown too familiar with.

You could tell, from the moment that feeling touched him as a feather-light touch, he always seemed to force you away. Though as much as he craved for you—he didn't seem to quite let you in, like when you invited him inside tonight.

“Baby, don't be like that..”

“I'm not being like anything, darlin’” his words defensive.

“You're being distant. Yes, we are just two strangers who met in a not very promising circumstances. But, please.. don't push me away..” you had hoped that it would somehow soften his heart. Your tone pitiful, pleading to him. “You may call me naive but.. I care for you..”

A mockery laugh escapes his throat,

“what—cause you is a good Christian girl? Thy shall love thy neighbor as thyself. I'm no neighbor of yours, you know that.” as if the sky is falling onto me, his revelations had my heart dropped. With the way he casually quoted the Mosaic Law, he touched you without laying a hand on you. He sounded better saying it, beats your father. The pastor himself.

“No, it isn't like that.. I..” you rubbed your face in frustration.

“I love you.. more than what the Bible told me too.. more than I'm allowed.. I love you like.. I was a part of you.. men to women, women to men.” He considered your words for a moment before speaking up again, decided to give it a playful twist.

“Lust?”

“Oh God, you seriously think that lowly of me?” you swing your fist, only landed as a light punch to him, he groaned, as if the punch affected him in one bit, then chuckled.

“God ain't here darling, just me an’ you..” with that, you leave him without a choice and give him your name. And you thank the heavens, your father must've been kept up the night, and probably went home by the dawn.

That night, the moon was a silver, a hole of light. Wind breezed in past the halfway closed window, sorrowful, as if heaven turned her face from you and another gate opened—with an entryway burning like amber.

[reminiscentrainclouds]

Hyperfixation so bad the characters are making cameos in your dreams. Omg Kanna?? What are you also doing in this stranger's house??

[archive-doll]

Oh, sweet neighbour.

Author Note: Finally free from this. I love it.

Johnny Mactavish x f!reader. He's your neighbour. You are his new god. First meeting.

18+ CW: the military, while not very detailed it's shit. you're pregnant, that's a warning on its own. please, tell me if I'm missing anything.

Have mercy on my grammar, English is not my first language. Enjoy.

MASTERLIST. NEXT

You were delighted the first time you understood you would have a new neighbour. The sign left in front of the old house has been hanging there since you arrived three months ago, moving with the weather. When the slight bump of your belly could easily be hidden with a larger sweater.

The nice contractor assigned to the wilderness of your county has been telling you about it when you visited your house, how you wouldn’t have any neighbours for now. It wasn’t exactly surprising; the North of Scotland is not really attractive to most people. The whole world is at least a two-hour drive, and the rain seems to never quite stop, and during the winter, electricity can go out under the strength of the wind.

So, when the nice older woman, Jenny, told you about this serious candidate who was interested in the old wooden home on the other edge of the field, you assumed it was another one, trying to find rest. And from what Jenny revealed to you, your hypothesis is rather truthful. A man older than you, who was just honourably discharged from the British Army, after being severely wounded.

Truly, she shouldn’t tell you any of it, as it is supposed to be confidential information, but who would you tell? The stray cat that slowly invades your porch? The cattle you saved from a cruel death? It reassured you, knowing this information. It was a new adventure starting, having a neighbour in this remote part of the country.  

The first time you saw the old truck, it almost made you laugh in amusement. A military man retired, driving the most vintage piece of metal you ever saw, still rolling. The dark green colour seems to turn to grey at the edge, the old thing making a noise close to a dying breath. You find it fitting, somewhat, with the description you have of him.

You are knee-deep into the renovation of your newly acquired stable. It isn’t as if your home is fully finished either, since you’re trying to do it all yourself. But it fills you with purpose, with a sense of belonging you had cruelly missed for the majority of your life, one that you yearned for so strongly it almost broke you before.  

A hammer in hand, and the humidity slithering into your rainboots, you watch with slight curiosity the man park on the other side of the river that crossed the field. You can not see anything remotely interesting from where you stand, only the silhouette of him, and quickly your attention goes back to the wall you had taken all the rotten planks out of, before sighing. Your shoulders hurt, and you know you should not do heavy work considering your current state, but it has to be done. You shift on your feet, and the features on your face change to a concentrated expression before your hand raises with a firm grip. You will go greet your new neighbour soon enough, but before that, you have work to do.  

The only time you finally found to go present yourself to this stranger was three days later. A plate filled with what you tried to be a warm apple pie; you take your time crossing the distance to their residence. You hesitated between the two of them for a long time, each of the houses had a charm you were weak too. But you decided on the old Cotswolds stone house, which is a type of habitat you typically find in England. The one you were now walking to has a wooden structure, one that makes you feel warmth, where you could drink warm chocolate inside. A beautiful house, you think.  

You take a breath, slightly anxious at the now-soon-to-be interaction, feeling your heart thumping in your chest. Question roams in your skull: Is it very smart to inform an adult man, trained to kill, that you lived alone, where no one would ever know if you were to be in danger?

Your hands shake slightly around the plate you’re holding on to, everything you were ever taught against your will, everything you sadly believe in, told you it was a bad idea. But you try, just for a moment, to cease the lessons you painfully learned that paralyse you with fear and press a foot on the first stair. The wooden creak beneath your weight, the roundness of your tummy now showing as it strained beneath your coat.  

Before you could even finish graving the steps leading to his front door, it was opening. Surprised at the motion and rather tired from the walk leading you there, your doe eyes find the hardness of a man being invaded in his privacy. It makes you waver momentarily, pregnant form stilling in its walk. The mop of hair on top of his face – rather charming, you must admit – is untidy, straying around until some dark curly strands fall on his forehead. Bright blue eyes that make your breath hitch before he analytically gazes at you in a matter of seconds. It’s rather disturbing to see the threatening presence of his disappear so vividly.

The tightness on him melts away, broad shoulders loosening as his wounded arm falls against his torso. The stance he had taken at the sound of you shift into something approachable, someone really, instead of the weapon he had been groomed to become.  

Your eyelashes flutter as he opens the door wider, taking a step on the porch, finally feeling as if the tight hold around your throat is loosening. You resume your movement and offer him a careful smile, slightly disturbed by the first sight of him that he showed you. Droplets of water fall from the edge of your hood as he approaches with firm steps, the hand not pressed into that medical scarf hold out for you to take.  

“’ello ma’am.” 

The polite and confused tone of his voice widens your smile, the gentlemanly manner putting you at ease as you accept his help, finally reaching the edge of the porch. From close, you’re quite admirative of his features, finding in his eyes a storm that seems a reflection of the sea. You do not say anything, not about the way his fingers are rough around your palm, digging there, and how his ring finger misses a knuckle.

“Hello, I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Nae, nae, it’s a’right.” He stumbles on his words with a firm shake of his head, stopping your unnecessary apologies. “Didnae thought anyone would come see me.” 

“Well, I did. And I have an apple pie for you, too.” You reply with a smile, raising slightly the covered plate you were holding, which seems to pique his attention as his eyes flicker downward as if seeing it for the first time.  

Johnny, you quickly find, hushes you inside with a quickness in his tone that you think is worry, or maybe guilt for frightening you the first second you've seen him. You give a little laugh at his own expression of regret, waving a hand in the air to signify you don't mind.

The warmth of his home makes you sigh while he closes the door behind you, your eyes admiring the entryway quietly before he moves past you with a precision unsettling. In the last three minutes you’ve known him, you can see the military experience he has bleeding out from every one of his actions.  

Johnny had been ready to shoot at the intruder the second he sensed your presence. His residence here is only because the British Army made him leave. It was a consequence of betrayal, of disaster, of disarray. Never once, since he left Scotland at age sixteen, running away from the battlefield that was home, did he ever consider the possibility of coming back. But, since the only home he ever had abandoned him, the only other place he could settle on to go back to was here. The Royal Army dismissing him doesn't mean he doesn't have enemies anymore.

After years of sacrifices, weeks of torture, months of the sand and blood invading his senses, they forced him away. He did not even have the time to process it; in a coma for a month, caused by a bullet entering his skull. By some curse, he made it, though the scar hidden beneath his hair says a different story. He awakens in that room, the white lightning cutting through like a knife, unaware of anything, only for, five minutes later, a superior officer he had never seen before telling him he would never be able to come back.  

He never imagined that the neighbour Jenny told him about, would come here. Neither did he ever fantasise about how soft and gentle you would be. As he watches you, from the edge of his previously unused kitchen, microwaved dinner is all he has ever known – he is almost distraught by the sight of you.

The dark blue sweater you wear is shifting over your rounded belly each time you move slightly too far. The patch of flesh, strained there, almost feels like a hallucination. He doesn’t process any of the words escaping your lips, and really, he should be more attentive to them. But the warmth in your eyes and the lightness in your voice as you tell him of the surrounding areas, giving him intel on the closest threat around, are unfamiliar.  

It has been weeks since his discharge. Weeks of mandatory therapy established by the organisation he surrendered his life for. Of endless pain in his head, like fresh lava melting around his skull every minute of every day. Weeks of wandering aimlessly, a shell of who he once was, blown apart. Stripped away from his sole purpose in life, abducted from the only person he ever cared for since he took control of his life. Only for it all to cease, to be taken away from him. Every scar he had been the victim of over the years, over the last decade of his life, was nothing now that he was in exile. Banished from the only world he knows.  

And now, here you are. Standing in the house he bought for barely anything at all, and his mind becomes silent. He looks at you, the soft lines around your mouth as you speak to him, and everything - the past stops his restless assault. A miracle, mirage, it didn’t matter what you are. Of course, you are too perfect to be real. You, and that warm, handmade apple pie. You and your graceful hands, free of any burden in life. You, and the warmth of your soul, he is swallowed by each time you gaze his way.

Johnny is certain he must look completely unhinged, staring too hard from a few steps away. He knows he should interact with you, at least pretend to be normal as he did since he left the military base. But everything in you, every little thing that you are, renders him defenceless. From the comically large slippers he lends you, the curve of your plush thighs, to the way you simply stand there blissfully.  

Your voice takes him away from his quiet moment of salvation, and he tilts his chin down to find you closer, a piece of apple pie on a little plate he did not even know he owned.  

“You must be tired. I know comin’ all the way here isn’t easy.” 

You’re silently wondering how he drives here, with an injured arm, but don’t think on it too long. Looking at him under the light, you can almost sense his tiredness. It’s written all over his broad frame, even as he still tenses when he watches you, the harsh line of his jaw where beard starts to grow. The thunder growling in his eyes. You do not ask, do not even mention it, and settle the plate he keeps looking at on the island counter before, with a heavy sigh, sitting down. One hand comes on the valley of your back as the reprieve of the highchair lightens your troubles. 

“You alone here?” He mumbles after a moment, and you see when it comes, the crinkles around his eyes.  

There is a moment of silence, as your face hardens, once again pondering the dangerousness of it. Johnny, since you took your first step, never truly intended to hurt you. It was instinct back then, you can tell. It is still as he stays on the edge of the room, close enough to the window and the front door. The only position where he can see the other entry points and you at the same time. Even battered as he appeared to be, there is no way his training could ever be forgotten.  

“Can’t say I am.” You settle on with a hint of humour to defuse the slight tension growing in the room. 

You, peculiarly, find great pride in the way his face widens at your words, before his eyes shine, watching your hand tap on the baby bump you expose, his way. Your mouth twitches before the grin you’re trying to hide finally breaks free. It is like seeing the sun for the first time, as his broad shoulders tremble under his laugh, the sound radiant as the summer, his head tilting backwards.  

Johnny, you understand, is much like the stray animals you scour around the country. You must allow him time to judge you; to feel safe with you in his personal space and prove you would never ever hurt him. Amusingly, he reminds you of the bull you are trying to negotiate with the farmer a little further down the hill. All broad around, with an intimidating physique that leaves you breathless when he struts toward you. Who once offered food is rather fine with your presence. 

“Good one, bonnie.” He grumbles again with a chuckle, sitting down in front of you as you fill the second plate. “No one tae look after ya then?” 

“I came here so no one would.” You admit, eyes shifting down as you push the tine of your fork into the sweet apple. “Wanted a home for myself.” 

“Can understand tha'. Where ya come from then?” 

Your eyes glimmer, seeing him inhale the pie, slightly saddened by how starved he looks, groans of contentment leaving him with each bite. The decision is easy to make, even after the scare he gave you when he opened the door.

The loneliness seems to cling to him like a dead lover, like a curse that runs deep into his blood, carving his place into his bones. For a moment, he reminds you of a haunted house after the people who inhabited it died tragically, leaving only the shell of what it was before. You’ll come and offer him food. Make sure he eats, and do not let himself be swallowed by his grief. 

You let him interrogate you. He offers answers of his own in return, and while sometimes cryptic, you make do with them. For a man surely as closed as he, he already tells you enough, especially during your first meeting. The questions are relatively innocent, if you don’t think of the ramifications of it all. Why did you decide on coming to Scotland, why the house so far away from everything, Does any of your family come to visit you before – he's searching for information. But with every answer you offer him, not hiding that you came here for freedom and safety, you watch him soften around the edges. 

Your fingers stroking along your belly, you smile as you watch his face shift when he tells you all about Scotland, where you should go visit, or where to eat a good meal. With a firm tone, though, and a long stare, he informs you never to go alone by yourself, that he’ll be your guide if you wish for it. Maybe a comparison to a stray hoarding dog would have been more accurate than a bull, you decide, as you giggle.  

“Understood, Sir.” You mock with honest gratefulness, already feeling quite comfortable around him.   

There is a twitch on the corner of his eyes, a straightening flinch in his shoulders, and you immediately regret it, your eyes widening in worry as his hands curl on the kitchen island around his empty plate.

He shakes his head then, after a moment of watching, unruly curls ruggedly flowing around his face, you are not insensitive to, as he gargles a laugh. Soon, he breaks the cold air, and he tells you to at least raise your hand next time, and you giggle happily, giving him a nod in acceptance.

Well, your new neighbour might not be what you imagined, but he’s perfect as he is. Especially when he walks you back home, his hand out in offering, grasping at your fingers to help you cross the uneven ground of the field. 

@ archive-doll - all rights reserved. reposting or modifying, including translating or use on AI, is not permitted. original characters are not my own, but the stories and writing are.

line dividers by cafekitsune

[branwinged]

i say this as a catelyn enjoyer, catelyn's hatred of jon is not particularly rational in the sense that it doesn't hinge on jon's own personal character. like some of it is borne out of wider prejudice regarding bastards (socially stigmatised as treacherous and grasping of their trueborn siblings' rights) of course, but the thing that hurts her most is what jon's presence in the household symbolically represents. and it's not the infidelity, it's the perpetual reminder of the disenfranchised position of women in their society and how little agency she truly has in her marriage and in the wider social sphere. the thing about catelyn's character is that she might be the conforming lady archetype, but she's also written to be very much aware of how disadvantaged women are in westeros.

"I might have been able to trade the Kingslayer for Father, but . . ." ". . . but not for the girls?" Her voice was icy quiet. "Girls are not important enough, are they?" Catelyn I, ACOK Is this my punishment for opposing him about Jon Snow? Or for being a woman, and worse, a mother? Catelyn V, ASOS “Father,” she said, “Father, I know what you did.” She was no longer an innocent bride with a head full of dreams. She was a widow, a traitor, a grieving mother, and wise, wise in the ways of the world. “You made him take her,” she whispered. “Lysa was the price Jon Arryn had to pay for the swords and spears of House Tully.” Catelyn I, ASOS Brienne looked at her with those blue and beautiful eyes. “As ladies die in childbed. No one sings songs about them.” “Children are a battle of a different sort.” Catelyn started across the yard. “A battle without banners or warhorns, but no less fierce. Catelyn VI, ACOK

^ these are not the words of someone who's content with her lot in life or has made perfect peace with the rules of westeros's feudal patriarchy. brienne and catelyn are both acknowledging the thankless role women are made to play. "no longer an innocent bride" / "wise in the ways of the world" has a certain misery to it, considering the topic at hand is hoster's abominable treatment of lysa for transgressing social norms. even a sentiment such as - "Pity filled Catelyn's heart. Is there any creature on earth as unfortunate as an ugly woman?", is not coming from a place of scorn or thoughtlessness, but from knowing too well how cruelly their world treats women, how brienne's appearance would affect her marriage prospects.

“Our duty.” Catelyn’s face was drawn as she started across the yard. I have always done my duty, she thought. [...] I gave Brandon my favor to wear, and never comforted Petyr once after he was wounded, nor bid him farewell when Father sent him off. And when Brandon was murdered and Father told me I must wed his brother, I did so gladly, though I never saw Ned’s face until our wedding day. I gave my maidenhood to this solemn stranger and sent him off to his war and his king and the woman who bore him his bastard, because I always did my duty. Catelyn VI, ACOK

there's such clear resignation here, this is not how you talk if you're proud to have done your duty, if you feel you were actually rewarded for having done it. and duty here means meeting the unforgiving expectations of westeros's feudal patriarchy. if sansa's chapters are about growing out of that conditioning by realising that there is no reward to be found here, then catelyn's chapters are about showing the personal cost of having lived your entire life internalising those ideals. her house words being 'family, duty, honor' is a very deliberate character choice.

so it's not just that ned cheated on her, but that he unanimously made the decision to install jon at their home and catelyn's feelings were allowed no say in the matter, that it happened even before she was able to step foot in winterfell with robb is another blow. she had just been exchanged as goods from one (dead) brother to another and she was supposed to be okay with all this, like the most natural thing in the world because her house words were drilled into her since childhood. but we know she wasn't. she stamped down that resentment out of duty, because he's her lord husband and she was to obey him, but that pain and the alienation for having done her duty was going somewhere. openly resenting her husband or her father is not a socially allowed option, so all that resentment gets unfairly taken out on jon, someone she has authority over. and i think identifying the major cause of that hatred as her frustrations with westoros's patriarchal ideals is important because that means knowing the truth of jon's parentage wouldn't have changed anything. that ned kept such a thing from her and again, unanimously made the decision to commit treason without consulting catelyn, is once again simply telling her that she has no control in this marriage, that her judgement is both unasked for and not valued.

[miraculouslyfine]

bombed it.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader (Doesn't follow the events of anything, established relationship) Synopsis: Peter is extremely concerned about his girlfriend's safety, she doesn't really share the same sentiment, and they fight, like a lot

Word Count: 10,8k

"You can't be serious”   “I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to choose”  

~

Peter and Y/n rarely fought.   

They just got each other. They understood each other on a deeper level; their shared traumatic experiences definitely played a part in this mutual understanding. Their love had been tested and tempered, growing stronger with every challenge they faced together. Throw some ever-growing affection and trust into the mix, and there you have it: a happy, healthy relationship.  

Sure, they had their fair share of squabbles and petty arguments, just like any couple, really. But they both valued honesty and communication. They were open about their feelings in any and every given situation, always making sure they see eye to eye, always trying to find middle ground. After all, that's what relationships are for, right? Compromise.   

Peter was willing to give up a lot of things to ensure Y/n's happiness. Nothing mattered to him more than making sure his beautiful girlfriend, his best friend, the love of his life was perfectly contented with how things were between them. Well, almost nothing.  

The one thing Peter would never budge on was Y/n's safety. That was non-negotiable. He felt it was his duty as her boyfriend, as her superhero -superpowered superhero- boyfriend, to protect her, to make sure she never got hurt.  

Now, Y/n Stark was no damsel in distress and by no means a stranger to danger and all kinds of superhero-related adventures and difficulties. Having grown up with the Avengers, her involvement with the team of heroes was inevitable.   

She was –according to the rest of the team, Peter included- a vital part of the Avengers. She took part in missions, though in a less dynamic and active sense, usually helping come up with different strategies and plans (you can never be too careful!). She brought a “much needed unique and fresh perspective to the team", as her dad used to say (“I just overthink a lot, it's not that big of a deal", she would always mutter under her breath, causing Peter to roll his eyes and playfully flick her on the head).  

Even though Tony (mostly Pepper) didn't want his daughter risking her life and getting caught up in the superhero world, he knew that if push came to shove, she needed to be able to protect herself. Plus, he couldn't deny that she had a talent. Her combat skills, ideas, creations, and great planning and thinking ahead skills were more than appreciated within the community. She was trained by the Black Widow herself for god's sake, she knew what she was doing. 

So what could have caused this schism between them, causing Peter to leave the comfort of their bed, deciding to spend the night on the couch instead, away from the feeling of her warm body next to him? 

Peter knew what she was doing. Sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, right after he'd come back from his own patrol. She thought she was being sly about it, too. Really, Y/n? Now you're just insulting my intelligence. 

It's one thing to play vigilante and another to outright lie about it. And Peter hated lies almost as much as he hated not knowing whether she was safe or not. And these late-night activities of hers were starting to piss him off. They were not good for his heart, either. Every time he heard the soft sound of their bed creaking as she got out of it at ungodly hours, he could feel his chest tightening. He always tried to fight the urge to get up and immediately follow after her, just to make sure she wasn't doing anything reckless. 

He didn't realize right away. She didn't look like she had spent half the night fighting crime, at first. She'd return a couple of hours before he was supposed to wake up. She'd make sure there were no visible injuries and she'd go on with her day. She really thought he'd never find out (or at least not before she felt he was ready to find out). 

After a few days, the lack of sleep was apparent. And no matter how hard she tried denying it, or playing it off, Peter could tell something was up. It didn't take him long to start putting one and one together; her tiredness, some unexplainable scratches here and there, the fact that crime in NYC seemed to have subsided. 

Peter knew. And he didn't like what was happening, not one bit. They had talked about it once, a while back. She had done this before-gone around his back to play hero-, or at least attempted to, before Peter (with a little needed help from her overprotective, over the top father, the little snitch) brought an end to it. He thought she had understood, that she saw how she was being ridiculous and unreasonable. Recklessly throwing herself in danger, all in the name of proving something? That didn't sound like his very intelligent, very MINDFUL girlfriend. 

He tried talking to her again. He gave her the chance to come clean about her activities. She denied everything. 

He was mad. He was hurt. He felt betrayed. Not only did she ignore his warnings and went about it behind his back, she was also lying to his face. 

And they fought. It was bad. It was unlike any previous fight they had. They were screaming at each other, hurtful words flying in the air, the tension in the room palpable. It was getting late, they were both tired, frustrated and upset. 

"Y/n, for the last time. You're being stubborn about this. All I'm saying is there are ways for you to help without being ON the field. Without recklessly risking your life-" 

"For god's sake, Peter. You're acting like I'm some adrenaline junkie, picking up fights with random people at the bar! I am helping you-" 

"Helping me? You think making me stay up all night, worrying if you're gonna make it back in one piece, is helpful? Geez, what would I ever do without you?", he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm  

"No one asked you to stay up. I know what I'm doing. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I'm trained and-" 

"Oh, you're trained? Why didn't you just say so?" 

She sighed heavily and rubbed her temples.

"Are you done? I'm trying to talk here and you're acting like a child!" 

"I'm the one acting like a child? You're acting like an angsty teen, sneaking around, ignoring everything and everyone!", he realized his voice came out a bit higher than intended. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. 

"Listen, Y/n, this isn't a game. Your life is not a game. You're putting yourself in danger. Hell, you're putting civilians in danger! What do you think you're doing, running around playing hero? Hm? You think you're tough for going out there all on your own? You're not tough, Y/n. You're dumb. You're dumb and reckless. What do you think will happen? You think you'll be lucky every time? That nothing bad will ever happen because you are trained? All it takes is one miscalculation, Y/n, one wrong move on your end, for things to take a really bad turn. Your luck will eventually run out. You could get hurt or..." 

He took a deep breath. He didn't dare finish that sentence. The thought of ever losing her was too much for him to handle. 

"You're not invincible, no matter how hard got try to convince yourself. You don't have healing factor, you don't have super strength, enhanced senses. NOTHING. You're intelligent, yes. You're incredible, you're creative, innovative, truly one of the smartest people I've ever met. You've got heart, I recognize that. But it's not enough. Your gadgets and devices won't save you every time."  

"One bullet", his voice cracked, "one bullet, Y/n, and you're gone. Do you get it now? GONE. DEAD. Do you understand the severity of the situation? You're risking your life. And for what? Five seconds of fame? To prove you're worthy of being your father's child? What are you trying to do?", he shook his head, frustration evident in his mannerisms. 

He took a good look of her. The sight immediately broke his heart. Her gaze sparkled with a delicate brightness, the unshed tears amplifying every flicker of emotion. He felt the need the need to reach out to her, to touch her (whether that was in order to hug or strangle her he didn't know for sure). But he didn't give in. He couldn't back down. Not when her safety was on the line. He needed her to understand, to see where he was coming from. 

The tears in her eyes refused to fall, clinging stubbornly to her lashes as her glare cut through the air like a blade. Who does he think he is? 

"This is what you think I'm doing? Showing off? Trying to prove a point?", a bitter chuckle escaped her. "No, Peter. I'm being helpful. I'm helping you, the cops, the people of New York. Why do you always do this? Why do you have to be like this? Why do you think you get to decide what’s best for me? I’m trying to help you, and you're out here treating me like I'm some kind of criminal, some kind of liability, an inconvenience to you! Do you think I don’t know the risks? Do you think I’m blind to the danger? I know what I’m walking into, but it’s my choice to make, not yours! You act like I’m some fragile thing that needs protecting, but I’m not, so stop acting like it.” 

“I'll stop when you start acting like a responsible adult for once”, he replied bitterly. 

“You're not a little girl anymore, Y/n. Tony won't be always there to save you and -as much as it pains me to say- neither will I” 

“I never-” 

"You never asked me to?", he run his hand through his hair in a frustrated manner. 

“I know. God, Y/n, I know. You're so goddam stubborn. You'd rather die than ask anyone for help. You're always so eager to prove your independence, that you don't need anyone to have your back. Well, news flash! You're not invincible. You're not some kind of god. And you're certainly not a hero. You can't just shrug off a bullet or an explosion or whatever insane thing you decide to get involved in next! You're human, so start acting like it. You're not expendable. Selfish is what you are.”  

"Selfish? You think I'm selfish? For what? For wanting to help people? Don't you see the irony of this coming from you?”, she let out a laugh in incredulity, unable to even fathom how he could ever say that to her. 

“You think this is about me? You think I'm just out here looking for glory or some kind of thrill? I’m doing what needs to be done, and if you can’t see that, then maybe you don’t understand me at all. You’re calling me selfish, but the truth is, you’re the one being selfish here. You’re more concerned with your own fear, your own worries, than you are about the bigger picture. I’m not out there for me. I’m doing what I can, what I have to, because I don’t want to sit back and let things happen when I know I can make a difference.” 

Peter was fuming. 

"God, this is ridiculous. I can't keep doing this, I just can’t! You��re out of control! Every damn time I turn around, you're throwing yourself into some insane situation, thinking you’re some kind of superhero. What do you think this is—some kind of game? You act like nothing can touch you, but that’s bullshit! You’re human, you’re not indestructible, and I’m getting sick of it. 

What do you think happens if you get hurt? Or worse, if you die? Oh, wait, you don’t think, do you? No, you’re too busy basking in the glory of your own self-righteousness to realize the mess you’d leave behind. Because, guess what? I’m the one who’d have to pick up the pieces. Me. The one who’s standing here, constantly worried, because you’re too damn reckless to care about the people who love you.  

You want to help people? Fine, but not at the expense of your own life! You think I’m just supposed to stand here, watching you put yourself in danger, all for some stupid idea of being a hero? Are you kidding me?! What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be safe for once? Why do you have to go and do these reckless things that make my heart stop every single time? Do you even care about the people who love you?”, his chest rose and fell in sharp, measured movements, a betrayal of the battle raging within. 

She crossed her arms, her fingers digging into her skin as if trying to tether herself to composure 

“I know what I'm doing.”, she spat out. That was... a weak argument, that much she knew. But in her ~slightly~ emotional state, it was all she could over without completely breaking down in tears. 

It seemed like that single comment angered Peter to no end, making him laugh bitterly in return. 

“Do you think growing up in the Avenger's Tower makes you one of them? Here's a reality check: your little stunts don't make you a hero. They make you a liability. And if you keep this up, I don't know how much longer I can deal with it. Because I can't spend my life wondering if the next time you pull this crap will be the last time I ever see you” 

But Peter was on a roll, he couldn't stop there. 

“And you know what’s even worse? You don’t even care. You don’t care that you scare the hell out of me. You don’t care that I am waiting back here, while you do something so unbelievably reckless that might result in me losing you. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it? Your need to prove something, your need to feel important. Never mind the people you leave behind to pick up the pieces!” 

And... silence. Complete and utter silence. 

It wasn’t the kind of silence that comes from comfort; it was loaded with the weight of accusations and defenses that would never be voiced. 

Peter winced. He regretted saying those words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He was getting to her, he could tell. He also knew he was being kind of an ass about the whole thing, but he really needed her to understand how unreasonably stubborn she was being. He needed her to be safe, but it seemed like she didn't value her wellbeing all that much. He couldn't stand that. 

Ouch. That...yeah, that did the trick. It wasn't just what he said, it was mostly how he said it. So... cold and distant, poisonous almost. Like he was taunting her. She could barely recognize the man in front of her. That wasn't her sweet, loving boyfriend, her Pete, her biggest supporter. 

She understood his point of view. She is less experienced than him, especially in the sense of getting personal with the villains. The fact that she doesn't have any powers didn't help her much either. She knew he was worried about her safety, that all his anger was stemming from a place of love (even though it wasn't that evident that particular moment). But she also hoped he'd have more faith in her. After all, she is always careful, with at least three backup plans ready, just in case. She always follows protocol, doesn't make any rush decisions. And she's Iron Man's daughter for fucks sake, she does know what she's doing. 

“A liability, huh?” 

Her eyes were distant, gazing at something far beyond the room, avoiding contact like it might burn. It felt like there was an invisible wall around her, not built to shut others out but to keep herself from crumbling 

He sighed and spoke again, this time in a slightly softer tone. 

“I didn't mean it like that... I'm sorry. Look, Y/n, what I'm trying to say is I’m scared out of my mind, and I can't keep pretending like I’m okay with this. Every time you leave, I’m terrified you won’t come back. Every time you walk out the door, I wonder if I’ll be standing at your grave one day, all because you thought it was some heroic act to put yourself at risk. You think that’s noble? It’s selfish! It’s selfish because you’re not just risking yourself—you’re ripping apart the people who care about you.” 

He took another shaky, deep breath and spoke in a gentle, yet firm tone, his gaze intense. 

“I can't lose you, okay? I won't. And you doing this-this reckless, stupid, selfish thing- is how that's going to happen. If something ever happens to you... I won't forgive you for it.” 

His voice lowered but remained firm, trembling slightly.  

“And I won't forgive myself either”  

Silence settled over them once again. It was thick, like a fog settling over the room, muffling everything but the sound of their breathing. It was the kind of silence that pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe, as though the room itself disapproved. They sat stiffly, their gazes deliberately avoiding each other, the distance between them more like a chasm than a few feet. 

Peter cleared his throat. 

Things were not looking good for them right now. He didn't like it, not one bit. The room felt suffocating, the once light and warm atmosphere long gone. He truly hated fighting with her. He wished this conversation never happened. They'd be laying on the couch now in each other's arms, with her on top of him, her head on his chest, her arms lazily draped over him as he'd run his fingers through her hair, holding her close. Just talking about their day while some movie played in the background. That's what we should be doing, Peter thought. Instead, here they were, avoiding eye contact like they were about to face Medusa. But this conversation couldn't be held off any longer. 

Soon enough the silence became unbearable. 

“Maybe it's best if we just-”  

“I should-” 

As soon as they heard the other person talking, they both closed their mouths, resulting in yet another moment of awkward silence. So in sync these two, it was almost endearing. 

Peter tilted his head slightly toward her, eyebrows raised in a silent invitation to speak. 

Her eyes closed briefly before they looked up, a flicker of acknowledgment passing over her face as she nodded weakly before speaking in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. 

“Maybe we should take some time alone... to...cool off...you know...?”  

Peter sighed. This conversation hadn't led to anything. Anything other than hurt, frustration and a headache, that is. Hours of an endless emotional back and forth, all for nothing. They hadn't reached an agreement and he was certain they weren't seeing eye to eye. And this wasn't a matter he was willing to back down from, she had to realize that her actions affected him as well. 

He understood where she was coming from, he really did. He understood better than anyone the burning need to help, the desire to make a difference, that deep sense of responsibility to the world. He *is* Spider-Man after all, that's his thing; he cares, he acts. He feels the moral duty to use his abilities to protect others, often at great personal cost. He doesn't mind. Or, at least, he didn't in the past (it is kind of different when you have someone at home waiting for you, you just got to be more careful, you know?). 

But he doesn't want that for her. Never for her. 

Maybe he was the selfish one for getting mad at her. Maybe he was selfish for hating knowing she was out there somewhere, all alone, taking justice into her own hands. But is it really selfish of him not wanting to see her getting hurt over something completely preventable? Why would she be out there risking her life when HE could be doing that instead? Did she not realize how much she meant to him?  

He didn't want them to separate, not like this, not right now. But he really didn't feel like continuing this conversation. He was exhausted, his emotions all over the place, a hint of irritation still lingering. He could tell she was tired too. Plus, he still had today's patrol. 

He reluctantly nodded. 

“Yeah...maybe we should. I have to go anyway. We'll talk about this later, okay?” 

She just nodded in response and retreated to their bedroom. Peter stood there for a moment, contemplating his next move. He hesitantly made his way to the door. He didn’t want to go, not really—but a small, guilty part of him was already savoring the thought of the space he'd have once he left. There was a flicker of regret in his eyes as he turned away, quickly replaced by a soft exhale and a lighter step. He hesitated at the threshold, his hand hovering over the doorknob for a moment longer than necessary before finally turning it. As he stepped out, he paused for a moment, as if expecting Y/n to call him back, but when she didn't, his posture eased, and he moved forward with renewed purpose. This is gonna be fun.

Peter soon disappeared into the night, busying himself by fulfilling Spider-Man's duties. He went about with his usual routine, swinging around the most common areas, the sketchiest ones, the streets most accidents happen on. But it was an uncharacteristically quiet night; no supervillains threatening to wipe out NYC, no petty criminals running around causing chaos, no cats on extremely high trees needing saving. 

Someone asked him for directions, so there was that.  

(A man can't even escape his thoughts in peace, smh) 

Hours passed, and it was getting later and later. Frustration, worry, and exhaustion started to catch up with him. He was tired, his body screaming for rest and his heart begging for an end to this whole ordeal. After a couple of hours of killing time by meaninglessly swinging around, Peter decided it was finally time he returned home- to her.  

Peter returned to the apartment, his body tired and aching, frustration still gnawing at his. On his way back he wondered whether or not he'd find her there. She could've gone to a friend's or at her parents’ house to avoid him. She could’ve completely ignored him and left to play vigilante again. He prayed that wasn't the case. Honestly? He half expected her too, if anything just to spite him. 

He quietly entered, not knowing what to expect, but the place was quiet and empty. He scanned the room and the first thing he noticed was the food on the kitchen counter, a silent gesture from her. 

He grumbled to himself, still somewhat irritated by her behavior. But the mere sight of the food, still warm and waiting for him, softened his frustration just a bit. Despite everything, she still cared enough to think about him. 

He walked over to the counter, his stomach rumbling with hunger. He sat at the table, quietly eating the food, his mind still going over the events of the night. He couldn't stop the frustration from bubbling up, but he also couldn't ignore the fact that he was exhausted. The food tasted good, but it didn't do much to satisfy his frustration. He still wanted answers, he still wanted her to stop this nonsense. 

He let out a quiet sigh, the sound echoing in the empty room. He was tired, both physically and emotionally. He knew he needed to sleep, to rest and recharge. 

Peter opened the door to their bedroom and was immediately hit with a wave of surprise. Y/n was asleep in their bed, looking deceptively peaceful. Peter's eyes narrowed as he watched her.  

He wanted to wake her up, to confront her and put an end to this. But seeing her there, asleep and defenseless, made him pause. Peter grumbled internally, torn between his irritation and the sight of her peacefully sleeping in their bed. He knew he should wake her and confront her, but something about seeing her there, so calm and vulnerable, made his anger soften just a little. Instead of waking her up, he opted to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes watching her as she slept. The frustration was still there, but there was a hint of worry and care underneath it all.  

“Hey, baby. There's food on the kitchen”. Her voice was soft and muffled, more like a murmur than actual speech, as though weighed down by sleep. 

As Y/n spoke in her sleep, Peter's annoyance melted away just a little more. Her sleepy voice was almost endearing, and her concern for his well-being, even in her half-conscious state, touched a softer part of him. 

He let out a soft sigh and ran a hand through his hair, his irritation fading into the background. Seeing her like this reminded him that beneath all the chaos and recklessness, she was still the girl he cared about.  

He couldn't bring himself to wake her up or to confront her right now, especially not when she was in such a vulnerable state. Instead, he sat there, watching her sleep, his mind swirling with a mix of frustration, care, and a bit of tenderness. 

He still had so many questions, and he was still upset about her antics, but for now, he was content to just sit there, listening to her gentle breathing and feeling a strange sense of peace in the room. Tomorrow would be another day for confrontations and discussions. 

Peter sat there for a few more minutes, just watching her sleep. The silence of the room was soothing, and the frustration he felt earlier was slowly fading away. 

With a deep sigh, he finally decided it was time to get some sleep himself. He carefully got up and made his way out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. 

As he settled into the couch, he couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. He knew he'd have to talk to her again, to get answers and hopefully put an end to her vigilante streak. 

This is bad, she thought. 

Peter's presence –or absence- had woken her up from her already somewhat disrupted sleep. She kept replaying today's events in her head, almost as if she were trying to make herself angrier and more anxious. She didn't like fighting with him. Sure, she didn't agree with him in the slightest and his words angered her to no end, she couldn't deny that she missed him terribly, especially now that she had the whole bed to herself, feeling like it'd swallow her whole. 

Since when does he sleep on the couch, anyway? Why did he get to act immaturely and petty? Why didn't he want to sleep in bed with her? He was the one in the wrong, blowing things out of proportion. 

After staring at the ceiling for God knows how long, she decided she'd just go for it. She could be stubborn; she was certainly not above acting petty after a fight. But she missed him. A lot. She yearned for the warmth of his body, the feeling of his arms around her. She decided pettiness (and the talk they're bound to have) would have to wait until tomorrow morning. 

She pushed the covers aside sluggishly, her arms moving as though weighed down by invisible chains. Her feet slid off the bed and onto the floor, landing with a dull thud, her movements slow and deliberate. She sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, hunched over, before finally shuffling to her feet with a soft groan. She shuffled toward the door, each step a reluctant scrape, the sound faint in the stillness of the room. 

She slowly made her way to the living room. Her eyes immediately landed on Peter's sleeping form on the couch. Without giving herself another moment to think this through, she started walking towards him. 

She carefully climbed on the couch and settled in an awkward position on top of him/ against the back of the couch. It was very uncomfortable but she could manage. What she couldn't manage was Peter-less sleep. 

Peter was pulled out of his half-asleep state by the sudden movement on the couch. He blinked a few times, his vision slowly adjusting to the dim light. 

At first, he was confused. Was he dreaming? But then he felt Y/n's weight on top of him, her awkward positioning making him wince a little. 

He felt a surge of irritation bubble up once again. Seriously? She had the whole bed to herself, why was she cramping up the couch like this? He was about to protest, to tell her to go back to the bed where she would be more comfortable, but something held him back. Maybe it was the softness in her half-sleeping gaze, or the warm weight of her body on top of him. But instead of pushing her aside, he found himself pulling her closer, instinctively wanting to hold and comfort her. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

He let out a resigned sigh, his frustration giving way to a mixture of annoyance, care, and a hint of affection. Peter's eyes widened slightly at her unexpected question. He had been caught off guard by her words, and there was a moment of hesitation on his part. 

But her voice, tinged with vulnerability and hesitation, stirred something within him. Maybe it was the softness of her tone, or the genuine concern underneath the question, but the irritation that had been brewing in him suddenly lost some of its sharpness. 

He let out a long, quiet sigh before whispering back, his voice gentle but firm. 

"Yes, I am." 

They drifted into a quiet pause, the air between them tinged with hesitation. That was until she spoke again in an almost hushed tone. 

“Are you very mad at me?” 

Peter paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady his emotions. Her quiet plea made his chest tighten, his heart conflicted between the lingering irritation and the instinctive need to comfort her. 

"Yes,", he whispered back, his voice softening a bit, "I am very mad at you." 

She hummed softly, acknowledging his response before speaking up once more. 

"Mad enough not to give me a goodnight kiss?" 

Peter couldn't help but feel a small spark of amusement at Y/n's words. Despite everything, despite his frustration, she still knew just how to disarm him with her playfulness. 

After a moment's hesitation, he relented, his voice still soft but with a hint of a smile. 

"I suppose I can manage a goodnight kiss. But then you need to promise you'll go back to your bed." 

"I don't like sleeping without you" 

Peter's heart skipped a beat. He was taken aback by her raw honesty and the vulnerability in her voice. It softened his frustration a bit more, reminding him of the love they shared beneath their disagreements. He let out a sigh, a mixture of annoyance and affection in his voice.  

"Why? Why can't you just... behave and make things easier for both of us?" 

That was... *not* what she expected to hear. She suddenly felt very awake, like a bucket of freezing cold water was dumped over her. It made sense that Peter wouldn't ignore the problem at hand just to let her cuddle with him in peace. Did she like it? No, not really. But that's Pete for you. Always wanting to do things right and always in proper order. 

But she was really not in the mood for that. Feeling rejected didn't help either. It was a quiet devastation, not loud or dramatic, but a slow, persistent ache she couldn’t ignore. The heat crept up her neck and into her face, her body betraying the humiliation she tried to suppress. Guess she won't be getting that goodnight kiss after all. 

She got off him just as quickly and awkwardly as she had previously climbed on top of him (she may or may not tried to discreetly knee him in the process). 

“You came here because you needed space. I need to respect that. I'll leave you alone", she said quietly as she got up from the couch. 

"Goodnight, Peter", she mumbled without giving him the chance to respond before walking back to their room with her head hung low, her shoulders slumped. 

Peter watched her walk away, her dejected expression pulling at his heartstrings. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her not to go, but another part of him wanted space to think, to process everything. It was all just too much too quickly. 

With a heavy sigh, he leaned back on the couch. The night was still young, and there were so many thoughts swirling in his mind. He needed time to sort through his feelings, to figure out what to say to her when they talked. 

While Peter was busy staring at the ceiling and gathering his thoughts, Y/n was pacing back and forth in their shared room. She was feeling anxious.  

She knew her participation in any superhero related activity -let alone playing hero all on her own, in NYC of all places- wouldn't really appeal to Peter. 

She knew that, yet she did it anyway. She wanted to help, she knew she could help, so she did. Turns out all that training really paid off. She did good, if she said so herself. Criminals were caught, civilians were safe, the press was eating it up. It was a win in her books. 

Despite all that, she couldn't ignore how her actions affected Peter. He seemed pretty pissed off. And him being that mad at her wasn't a common occurrence, like at all. 

She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. She was too emotional for that right now. Would they bounce back from this? Was he... done? Done with her? With them? She started giving through his closet, trying to find something to wear. She needed comfort, and if Peter wasn't about to provide that, his clothes would have to do. 

In true teenage girl fashion, she put on some sweatpants and one of Peter's hoodies. She put some sad, break up songs -Taylor Swift most likely- playing softly in the background, as she pulled her laptop and played a Star Wars movie, Peter's favorite. She was very well aware of how ridiculous she was being. But she really couldn't find it in herself to care. She was allowed to wallow in self-pity if she wanted to.  

As the movie started, her eyes began to tear up. She started thinking back to the day they first met, when they got together, when they moved into this house, essentially making herself cry more. What if this was their end? 

She didn't know what possessed her to act like this. Maybe it was the crippling fear that he'd break up with her. Maybe he was done with her. Maybe that's what tomorrow's conversation would bring. Because why on Earth would he want to sleep on the couch -without even giving her a goodnight kiss-, if he wasn't planning on breaking up with her? 

She cried even harder. 

Lost in his thoughts, Peter was startled when he heard a soft sniffling sound coming from the room he shared with Y/n (what a great day to have paper-thin walls!). Instantly, his irritation vanished, replaced by a sense of worry and concern. 

Was she crying? Was she upset? He couldn't bear to see her in distress, especially if he was the cause of it. And though part of him was still angry, the other just couldn't stand by and let her suffer. 

Silently, he got up from the couch and made his way to the bedroom door. 

Peter gently opened the door, trying not to make a sound. The sight that greeted him hit him hard. Y/n, dressed in his hoodie and sweatpants, sitting on their bed with her laptop in her lap, the screen lit up by the familiar glow of the original Star Wars trilogy playing. It was both sweet and heartbreaking. 

Tears were streaming down her face, and her small sobs filled the room. Peter could feel his heart cracking, torn between his lingering anger and his overwhelming love for her. He stood there for a moment, frozen, until the sight of her broke the last shred of his resolve. 

Peter moved forward slowly; his steps gentle yet firm. He approached her with care, as though she were made of fragile glass.  

“I could hear you from the living room” 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up... I'll keep it down” 

"No, no," he murmured, sitting beside her.  

"You don't need to apologize. I just...I just can't stand seeing you upset.", he reached out to brush the tears off her cheeks, his touch gentle and comforting. 

Tears spilled freely down her face as she leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand against her cheek softening the jagged edges of her emotions. Her shoulders trembled with quiet sobs, each one a wordless apology for the harshness of the argument that still lingered in the air. And yet, she didn’t pull away—instead, she melted into the comfort, clinging to the embrace as if it was the only thing keeping her from breaking completely. The touch was steady, almost forgiving, and despite the ache between them, it felt like a fragile truce beginning to take shape. 

"I don't want us to break up", she blurted out suddenly. 

Peter blinked in surprise. He was taken aback by her sudden outburst. It hadn't even crossed his mind that they would break up.  

"What? No, of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?" 

He pulled her gently into his lap, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. In return, she clung onto him and cried in his shirt. 

"I'm sorry. I really don't want us to break up. Ever. I hate it when you're mad at me. I don't want to lose you, Peter. You mean so much to me, I don't-" 

Peter held onto her tighter, his heart aching at her outpouring of distress and love. 

"Y/n, angel, listen to me," he said, his voice a calm and gentle assurance in the storm of emotions. "We're not breaking up. Not now, not ever. I love you. Mad, not mad, I love you. Do you understand what I'm saying? This is not a fleeting thing. This is us. Together. Forever." 

"I'm sorry for worrying you. I just wanted to do the right thing. I just wanted to help; I promise that's all I was trying to do. You're so busy and overworked and don't even complain because you're such a great person and I just wanted to help you and do something good for the world, too. I'm so sorry for making you worried. I didn't mean for things to come to this. I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry-" 

She cried even harder in his arms, making Peter's heart shatter at her tear-filled confession. He held her closer, feeling every word as if it weighed a thousand pounds. 

"Shhhhh, shhh," he whispered, trying to soothe her. "You don't have to be sorry for wanting to help, Y/n. That's who you are. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with you. But there are other ways. Safer ways. We'll find them. Together. But I need you to promise, to actually promise me, that you won't do that again, that you won't go out risking your life again." 

She pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, her own still filled with tears. 

"Peter..." 

She shook her head. Her tone was quiet and soft, almost a desperate plea.  

Peter's heart clenched tightly in his chest again as she pulled back to face him. Seeing her tear-stricken expression, his resolve nearly faltered. But he steeled himself, knowing this conversation needed to happen.  

"I need to hear you promise, Y/n," he repeated firmly, his tone unwavering, "promise you won't do this again. Promise me right now, or I promise you we're done." 

His words hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of their love and their future together. Suddenly, she started feeling slightly lightheaded. Did he just-? No, he wouldn't...would he? But he just said- 

"W-what? You can't be serious”  

“I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to choose” 

As the gravity of what he had just said sunk in, Peter felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Had he really just threatened to end their relationship if she refused to comply? He loved this girl with all his heart, yet here he was, holding their relationship hostage like some sort of bargaining chip. 

He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving hers. He needed her to know he was serious. But he also needed her to understand this was for their own good. For her safety. For their future. 

"Y/n," he said softly, but firmly, "promise me." 

"But you just- you just said this isn't a fleeting thing. That we are in this together. You just said-", her voice broke and a fresh set of tears ran down her cheeks. 

"And I meant it. I meant every word. But..." Peter paused, his gaze still fixed on her tear-streaked face. "But I can't watch you put yourself in danger like this. I can't stand idly by, watching you risk your life, your future, your everything just to prove a point. I can't promise you my undying love and then stand idly by and watch you throw it away. This isn't some game, Y/n. It's real life. And in real life, people get hurt. People get killed." 

"No. You don't understand. I'm always very careful. I follow protocol. I do everything right-"  

The words came out uneven, trembling as if her emotions were fighting their way through every syllable. Each word seemed to catch in her throat, rasping and shaking as she struggled to speak through the tears. 

"This isn't fair. You can't do this. Peter, you can't-", her own sobs prevented her from speaking. The hesitation in her voice mirrored the vulnerability in her eyes, wavering as though afraid to break completely. 

“No, Y/n, it's not fair!" Peter retorted, his emotions boiling over. "It's not fair that I have to sit here, worrying about you every second of every day. It's not fair that you get to waltz into a dangerous situation, risking everything, and leave me here wondering if I'm ever going you to see you again. That is not fair. But it's the reality of who we are. And I can't watch you do this to yourself, to me, to us." 

After he spoke the room fell silent. All that could be heard was the heaviness of Peter's breathing and Y/n's soft sniffles. 

“Would you do it?” 

“Would I do what?” 

"Would you quit being Spider-Man if I asked you to?", her voice barely above a whisper. 

"Wh-what?" Peter blinked, completely taken aback by Y/n's sudden question. It felt like a punch to the gut, the very thought of giving up being Spider-Man. It was a part of him, just as much as the love he had for her, and he couldn't imagine living a life without it. 

"Why would you-? No, Y/n," he sputtered, the words stumbling out before he could stop himself. "It's not the same. What I do, it's different. I have powers. I have responsibilities-" 

"Okay, then.” 

There was a hint of disappointment and an even bigger hint of finality in the way she said it. That was all she said. Such small and insignificant words, but in that moment, it could potentially signify the end of an era, the end of their era. 

The silence that followed was stifling, the weight of Y/n's words hanging heavily in the air. Peter stared at her, his heart in his throat. This couldn't be it, could it? After everything they had been through, was this really how it would end? 

"No. Y/n, you can't-" Peter's voice broke, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You can't possibly want me to choose between you and my duty as Spider-Man. It's...it's not a fair choice. It's not fair to ask me to give up-" 

“I'm not. I was just... wondering if you'd do the very same thing you're asking me to do”, she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.  

Peter's heart clenched as he watched the tears stream down her cheeks. The realization of what he had done hit him like a ton of bricks. Had he really just demanded she choose between her desire to help and her love for him? Had he really just issued an ultimatum that threatened their entire relationship?  

His shoulders slumped, his resolve suddenly shattered. 

"I...I didn't mean..." He stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his mistake. "Y/n, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I'm-" 

"At least you won't have to deal with my recklessness anymore", she chuckled bitterly, her tone only half joking. Her voice was quiet and tired as a result of all the crying. 

She really didn't want their relationship to end, especially not like this. Maybe if she took a moment to calm down (if only she could just close her eyes for a minute) she'd see they were both overreacting. They both had their point. Maybe they could even hug it out. That could work, right? It works for kindergarteners; it could work for them, too. But in her emotional and restless state all she could think about was one upping him, making him feel guilty for ever threatening to end things. 

Peter's heart cracked at Y/n's half-hearted attempt at humor. He knew he had a lot of apologizing to do, but right now all he wanted to do was make it right. He didn't want to lose her. He couldn't even begin to imagine a life without her.  

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, his Spidey-Sense suddenly flared, causing him to freeze mid-breath. "Hang on," he interrupted, his brow furrowed in concentration, his senses now fully alert. He stood silently, focusing on the signals his Spidey-Sense was sending him. Something was off, something was wrong. 

His eyes darted around the room, his attention flicking to the window. Was that... movement? A shadow? A flicker of something out of the ordinary. Y/n's eyes followed Peter's line of sight on the window behind them, noticing something. Before she had the time to let Peter know, the object she noticed was already on its way to their room.  

Acting purely on instinct, in a fragment of a second, she had pushed Peter off the bed, and fell on top of him, concealing him from whatever was going to burst through the window.  

Peter's Spider-Sense blared again, a split second later than it would have been if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own emotions. 

The force of the blast sent a wave of debris and smoke swirling through the apartment. Glass shattered around them, raining down like sharp, shiny confetti. 

The rush of adrenaline barely let her register the feeling of glass breaking her skin. Peter's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. Y/n had flung herself on top of him, shielding him from the impending explosion. He tried to push her off him, his strength kicking in, knowing he could withstand the blast. 

But it was too late. The shockwave of the blast hit them, sending them crashing against a nearby wall. Peter instinctively wrapped his arms around Y/n, trying to protect her as much as he could. The explosion was deafening, the pain momentarily blinding.  

Once the dust began to settle, Peter slowly let go of Y/n, trying to catch his bearings. Peter's eyes darted around the destroyed room, trying to assess the damage. The devastation was staggering — shattered windows, smoke filling the room, debris everywhere. But his focus was on Y/n; the only thing that mattered right now. 

He gently grasped her shoulders, pulling her towards him, trying to assess her injuries. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice shaky with worry. "Please, please tell me you're okay." 

She barely noticed the sharp ache on her side or the warmth of blood trickling down her temple as she looked over the charred remains of what had once been their home. Her eyes stayed fixed on the crumbled remains of their house, where years of memories now lay in twisted, blackened ruins. The faint ache in her ribs with each breath was nothing compared to the hollow thud in her chest as she stared at the space that had once been their home.  

Her breathing was shallow, ragged—not from exertion, but from the weight of what she’d lost. Every step sent a jolt of agony through her body, but she ignored it, her focus locked on the blackened timbers and ashes that used to hold their memories, their life. What was a little pain compared to this? 

Peter's grip on her shoulders tightened slightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Y/n, look at me," he demanded, his voice firm. "Look at me and tell me you're okay." 

He needed to know she was alright. He couldn't handle the alternative. The thought of losing her was more terrifying than any explosion or villain. 

"Pete, our home. It's... it's gone” 

Her words stumbled out, disjointed and hollow, as if her mind was still scrambling to catch up. ““The picture wall, the stupid chemistry pun posters... they're all... gone.” Her mouth hung slightly open, her voice barely above a whisper, like she couldn’t trust the weight of her own thoughts. Every sentence felt like a question, her tone wavering between incredulity and desperate denial, as if speaking it aloud might somehow undo the reality before them.  

Peter's heart ached at her words. The thought of everything they had built together being destroyed was almost too much to bear. But right now, the only thing that mattered was Y/n. 

He took a deep breath, pushing aside his own emotions.  

"It's just stuff, Y/n. Things. We can get new stuff. None of it matters as long as you're okay." 

“But it won't be *our* stuff” 

Peter's heart broke at her words. She was right. Nothing could replace the sentimental value of their shared belongings — their collective memories and shared experiences. But he had to remain strong for her. He couldn't afford to break down when she needed him. 

"We'll make new memories. Better memories. I promise," he said softly, his hands still on her shoulders. "We'll find a new place, and we'll make it ours. It'll be even better than before. You have to trust me." 

"Trust you? You just broke up with me!”, her tone was almost accusing as tears began running down her face. 

Peter's heart felt like it was tearing in two as the words left Y/n's lips. He hadn't meant it, he *never* would have meant it. He only wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. But he realized his own fear and anxiety had caused him to make a mistake, a terrible mistake. 

"Y/n, baby, please," he pleaded. "It wasn't real. I was scared. I was worried about you going out and putting yourself in danger. I... I panicked. Please, you have to know... I love you." 

"You have a funny way of showing people you love them", she muttered sarcastically under her breath. “Anyway, is that supposed to make me feel better? You gave me an ultimatum, we kinda broke up and an explosive device literally demolishes our home". Angry tears were running down her face. 

"What is going on today? And you were mad because what? Because I risked my life? NEWS FLASH, PETER. THAT'S WHAT YOU DO ALL THE GODDAMN TIME. But I TRUST you and BELIEVE in your need to contribute to the greater good"  

"And I'd never- ah, fuck", she hissed and pressed down on her side 

Peter's eyes widened. Immediately, all other thoughts faded into the background. He quickly moved to her side, lifting up her shirt to assess the damage. His eyes fell on a nasty cut on her side, blood slowly seeping out.  

"You're bleeding," Peter said, his voice trembling with panic. "Why the hell didn't you say something earlier?" 

"Because I was in need of a red shirt- obviously I didn't know!"  

Her tone sounded sarcastic and frustrated; a hint of fear mixed in there as well. 

Peter huffed, feeling an emotional whirlwind. Mainly relief and the tiniest bit of irritation. Of course, she couldn't resist a snarky comment even in a crisis. 

"Right, because bleeding is the current trend," he quipped, trying to match her tone. "Red's not really your color, by the way. You're more of an orange gal." 

He couldn't help but feel a hint of affection towards her, even as he berated her. 

“Parker, I swear to God, if you don't zip it right now, I'll make you regret ever asking me out on that first date” 

Peter paused for a moment, caught off guard by her comment as it reminded him how he just threatened his lovely girlfriend -who he's madly in love with and would literally die for- he'd break up with her if she didn't stop doing something she loves. Her words sent a jolt of guilt through him; he could hear the hurt in her voice, and he knew he was the cause of it. 

He shook his head, pushing the weight of his mistake to the side for now. Y/n was bleeding, and that was his first priority. He would deal with the fallout of his ultimatum later.  

"Hang on," he said softly, gently lifting her up. "We need to stop the bleeding. Then we'll talk." 

He gently wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her weight as they made their way to what was left of the kitchen. The sink miraculously survived the explosion, and he helped her lean against it. Grabbing a clean cloth, he ran it under the faucet, wetting it.  

"This might hurt," he warned, gently pressing the cloth to her wound. 

“I'm not talking to you”, she said almost right away. 

Peter paused at Melina's response. Her voice was laced with frustration, and he couldn't blame her. He had screwed up, big time. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. She was being stubborn, and he knew she had every right to be. 

"Look, I get it. You don't want to hear from me right now. I messed up, and I know that," he said softly, his gaze fixed on her. "But you're bleeding. I have to help you. Please, let me help you. Then you can go back to giving me the silent treatment if you want, okay? Plus, you don't have to talk. I'll do all the talking. Just let me patch you up, okay?" 

His voice was gentle, the frustration and anger from earlier having faded into the background. He knew that making things right with Y/n was going to take more than just words. It was going to take action. 

"I don't want to hear you talk either", she mumbled childishly. 

Peter raised an eyebrow at her petulant response. He had no doubt she wasn't in the mood to engage in conversation right now, but he refused to let her bleed out on her own floor because she was mad at him. He had to patch her up.  

He exhaled softly, gathering a bundle of supplies from a nearby first-aid kit. 

"You know, you're adorable when you're angry," he commented, unable to help himself. He started carefully cleaning the wound, his hands moving with precision and care. 

"And you're still talking" 

He couldn't help but smile at her stubbornness. He had truly fallen for a strong, independent woman. "Sorry, I just can't resist when my girlfriend's bleeding and fuming. It's a dangerous combination." 

He carefully began stitching up her wound, his hands steady and sure. "Just remember, a little bit of anger and banter make for the best love stories. We might be the next big blockbuster, with how dramatic we are." 

“Ex girlfriend", she corrected with an eye roll at the irony of it all. 

"And no love story for us. You can pursue your romance with the Becky from down the street now", she said grumpily, the thought alone tugging at her heartstrings 

Peter let out a sigh of exasperation at Y/n's correction. He knew he had made a mistake, and it hurt to see her refer to herself as his ex-girlfriend, but for now, her cut had his full attention. He couldn't get sidetracked. 

"You're right, I'm sorry. But you know, we could be the next enemies to lovers, if you play your cards right. A little banter, a little fighting, and then some dramatic make-up scene. The audience will love it." 

He finished stitching up her wound, his touch gentle despite his words. 

She wanted to stay mad at him, she really did. But it was hard to when he was making silly little comments like these. A small smile made its way to her face but she quickly bit down on her lip to stop herself before he saw and got cocky about it. 

Peter's keen Spidey senses picked up on the shift in her demeanor. He caught the subtle smile she tried to hide, and it warmed his heart. 

"Oh, is that a smile I see?" He said in a teasing tone. "I knew my charm would get to you eventually. Just imagine, if you're already smiling after breaking up, what could happen if we make up? The world might just explode from our awesomeness." 

"No one's smiling, you must've hit your head" 

Peter chuckled at her quick defense of her smile. He finished applying an antiseptic to the wound and gently covered it with a clean bandage.  

"Right, of course, I'm just seeing things," he replied with a playful wink. "But hey, if I did hit my head, maybe I'm having a vivid dream where you and I are the star-crossed lovers in the epic love story that is our lives. And you know what that means, right?" 

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Wake me up with a kiss, Melina." 

"That was the corniest thing I've ever heard. Plus, I have this rule of not kissing ex boyfriends, sorry" 

"You're really gonna play hard to get?", Peter countered, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, I guess I'll just have to win you back then. I've defeated villains and battled super-powered monsters. Winning your heart back can't be much harder, right?" 

He stood up, helping her up as he did so. He couldn't resist pulling her towards him, his hands lightly settling on her hips. "And just so you know, I'm a great kisser." 

"Really? You'd think I would know, considering we spent the last four years of our lives together" 

"Touché. But you know what they say, practice makes perfect. Maybe I should give you a refresher. After all, I can't have you going around thinking I'm a bad kisser, can I?" 

He gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face, his gaze filled with affection. 

"So what do you say? For old time's sake?" 

"Old time being... yesterday?" 

Peter shrugged with a sheepish grin. "Well, technically yes, but you know what I meant. Besides, yesterday was a lifetime ago. We've had an explosion, a break-up, and a reunion. That's a lot more than most couples experience in a lifetime." 

He paused for a moment, a genuine warmth seeping into his voice. 

"In all seriousness, Y/n, I messed up. I've regretted it this entire time. I'm so sorry. Please give me another chance to prove it. To prove that we're... perfect together." 

“ ‘This entire time’ being...what? Thirty minutes?"*she said with a snort of amusement. 

Peter chuckled, his smile widening. "Alright, alright, I get it. We can't all be as patient as you with our ex-boyfriends. But seriously, Y/n, I mean it. I regret what I said. I was scared, and I made a mistake." 

He paused for a moment, his gaze growing serious. "I love you. I want you. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to win back your trust and heart." 

He took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "Can we... just start over? Please?" 

She pulled her hand away from his and just stood there, watching him for a moment. After a bit she extended her arm towards him and introduced herself. 

"Y/n Stark", she said with the tiniest of smiles evident on her lips. 

“Who's being corny now?”, he rolled his eyes in a playful manner before wrapping his hand around hers, savoring the feel of her skin against his. 

"Y/n Stark," Peter echoed, his voice soft with affection "It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/n Stark. I'm Peter Parker. But you can call me anytime." 

With that, he gently pulled her closer, his free hand reaching up to caress her cheek. He leaned in, his lips gently brushing against hers, sealing their newfound beginning with a tender, heartfelt kiss. She laughed softly against his lips, the pickup line catching her off guard. Peter couldn't ignore the fluttering in his chest as her laughter met his lips. The sound was like music to his ears, and he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist. 

Pulling away slightly, he whispered in her ear, "Did that meet your witty standards, Miss Stark?" 

"I'll let it slide", she said with a serious expression, nodding slightly before a smile made its way on her face again. 

Peter grinned, his eyes sparkling with adoration. "Only let it slide? I'll have to step up my game, then. How about this?" 

He leaned in again, his voice a low murmur against her lips. "I swear I'll be your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if you let me swing by your place every night." 

She snorted in amusement “That was so bad” 

“Was it now?” With that, he captured her lips in a kiss, expressing the depth of his feelings for her with each lingering moment. 

Their lips met softly, tenderly, as if every touch was a gentle reminder of how much they meant to each other. It was unhurried, each moment lingering with the quiet depth of love that words could never capture. There was no urgency, only a profound warmth, a silent apology woven into the way their hands cupped each other’s faces. The kiss held forgiveness, not as a plea, but as a gift, an unspoken promise that they were ready to move forward together. It wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a vow, a renewal of everything they’d shared and everything they still hoped to build. 

After a bit, they pulled away to catch their breath.  

“So, we're together again?”, she asked playfully. 

He looked at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement as before he softly kissed her forehead "Please, we were never not together” 

With that, they fell in silence. 

The silence wrapped around them like a soft blanket, warm and steady, filling the spaces where words weren’t needed. It wasn’t heavy or awkward but gentle, a quiet acknowledgment of shared understanding. The only sounds were the subtle rhythm of their breathing and the faint rustle of the world outside, creating a calm that felt almost sacred. In that stillness, there was no need to explain, no need to fill the air with chatter—it was enough just to be there, side by side, letting the silence speak what their hearts already knew. 

“Are we going to ignore the fact that we're homeless?” 

A small chuckle left Peter's lips as he pulled her closer. 

"You always have to ruin the mood”, he said jokingly, “We'll figure it out, baby. Just you and me. And your dad. We should probably call him and beg him to let us crash because we're kind of screwed otherwise”  

[tommysversion]

Stick To Me (Like Caramel): Tommy Miller x F!Reader

Summary: set in the same universe as Forbidden Fruit. You don't need to read that first for this to make sense. Joel has his girl, his kids, and a life. Meanwhile, Tommy seems to be losing everything of late. After the abrupt end of his marriage, he goes in search of comfort to drown his feelings. And after years of ignoring the tension between you? That seems like a good place to start.

Content/Warnings: Past thoughts of adultery | implied age gap (not specified, can be as large or small as you'd like, but I pictured reader in her early 30s) | unsafe & unprotected PIV sex | oral sex (f!receiving) | dirty talk (Tommy has a filthy mouth) | slight daddy kink (1x usage) | implied breeding kink | slightly dark!Tommy if you squint | Reader has no description physically aside from being female bodied, feminine pronouns & body terms are used |

18+ Only || MDNI || KO-FI Link || Word Count: 2.6k

- x. -

He thinks something in him must be broken. That, or he no longer has to pretend to be something he isn't, put all that effort into pretending he and Joel aren't cut from the same damn cloth.

"You're just too much like your damn brother. Only better at pretending you're a good man."

That's what Maria had told him, before she'd tried to soften the blow by telling him he'd still see his son.

Well what the fuck was he supposed to do? Shut his brother out? He'd already been separated from Joel once before, when he'd first come to Jackson.

Then he'd almost lost him completely thanks to a total stranger with a poorly planned vendetta. God. He was never going to be more glad that Ellie and Jesse were faster with weapons than that bitch and her accomplices.

It had been touch and go for a while there, but Joel was back on his feet now. Had Ellie and Dina and Jesse and some sweet thing who usually works in the stables or the clinic. Younger, but devoted to him.

And hell, Tommy would never begrudge his brother a damn second of it. Not the kids, not the peace, not the girl. Because he knows exactly what his brother has survived, what it almost cost him.

It definitely helps push him into going after what he wants himself, though. Starting with you.

Tommy knows you're sweet on him. Knows too damn well that for the duration of his marriage he's kept his eyes and his thoughts to himself... for the most part. If he's ever, hypothetically, thought about you, and what you may sound like, taste like, feel like? Well. They're just thoughts.

Only, now, they don't have to be.

The man he was trying to be, the good one, who forgets he used to murder and steal and threaten to survive, he'd probably have words for him about crossing town - freshly reinforced, still rebuilding, a long fucking process in itself - to visit a woman far too young for him.

The man he is, though? That man tosses a friendly wave to Jesse as he passes Joel's house, sees the younger man about to go inside. Figures it must be one of those nights where Ellie, Dina, Jesse, Joel and his girl all pile into his living room for a movie.

He remembers when Joel thought he'd never get another movie night with Ellie again. Let alone Ellie, her girl, their best friend, and a woman of his own.

It puts a smile on his face as he carries on up the street til he reaches your house. He knows he had that family thing going for him, but also understands why, he thinks, Maria decided maybe he wasn't the good guy he was trying to be.

So here he is. Months later, sans wedding ring, knocking on your front door.

You take a minute to open it, dressed warmly because Jackson has a habit of always being so goddamn cold, looking relaxed in jeans and a sweater.

"Tommy." You say, like you're surprised to see him, but also like he's your favourite person in the goddamn world.

You don't use that tone with just anyone. He's observant enough to note that. Still, he gets the sense that he's a welcome sight, which he appreciates.

"Hey, sweetheart. Can I come in?"

He suddenly feels awkward. Just a little. A rush of concern that maybe he's been misreading you this entire time, that every soft glance, every little smile, every time you've served him at the bar and been just that little bit warmer than you are with most...

His thoughts are interrupted by another bright smile, by you stepping aside to let him into your home. Your house is the smallest on the street, only one single floor. You've never complained.

The entire house smells like something has been baking, he notes, as he steps around you and closes the door behind him. Cinnamon, he thinks as he follows you through into your small living room. It's cosy, a few books here and there, a record player.

One large archway opens up into the kitchen, a small hallway leading off to the guest room and bathroom. He remembers the layout from when he repaired your hot water system a few years back. Then there's the door to your room, ajar. He catches a glimpse of messy blankets before he turns his entire attention to you.

"Tommy? Are you okay?" You look up at him, your eyes focused on him; you're no medic, no doctor, but you're looking him over like you're afraid he's hurt and you want to fix him.

He doesn't think he's really able to be fixed anymore.

"Yeah." He says, then again with a little more conviction. He likes the way you're looking at him, the way your lips part slightly as you try to figure him out.

Later, he'll pinpoint this as the moment any remaining reservations vanished, but he won't be able to specifically tell anyone why.

Giving it no more thought, he closes the two steps between you, pulls you against his broad chest, leans down and crushes his lips to yours.

You make a little surprised sound but you don't stop him; instead you lean into him, wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. There's a small part of you that registers that this is probably wrong, he's barely separated from Maria, but god, you're so tired of waiting and wanting from a distance.

All he needs is that little sign that you want this too, then he's lifting you up into his arms, carrying you the short distance into your room.

He sets you down, tugging at your sweater just as insistantly as you pull at the red plaid shirt he's wearing, the worn tee beneath it. A low groan rumbles in his chest as you run your hands up his bare chest; he's not all solid muscle anymore, let himself get a little soft in the middle over time, but you don't care, touch him reverently regardless.

"Fuck, honey..."

He gets your sweater off, your bra, drags you into another kiss before you work on the bottom layers; your jeans and soaked panties hit the floor next, then you're pulling away from him, sprawling yourself out on your bed for him, touching yourself, spreading your own slick as he groans again.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters as he undoes his belt, pauses just a moment to watch you run your hands up your body, play with your own tits, fully aware of his gaze and the way he's transfixed by you.

He tugs his jeans down, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he sees the way your eyes widen, watching his cock as it springs free, hard and heavy against his stomach.

Then he's crawling onto the bed, spreading your thighs wide for him. You whimper and he grins, tugs you closer to him.

"'s it, baby, c'mere," his voice is low and thick with lust as he buries his face between your thighs, groaning the moment your slick touches his tongue. He's dreamed about this, wondered how you taste for years, even though it's been so wrong up until recently.

The part of him that's a good man still feels shameful for it, but the rest of him takes precedence, doesn't give a fuck whether he's wanted this for longer than he should have, when he was still a good married man.

His tongue circles your clit, dips into your soaked pussy, drinking down your slick and shaking his head from side to side until his beard is soaked with you, your thighs tight against his head and shaking.

"Fuck yeah, sweetheart, taste so good-" he presses a soft kiss to your clit, sucks it into his mouth again, drawing another strangled moan from your lips. "Could fuckin' drown in this pussy and be a happy man."

His cock throbs against the sheets, pre cum dripping from the fat, weeping tip of him as he sits up, wipes his chin with the back of his hand, sits back for a moment and just admires the mess he's made of you.

"Need you-" you manage to almost whimper, reaching for him. He laughs quietly as he leans down again, cages you in beneath him.

"Need me, huh? Reckon you've been needin' me for a while, huh, sweetheart?" He drags his fingers through your slick, teasing you as his lips trail kisses down your throat, nuzzle into your collarbone.

He's slow and precise and it's damn near killing him to take his time.

"Y-yeah," you admit breathlessly, tilting your head so he can kiss at your shoulders again, liking the intimacy of it.

"Yeah? Even when you couldn't have me? You been lyin' in this bed every night thinkin' of me?" He kisses your sternum, nuzzles between your breasts with a low hum as he waits for your answer.

You make a little noise of assent and he laughs, a low rumble in his chest as he slips a hand up your curves, finds a hardened nipple and plays with it, rolling it between his fingers tauntingly.

"Bet you have. Probably had no idea how much I wanted to fuck you into this bed, huh?" He leans down and bites your nipple, drawing a little squeak from you, and he laughs. "Guess that patience is about t' pay off."

His tongue laves over the bite mark as he shifts, keeps himself propped up with one hand while the other wraps around his cock, throbbing and aching in his hand. Lightly, he slaps it against your clit, a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan forming when you moan for him.

"Tha's it, baby, fuck, c'mere, come to daddy-"

He groans as he feeds you his cock, inch by inch into your tight heat; you're so warm and wet for him, your cunt trying to pull him in deeper. It's almost a relief when his hips are flush against yours, his cock snugly sheathed inside you.

"Fuck, 's so big-" you gasp out, your fingers moving to cling onto his arms, desperate for something to hold onto as you breathe, feel him stretching you open.

"Deep breaths, now, sweetheart, c'mon-" he soothes you, nuzzles his face into your neck and presses open mouthed kisses to sensitive skin until you feel less pressure, less discomfort, just wonderfully, blissfully full of him. He feels the change, feels you relax, and then he starts to move, snapping his hips into yours, hard and fast.

You don't hold back for him, your moans loud and filthy and he loves it, loves the way you claw at his back, drag your nails up and down and cling to him. Fifty five years old and he's still got it, still got the stamina and the ability to make a woman scream for him.

He can feel your pussy tightening around him, as though trying to get him deeper; he shifts, lifts one of your thighs up and presses it against your chest so he can achieve exactly that. The change in angle is rewarded by a particularly filthy moan from your lips.

"Please -"

Is the only legible word from the stream of sounds falling from you, though he thinks he hears his name amongst it, too.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I gotcha. Go on now, y' can let go whenever y' want to." His words are a little strained from the effort, from how hard he's fucking into you; some of his dark hair is falling from the messy bun he usually wears it in.

You want to reach up, to brush it from his face, but your entire body feels like it's about to shatter like glass from the way his cock slams into you; before you know it you're coming apart around him, your slick soaking his cock as you gasp for breath, choking out ragged moans as your body trembles.

"That's it, that's my girl-" he groans as he pulls out of you, letting your still fluttering cunt ache around emptiness as he turns you onto your front; you catch sight of his cock, glistening with your slick, before he has you face down, ass up.

His big hands grip your hips and pull you close, one keeping hold of you as the other guides his cock back inside you. You both give a relieved little sound as he fills you again.

The hand not at your waist moves to your chest once more, fondling your tits as he starts to move again.

"Fuck, sweetheart, got such a tight little pussy," he pulls you up so your back is against his chest as he fucks into you, the hand on your hip moving to play with your clit as he kisses your shoulder. "Could just fuckin' die here an' be a happy man, Christ -"

The hand at your chest moves up, presses two fingers into your mouth which you suck, muffling your moans as you swirl your tongue, as if sucking on his cock. Just the thought of his cock in your mouth has you drooling, and he laughs a low rumbling sound.

"Dirty girl, ain't ya? Fuck, maybe once I've filled you up, I'll make you suck my cock clean. Y' like that idea?" He feels your cunt tighten around him at the words and chuckles darkly, "yeah you fuckin' do. That what you want? Me to fuck my cum into this pretty little cunt then make you suck my cock clean?"

You whimper around his fingers and he groans, pulls them out of your mouth and tilts your head back so he can kiss you; it's sloppy and greedy and you can taste yourself on his tongue, but you cling to him because it's everything you've possibly ever wanted from him and then some.

"Alright sweetheart, here it comes, be a good girl for me, c'mon-" he groans as his hips snap up, sharp deep thrusts that have you shaking in his arms, "- take it, honey, that's it, fuuuuuccckkkk-"

The last word is drawn out as his balls tighten, his cock aching and throbbing as he spills his load inside you, deep and far more than he'd expected, hips rocking steadily until he finally stills, taking ragged breaths against your shoulder.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Tommy -" you say finally, when he lets you down against the mattress, curls his larger frame around yours and showers your sweat damp skin with kisses.

"Seen you lookin'. Don't take a genius to know what you wanted." He chuffs a laugh and nuzzles into your neck, "just hope I lived up t' your dreams, ain't polite to keep a lady waitin' long."

You suppress a snort of laughter.

"You just fucked me like an animal after I've spent years wishing you would, my tits are covered in your bite marks and I have your cum dripping down my leg. I don't see any ladies present." You smirk and then roll onto your side so you can face him. "But yeah. You definitely did."

A pause before your expression changes, becomes a little more vulnerable, guarded.

"So what happens now? We just... Pretend this never happened?"

It's his turn to laugh, shake his head as he wraps his strong, freckled arms around you.

"Never. Ain't goin' anywhere, angel. Don't you worry your pretty head about that."

And he's right. You're like nicotine to him; now he's had a taste, there's no way he's going anywhere without you.

[seleneprince]

1 | The Sun will sing

m.list <prev

Duke remembers the day he met her like it was yesterday.

Well—to be fair—it wasn’t just because of her. He remembers the day he joined the Wayne household vividly for many reasons. It was quite a memorable event as it was.

He was nervous—how could he not be? He was about to join Batman’s team. Train under him. It wasn’t nothing. And on top of that, he had to keep up with all the others—people who already knew the rules, who had long since learned what to expect.

They were nice, sure. Welcomed him in with open arms, polite words, even smiles. But they were still strangers. Acquaintances at best.

And he wasn’t ready to call them family yet. Not with the memory of his parents’ "deaths" still fresh.

One day, while exploring the other wing of the manor—the one where Alfred slept, opposite to the main training side—he wandered down a hallway he hadn’t been to before. It was a part of the house he had avoided so far since all the training and important stuff happened in the other section. Besides, no one told him to go there nor mentioned the place, so it was to assume there was no reason to go. In the end, curiosity got the better of him.

He found himself regretting it quickly enough—wandering aimlessly, unfamiliar with the halls, and once again ending up walking in circles. This particular wing felt like something straight out of a horror movie: dim, too quiet, and just eerie enough to make him wonder if something else was lurking in the shadows.

He was about to give up entirely, until—

"Can I help you?"

He jumped so hard he nearly tripped over his own feet.

Standing in the doorway of a room he hadn’t noticed before was a girl he’d never seen. Arms crossed, leaning casually against the frame, head tilted with barely concealed amusement—red headphones hanging around her neck.

He hadn’t even heard her approach. Where did she come from?

"Who the hell are you?"

She snorted, soft but sharp.

"Hasn't my beloved family told you about me?" she asked, voice dripping with dry sarcasm. Then came another snort. "I'm (Name). And I already know who you are."

"Wait—you do?"

"Of course. You're the new addition to the family, Bruce's latest stray. Duke Thomas. Alfred told us about you."

"Ah," he wasn't sure how to respond. "How come I haven't seen you around before?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Well," she said, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. There was an odd edge in her voice. "I run on a different schedule than the rest of you."

Something in her tone made him pause. Like he was missing something, but couldn’t tell what.

She shifted her posture, never taking her eyes off him.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Her tone wasn’t rude exactly, but it was... curt. Like she was waiting for him to leave.

And then:

"So, want me to show the way around this place? You clearly need it." she chuckled.

"What?"

"C'mon, follow me."

She motioned for him to move. For a moment, he just stared, confused.

"Why should I? Where are you taking me?"

She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and to his chagrin, he was intrigued.

"You want to get out of here or not?"

He had more than enough reasons not to trust her. He didn’t know her. He hadn’t heard of her. For all he knew, she could’ve been an intruder.

But in the end… he followed her anyway.

She stopped in front of a large painting, pressing her fingers beneath the frame until a faint click echoes in the hallway. Duke’s jaw dropped as the painting swings open, revealing a hidden passageway behind it.

Duke could only mouth in shock as the painting opened up, showing a hidden passageway right behind it.

"What...how...What is this?"

She glanced at him, clearly amused by his reaction.

"It’s a shortcut. It leads straight to the library. If you need to go there, use this instead of getting lost wandering around."

Duke kept staring in shock.

"There are secret passageways in the manor?"

She chuckled again.

"Of course there are. This place is ancient. The staff used to rely on these passageways to do their jobs." she set a foot inside it. "I don’t use it much, so we might run into some rats. Don't worry, they're harmless...as long as you don't touch them."

He looked at her, then at the spot, then back at her.

"You're a weirdo, you know that?"

She smiled, an amused glint in her eyes.

"Thank you."

A rush of cold air sweept over him, but the girl stepped completely inside without hesitation. She glanced back at him, extending her hand as an invitation.

"Well?" She lifted her chin, her tone light but challenging. "Are you coming?"

A challenge. He saw it in her eyes, daring him. He grinned, unable to resist. Whover she was, he’s never known how to back down from a challenge.

He took her hand—a gesture that surprised her, even though she was the one who offered it.

"Lead the way, weirdo"

The space was just wide enough for them to walk side by side. The cool, damp air smelled faintly of dust and stone, and the occasional faint screech of rats echoed through the narrow hall. And yet, despite the gloomy environment, their conversation flowed easily, like they’ve known each other for years. They talked about school, hobbies, and Gotham City in general.

He found out she was Bruce’s daughter—that she lived in that far wing with her mother and two younger siblings, separated from the rest. The revelation shocked him. No one had mentioned them before. At least, not that he recalled.

But when he tried to ask more, he noticed how her body stiffened, the way her gaze hardened just slightly whenever her father—or any of them—came up. So, he didn’t push. And in return, she didn’t ask about his family either. An unspoken agreement between them they were both quietly relieved by.

Duke wasn’t ready to talk about his parents yet—not with the wound still raw—and it was clear she didn’t want to unpack her own family drama.

Despite the odd circumstances, he found himself enjoying her company. Her witty remarks. The way her eyes lit up when she made a joke that landed. That rare, almost shy smile she tried to hide when he actually managed to make her laugh.

They kept crossing paths in the following days. At the entrance—him returning from patrol, her heading out to practice at the ice-rink. At first, she was still guarded. Polite, but distant. Keeping a calculated space between them. It didn’t sit right with him. Especially when he started noticing the pattern.

The others hung out together, trained together, ate together. But her? She was always alone. Never part of their plans. That didn’t sit right either.

Eventually, things between them finally shifted, when he showed up unannounced at one of her rehearsals at the ice-rink, shortly after his patrol. She didn’t say anything at first, but she looked at him in a way he would never forget. Afterward, he invited her out—to a little café down the block, then to the arcade across the street.

And when he took her back to the manor, she hugged him before entering.

From that day on, they only grew closer. Day by day, Duke got to know her better. She wasn’t the uncaring, spoiled rich girl she sometimes pretended to be. She was smart, funny, and had a will made of pure iron.

There was no other way to describe it. He watched her move through life on a schedule packed so tightly with activities and responsibilities it made him dizzy just looking at it. And yet, she handled it all like it was second nature—barely breaking a sweat.

And somehow, she still found time to do house chores and take care of her real family—her mom and the twins. And God knows those last two didn’t make it easy sometimes.

The more he saw her, the more he realized: she’s just made different. She didn’t flaunt it, didn’t acknowledge it, but she was strong. So damn strong. Stronger—and far more capable—than anyone gave her credit for. And Duke? He admired her for it. Respected her like crazy.

She became his best friend in the manor. His confidant. The one person who made him feel normal again—away from the missions and the chaos and the pressure of being part of the Bat legacy.

Because she wasn’t like them. Not a vigilante. Not a hero. Not someone who spent her nights bleeding for a cause that would never end. No, she was a breeze of normalcy. Of peace. And that's what made her so good.

Just a normal girl living a normal life, minding her bussiness and staying out of trouble, of Gotham’s worst. Someone they didn't have to fret over for fear she got killed during a mission or anything.

Which is exactly why what he’s seeing right now doesn’t make any goddamn sense. Because the girl knows—the one with the level-headed nature and quiet smile—shouldn’t be lying motionless across the crushed hood of an abandoned car.

Not like this.

Not in a dark alley, blood soaking through her clothes, smoke still rising from her skin. Not with traces of a bomb all over her body.

He had a bad feeling when she didn't hear from her since leaving the house. Usually, she texted her about fifteen minutes before his patrol ended, to let him know if she was finishing already or would take a bit longer. He insisted on doing this so he could get ready to pick her up on time.

She’d rolled her eyes the first time he suggested it, said it was dumb—"I’m not a kid, Duke."—but he didn’t budge, claiming she wanted to pick her up personally. And that's how they normally do it since they started this silly tradition.

But this time, she didn't text him anything. No message. No call. No anything.

Worse—her profile stated last time she had been online was early that morning. Before she left the house. And he knew for a fact that she was always online. Always checking messages, posting, organizing notes, updating playlists, switching between apps like her brain ran in high-speed tabs.

The bad feeling intensified.

Then he tried to call her, but she didn't pick up. By his fourth attempt with only her voicemail answering, panic really started to settle in. Because he knew her, and knew that wasn't normal. She always picked his calls. Even during kidnappings—yes, plural, because that's how Gotham is—she always managed to pick up. Or at least, a text telling him she was fine and to give her a few more minutes to get out.

But nothing. There was nothing on her end. And Duke felt it in his bones: something was really, really wrong.

And just when he was about to rush to the ice rink to check for himself—maybe her phone had just died (unlikely, but not impossible)—his comm buzzed with a call for help. An explosion in a warehouse, too close to the Gotham City General Hospital. It was urgent, with injured hostages involved, and all hands were needed inmediately.

He froze.

Because like a switch flipping in his brain, he remembered her commenting in passing that she wanted to meet an old friend this week. Said they had a lot to talk about—something very important that couldn't wait. And the location she mentioned?

Around the same damn zone the explosion had been reported.

He stopped breathing for a few seconds. Stood in place, still like a statue, with the buzz of his comms as background noise. He threw a glance at the mountain of smoke already visible in the horizon. Then pulled out his phone and checked her profile again. Still offline. He glanced at the smoke again.

No. No, there had to be another explanation. There had to be. He just needed to rule his worst suspicions out. To make sure.

But now—staring down at the bloodied, sickly pale body of his best friend lying crumpled on the hood of a mangled car—he feels his knees threatening to give up. It looks way too real to be anything else. There's not another explanation. This is real.

He can't tear his eyes off her. He knows he should move—run to her, check her pulse, shake her, something—but his body won’t listen. It's like an invisible force has wrapped around him, forcing him to stay there. Rooted to the concrete, rigid and useless, as the world starts to fade around the edges. Sounds grow muffled. The air turns thick. And for a moment, it’s like he’s back there again.

The same helpless horror. The same brutal realization. The same crushing guilt.

But somehow, this is worse. Because his parents—damaged, scarred, forever changed as they are—they're still alive. They move. They speak. He can see signs of life in them. There's hope.

But she's not moving. Not even a twitch.

He's pretty sure her chest hasn't moved since he found her, so she's not even breathing.

Oh fuck. She's not breathing.

That’s what does it. That terrifying realisation rips through the fog and finally pulls himout of the gutter. He bolts forward, heart hammering. And God. Up close, the sight is even worse. So much worse.

Glass shards stabbed into her arms and face like cruel decorations. Her clothes soaked in blood—dark, sticky, and far too much of it.

"C'mon, weirdo, don't do this. Open your eyes. Please, just open them. Say something. Anything." Silence. Not a slight reaction. "No. No no, don't do this to me. Not you. Fuck's sake, why didn't you call me earlier? Why didn't you—?" He chokes on his words, a familiar and undesired warmth stinging his eyes already.

He holds her face, repressing a shiver when he feels her skin cold. His fingers trace for a pulse, and when he finds it—weak, thready, barely there—he nearly sobs in relief. She's not gone yet. He's not loosing anyone today...as long as she carries her to the hospital fast enough.

But his eyes zoom on the blood sticking to his hands and the hope crumbles again. Her words echo in his head, from a conversation he’ll never forget—

"It won’t do anything to you because you’re a meta... but if someone else comes in contact with it, well—"

His stomach twists.

Fuck.

His head pounds with a thousand calculations. He can save her. He has to. But if he takes her in without warning—without explaining—someone would touch her blood. It would drop somewhere it shouldn't.

And if that happens...holy shit.

He’ll have to explain—convince the staff not to touch her, not even brush against her without thick gloves and proper shielding. He’ll have to fight to make them listen. To make them understand without giving too much away.

But every second she lays here, still and unresponsive, the closer he is to losing her. He has to think fast.

"Thomas? What the fuck is going on?"

That gruff voice. He turns over his shoulder and there he is—Red Hood.

She has a better chance now. He just has to fight himself to explain the situation to him without breaking down and also quick enough to take her away.

But as soon as Duke fully turns and Jason catches sight of the body behind him, he goes rigid (he could've swear he heard the man make a choked sound under his helmet)—

And drops his guns.

They hit the ground with a weight that echoes far too loud in the silence. Even the pigeons stop making noise.

"Jason—"

"What. Is. That?"

It's like the whole city is holding its breath.

The words come out slow. Flat. And...trembling.

Duke stares, shocked.

He’s never heard Jason talk like that before. Not quiet. Not cautious. Not shaken.

Not like that.

Before he can say anything, Jason starts walking towards her. With heavy stomps at first—deliberate. But halfway there, he stops. Frozen in place for a minute. Then begins to move slower, like he doesn’t know how to approach her. The closer he gets, the more he sees, and it punches him.

He stops beside her, standing completely still as he stares down at her form. He raises a painstakingly slow hand towards his helmet and takes it off, gripping it with both hands. He doesn't blink. His face is neutral—cold—but his eyes? They look haunted.

"Duke," he says quietly. "What the fuck is this?"

"I don't know. I came because of the explosion and I just... found her like this. We were supposed to meet today, but she didn’t call or text me and I—I had a bad feeling and—"

"So, she's been disappeared the whole day, and you didn't think to inform anyone."

The words slam into him like a whip. Jason’s voice—low, simmering—carries that edge. That sharp, dangerous threat beneath the surface.

It only pisses him off.

"Look, I don't have time to explain it to you." he snaps. "I don't even know what happened. But if you haven't noticed, she's not fucking breathing—and if we don’t move now—"

He can't even finish. Everything in him recoils at the mere thought. No, he refuses. He won't let that happen. He won't.

Jason visibly flinches at his words. Of course, he doesn't need to hear the rest of the sentence either. He knows. His eyes haven't moved from her yet, taking in every detail. Every gash, every shard of glass, every drop of blood, desperately trying to make sense of the situation, of what he's seeing, but he can't.

His hand trembles slightly as he reaches out—brushing a strand of sticky hair from her face. His fingers linger, still as stone. His mind running through hundreds of possible explanations, and scenarios, and anything that could give him some sort of hint about whatever happened.

"What was she doing here?" he mutters.

"I don't know, and frankly, I don't give a shit now. We have to take her to the hospital."

Jason doesn't move.

"I'll do it. You stay and take care of the situation."

"Like hell I will." he replies coldly. "She's my sister, I'll do it. You stay here and deal with the shitshow instead."

That gets him.

Jason finally turns to face him, raw, blazing fury twisting his face.

"She's my sister too."

Duke doesn’t bother suppressing the scoff that escapes him.

"Oh, really? Is she now? Funny, because you've done a pretty shitty job at showing it."

Jason’s head jerks toward him.

"Excuse me?" oh, he's mad now. Too bad he doesn't care.

"Spare me, Hood." he spits. "You don't get to play the big brother card now. Not when this is the first time that I see you actually giving a damn—and it's when she's about to die. Fuck off."

Jason growls, his whole body tensing towards Duke. Fists clenched, as if he's ready to fight.

"You don't know shit about this, kid. Don't talk about stuff you don't understand."

But while he speaks, Duke's already moving. He lifts her into his arms as carefully as he can, securing her against his chest like she’s the most fragile thing in the world.

She feels too light. Too cold.

"What I understand," he grits out, adjusting her weight. "is that this family has a fucked-up way of showing their affection. And if any of us should carry her to the hospital is me."

He doesn’t wait for Jason’s reply. He's gone before he can even touch him.

Duke knows this converstation isn't over. Hell, he’s probably going to get chewed out—or decked—for this later.

But right now, there's only one thing in mind:

Save his sister.

"Oracle here. What's the situation, Red Hood?"

"I'm heading to the hospital."

"What? Why? What happened? Signal didn't tell me anything."

"He found someone and took her to receive urgent medical care."

"Her? Wait, what do you mean? Signal wouldn't leave the place like that. There's still people evacuating. Who's her?"

".........."

"...Jason, who did he found?"

"....Call B. Tell him his daughter is in the hospital."

"What? But Cass is nowhere near the zone. What are you—"?

"His other daughter, Barbara."

".........you're kidding"

"We found her bleeding out and mangled all over a crushed car in an alley, right behind the warehouse. She was—she wasn't breathing, Barbara."

"Good God. But—I don't understand, what was she doing there? How come we didn't hear about it."

"Maybe she was one of the hostages. Who knows how long she's been trapped there. Duke said she has been gone the whole morning."

"But...if she was kidnapped, we would've known, right?"

"....No. We wouldn't."

"Jason—"

"I'm leaving. Tell the others to handle it. Red Hood out."

The comms go silent.

As soon as he arrives to the clinic he doesn't waste time.

Gotham City General was closer—and technically, the more “reasonable” choice, but given the circumstances, he has to make sure those who treat her are people he can trust.

He glances down. Her blood coats his arms and chestplate, and the pressure in his throat tightens until he struggles to breathe.

Time's running out.

At any other hospital, he’d lose precious minutes trying to convince the staff not to touch her blood. He’d have to explain without explaining, dodge questions, navigate protocol. And she would die before getting the help she needed.

No—there's only one place he trusts to handle this.

Thompkins Clinic.

Dr. Leslie is already moving when he bursts through the doors, her staff following close behind, but pauses when she sees the girl in his arms.

"She needs urgent medical care," he says quickly, voice shaking. "I don't know how long she was bleeding before I found her, but she stopped breathing, and I know she must've broken something. Please—"

The woman cut him off with a raised hand.

"I can see it, boy. Don't worry, leave it to me."

She turns, motioning to her staff—

But Duke takes a step back, shifting his weight protectively.

"Wait—before you do anything, there's something you have to know."

They all pause.

"Her blood...is dangerous. I can't explain it, but if your skin touches it, it'll hurt you."

Shock flashes across the faces of the medics. A couple of them glance nervously at the blood still fresh on his gear.

Dr. Leslie squints at the girl’s body.

"You mean her blood is toxic?"

"Just—" he swallows hard. "Make sure you clean her first. And wear protection."

The woman stares at her, then at him. And lets out a deep sigh.

"Honestly, this isn't the weirdest thing I've had to deal with. Okay then, avoid contact with her blood. Noted. Now hand her over."

But he doesn't move. Doesn't let the doctors do it.

Instead, he lays her down on the stretcher himself, as carefully as he can. Like she'll shatter if he’s not.

She still doesn't stir.

He has to force himself to tear his eyes apart from her and turns to Leslie, who’s already barking instructions.

"Alright. Prepare the surgery room. I’m betting on internal damage. Full scan. Strap her in and put her on oxygen—we need to restart her breathing immediately."

She looks at Duke again.

"Have her parents been notified of this?"

"Well—"

"Yes, I have been."

A sudden voice speaks from behind them.

Duke spins around—

And breathes out sharply.

"Mrs Wayne?"

Another figure appears, stopping beside her.

"Batman?"

a/n: I'm sorry if it feels short. I'm still figuring out the pace. The chapters will be longer in the future. If you like this story, show your support by commenting and rebbloging. It'll be very appreciated💕

Taglist: @lithiumval @i-simp-for-women

[seongwars]

Marry Me, Your Highness!

Pairing: non-MC x Prince-in-Disguise!Rafayel, non-MC x Prince!Sylus, Word Count: 2.5K (is it really a drabble at this point?) Warnings: None, slight OOC for some characters, mentions of violence Summary: Rafayel arrives demanding compensation, while you plot to escape your engagement to Sylus at any cost.

Note: I guess I'm starting a "Your Highness" drabble series. I need to stop tho because I have too many wips/drafts and I'm supposed to be on a semi-hiatus right now

Part 1: Absolutely Not, Your Highness!

You quietly scale the side of the garden wall leading to your estate, fingers aching from the climb and your skirts snagged on every thorn bush in the vicinity. With a grunt, you land in the courtyard, the moon casting long silver shadows across the stone path. For a blissful moment, it seems like you’ve made it undetected.

You tiptoe across the courtyard, praying that under the still hush of night, no one will catch you. 

No such luck.

“Nice landing,” comes a voice from the shadows. “I’m usually the one sneaking back into the house in the middle of the night. You're stealing my thing.”

“You can have it back,” you mutter, brushing dust off your sleeves. “I was only trying to get away from the imperial guards.”

Your brother, Xavier steps into the moonlight, one brow lifted. “What did you do exactly?”

“I turned down a proposal from the crown prince.”

He stares at you. Then blinks. “You… said no. To the crown prince of Linkon.”

“Yes, Xavier. I didn’t stutter.”

He lets out a low whistle. “You really did it.”

“I really did it.”

He drags a hand down his face, then laughs—like this is the best thing that’s happened to him all week. “You absolute menace. I mean… I’m proud. Deeply horrified, but proud.”

“I’m glad someone is enjoying this,” you snap. “Because Aunt Elizabeth’s guards are probably about to storm the mansion on account of me punching the crown prince in the throat.”

The laughter dies instantly. Xavier goes completely still. 

“You what!?”

“He startled me! I was already being chased by the guards, I ran into Sylus, and my reflexes kicked in. I punched him in the throat!”

“You assaulted the future king!”

“I didn’t even hit him that hard!”

Your brother exhales through his teeth, thinking. “If they come for you, we can fend them off.”

“We!? And what army?”

“Fair point. Instead, we redirect the narrative. You can’t accept Sylus because your heart belongs to another.”

You stare at him. “Another who, exactly?”

“I don’t know yet! Someone useful. Charming. Disposable, if it goes wrong.”

“Xavier.”

“You need to be married,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Or at least engaged. That way it’ll get mother and Aunt Elizabeth off your back.”

“I’m not marrying someone just to avoid prison!”

“You might not have a choice! They’ll be at the gates by morning!”

You both fall silent, racking your brain for options. Xavier’s wife had a few eligible acquaintances: the devastatingly attractive doctor, the charismatic colonel…

But none of them feel like a real solution.

“...I did fall on a man earlier,” you say slowly.

Xavier gives you a slow, skeptical look. “You want to track down the mysterious stranger you fell on and ask him to marry you.”

“I may have given him a hairpin…”

“And?”

“…And I may have told him to seek you out for compensation.”

Xavier lets out a long, pained breath and turns back into the house. 

“I’m going to bed.”

“I’m sure your wife will be thrilled,” you call sweetly after him. “I would like to be an aunt some day!”

He doesn’t even look back. You wait until he disappears inside, then glance up at the stars. 

“Gods, help me,” you whisper, hoping that this time your fate would take a different turn. 

⟡ ݁₊ .

Rafayel rubs his ribs where you landed on him. One moment he’s wandering the streets outside the imperial palace, the next, a woman quite literally falls from the heavens, vaulting over the palace wall and crashing directly on top of him.

Now, cold, tired, and entirely out of patience, he fiddles with the hairpin you left behind, its silver length delicately wrought with tiny moons and stars. Rafayel scowls down at it. 

“Compensation,” he scoffs. “I could buy her entire household if I wanted!”

His stomach growls. Loudly.

“I thought someone wanted to blend in with the common folk,” Thomas reminds him dryly.

“That was before I was crushed by a madwoman,” the prince pouts.

Another grumble from Rafayel’s stomach. He frowns at it like it’s personally betrayed him.

“Did you at least bring your coin purse?”

Rafayel stiffens. “...No.”

Thomas exhales slowly through his nose. “Of course not.”

Then Rafayel’s eyes light up.

“She said I could get compensation from her brother! Xavier! She said that! I could find him. Demand...food. And repayment. For emotional damages.”

Thomas blinks. “You’re going to track down a nobleman you’ve never met, in a country you snuck off to and ask him to buy you dinner because his sister fell on you?”

“Yes,” Rafayel says. “This is diplomacy, Thomas.”

“This is blackmail.”

Rafayel lifts his chin, regal even in suffering. “This is for emotional distress. And bruised ribs. And because I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

Thomas sighs. “You could’ve just said you were hungry.”

“I am hungry. And injured. And slighted. Wandering the streets at night is no way for me to live!”

By the time Rafayel finds the mansion, his feet are caked in dust and his patience is worn. Navigating Linkon with just Thomas and a map had proven...challenging.  

He rounds a corner and slows, eyes narrowing at the iron gates ahead. Ornate stars curl in elegant arcs across the gates. He glances down at the hairpin in his hand. 

Moons and stars, silver and delicate. 

“Found you.”

He steps up to the guards stationed at the gate and thrusts the pin forward. “Your lady of the house gave this to me,” he announces. “And I am here to collect my compensation.”

The guard blinks. “The only lady of this house is married to Lord Xavier.”

Rafayel frowns. “No. Not her. The other one. She fell on me. From the palace wall.”

Thomas makes a small sound, halfway between a groan and a wheeze.

“She was rather dramatic,” Rafayel insists. “She said her name was… actually, she didn’t say her name. But she did say I could come here for compensation!”

“She fell from the palace wall and landed on you?” a guard asks, deeply skeptical.

“Yes! And left me with this!” Rafayel exclaims, waving the hairpin around. 

The guards exchange looks, clearly questioning their sanity. Then they whisper to each other and one sets off to find Jeremiah, the head butler. 

You’re on your way to breakfast after having dreamt of it all night, particularly the egg souffle with scallion pancakes. But you barely make it to the end of the hall before you overhear a scuffle at the gates. 

“Unhand me! I’m Rafayel Qi, prince–”

“Please forgive my master, he is delirious having gone without food!” Thomas interjected, placing himself between Rafayel and the guards. 

Why do I recognize that voice?

You rack your brain. Where have you—?

Then it hits you. The man from yesterday.

You bolt for the gates, still in your sleeping robes. You’re halfway there when you see him, disheveled, waving your hairpin around.

Beneath the tilt of his ridiculous straw hat, with his tunic wrinkled and dirt clinging to his sandals, he’s...annoyingly handsome. All sharp cheekbones and charm, mauve eyes glinting with fire. The kind of face sculpted by the gods that could topple an empire.

The kind of man any mother would take one look at and declare perfect marriage material.

You shake your head quickly as he spots you. Before he can say anything else, you grab his arm, plastering on a bright smile for the guards.

“There you are!” you exclaim, slipping your arm around his like you’ve done it a hundred times.

The guards blink, visibly confused.

You lean in, hissing under your breath, “Play along.”

His eyes flick between your expression and the guards. Then, to your surprise, he smirks. 

“Of course, darling,” he says, a little too loudly, wrapping his arm around your waist with dramatic flair. “Missed me already?”

The guards exchange bewildered glances, clearly unsure of what to make of this display. One of them even flushes. 

“A-Apologies, my lady,” he stammers, bowing slightly. 

“We didn’t realize—”

“That he was mine?”

Rafayel snorts under his breath, thoroughly enjoying himself as you hauled him into the mansion. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up!”

“Well, I’m emotionally damaged from being body slammed out of nowhere, starving, and slightly winded, so yes, I showed up!”

“Great,” you mutter, giving him a once-over and imagining what he’d look like after a proper bath and a set of robes. 

As much of a disaster as this stranger…what was his name? Rafayel was it? This disaster might be your ticket out of marrying Sylus. And if nothing else, he’ll certainly make things interesting.

“You’re perfect.”

“Obviously!” 

You ignore him, turning the corner and calling down the hall, “Charlie! Have the maids bring me my breakfast to my quarters. I’m not feeling particularly well.”

Charlie appears in seconds, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Miss Y/N is everything alright?”

Y/N? So that’s her name, Rafayel thinks, casually running his gaze over you, though it lingers a little longer than it should. You were no princess, but there was a certain wildness about you. A feral, untamed charm that made him want to learn more. You’re not bad on the eyes, though you’re certainly not up to Lemurian standards when it comes to beauty.  

“Shall I call for the doctor?”

“No! Just…food. Double my portions, please!”

You don’t wait for Charlie to respond before yanking Rafayel into the closest room. You slam the door shut behind you, then whirl around to face him with your arms crossed.

“Here’s the deal,” you say, voice firm. “You can eat…under one condition.”

Rafayel blinks. Once. Twice. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Marry me.”

“Marry you?”

You shrug. “Aren’t you a starving artist seeking inspiration with no coin to your name? Consider it a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“This is exploitation.”

“It’s practical,” you reply, unbothered by his disbelief. “You get to eat and I get to avoid a life trapped in a loveless, political marriage. Everyone wins.”

Rafayel eyes you for a moment, processing the logic or lack thereof. “What’s so awful about the crown prince?”

“He’s a selfish, pompous ass who puts his own ambitions above everyone else! It’s all about what he wants, without caring for anyone else in the process. He doesn’t deserve to be king, let alone have me as his wife!”

He falls silent, your tirade stirring something uncomfortable within him. Was this how his people saw him too? A selfish ruler unfit for the crown? His expression falters for a fleeting moment, but he masks it quickly, avoiding your gaze.

You, however, are too busy thinking about the practicality of your agreement to notice his inner turmoil. 

“Do you want your payment up front?”

Rafayel’s mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Am I just a whore to you? I’ll have you know that I’m the prince—”

“Yes! Yes, we will accept the payment up front! Forgive us, my lady!” Thomas bursts into the room and slaps a hand over Rafayel’s mouth. 

“Please excuse us,” he says, quickly bowing. He drags Rafayel into the hall, muttering apologies as the door slams shut behind them.

“Have you lost your mind?” Thomas hisses, releasing Rafayel and pacing the length of the hallway. 

“We’re in Linkon, your Highness. Yes, relations with Lemuria are friendly, but you’ve vanished without a word! If anyone here finds out who you really are—”

“They won’t.”

“Someone will recognize you eventually,” Thomas lowers his voice even further, casting a nervous glance at the door. 

“The palace must be in chaos. The guard is probably searching every port. And Solana…gods, Solana is going to kill me.”

“Your wife says that all the time.”

“I’m sure she means it this time.”

Rafayel raises both hands lazily. “What’s wrong with pretending to be someone else for a few weeks? There’s food, a warm bed, no council meetings, and zero talk of arranged marriages. Sounds like a vacation to me.”

Thomas stares at him. “You’re still the prince of Lemuria.”

“Not if no one here knows it,” Rafayel shrugs. “Let me live a little. When this fake marriage falls apart, I’ll disappear.”

Still mulling over his decision, he turns and heads back to your quarters. As he pushes the door open, he comes to an abrupt halt. Before him a feast is laid out in the center of the room–steamed meat buns, slices of crispy duck, and root vegetables. 

He pauses, taking in the sight, the corner of his mouth lifting into a slow, lazy smile. It’s as if the universe itself had conspired to tempt him further into this bizarre arrangement.

“Alright, Miss Y/N. I’ll marry you.”

⟡ ݁₊ .

Sylus hadn’t expected to be punched in the throat yesterday.

He’d faced assassination attempts, ambushes, and battlefield skirmishes, but none of them had made his heart race quite like the woman who glared at him with righteous fury.

It was, against all odds, love at first punch.

He replays the moment a dozen times in his mind. The fire in your eyes. The absolute, scorching contempt. The way you vault over the garden wall without a second glance.

He sighs, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. “She hates me,” he murmurs aloud, almost in awe.

He rehearsed what he planned to say, a thousand times over, upon hearing that you had been chosen by his father to be his bride, the next princess consort.

“Do you remember me?” No, it was too direct.

“I missed you.” True. But useless.

Because the last time he’d seen you, you were dying in his arms. 

He hadn’t wanted to marry the Northern Princess.

It had been a match for power, nothing more. No love. No affection. When you’d found out, you hadn’t argued. Hadn’t cried. You had simply bowed, offered a polite farewell and disappeared into your chambers.

He hadn’t realized how the new concubine had overstepped, encroaching on your position as princess consort. From the outside, it seemed as though he favored her, ignoring the life you had built together.

In truth, Sylus wasn’t indifferent. He was quietly scheming to end the marriage to the concubine without risking you or triggering political fallout. But by the morning of the ceremony, you were gone, having left for your brother’s estate while the imperial palace drowned itself in festivities.

It was Charlie who came staggering into the great hall hours later, bloodied, trembling and barely alive.

“Bandits. She stayed behind. Fought them off.”

Sylus left the ceremony mid-vow and rode until his horse collapsed.

By the time he found you, it was too late. You lay on your side, unmoving. Blood pooled beneath your ribs as your sword lay just out of reach.

Sylus dropped to his knees and pulled you into his arms. He begged you to wake, promised you anything. Everything. That he’d fix it. That he didn’t forget about you and that he’d tell you everything.

But you were already gone.

He lit your funeral pyre himself. And when the flames rose high, he didn’t wait for the ashes to settle. He walked into the fire, praying quietly, desperately, to the gods that he’d find you again.

“Your Highness.”

A voice broke through the memory. Sylus didn’t look up from the scrolls on his desk.

“Speak.”

The advisor steps inside, shifting awkwardly.

“I’ve come to inform you…that Miss Shen is engaged.”

taglist: @animegamerfox @beaconsxd @browneyedgirl22 @crimsonmarabou @whosthought @zoezhive @cupid-gene

[rika-mmendmethings]

・・・・LOVE AND DEEP SPACE・・・・

╰┈➤ Sylus 𓅇

_-🖋 Feline Hexes (one-shot; fluff, bf!Sylus)

A prolonged game of kitty cards angers the kitty gods, who curse Sylus to become a cat, which leads to a series of misadventures and an un-fur-gettable day.

_-🖋 Risqué Sketches (one-shot; smut, bf!Sylus)

You're an artist at heart with your boyfriend, Sylus, mostly being your choice of muse. What happens when he comes across a sketchbook that holds your innermost desires and has provocative drawings of him?

_-🖋 Against Blood and Water(series; angst with a happy ending, slowburn, strangers to lovers, reader is Luke and Kieran's bio mom)

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | HIATUS! Returning June 11

Seventeen years ago, your life had taken a turn for the worse when your newborn twins were separated from you by a cruel twist of fate. The same fate had led you to the N109 Zone, to your children who were all grown up now. Reconciliation with your boys would've been slightly easier had they somehow not acquired a father figure over the years who wasn't letting them go anytime soon.

_-🖋 Lethe Récords (one-shot; angst with no happy ending, the reader is a record shop owner, mc included)

In the forgotten shadows of N109, Lethe, a humble record shop, becomes a sanctuary for secrets and records. Amid its vinyl aisles, a quiet connection forms between the shopkeeper, you, and Sylus over choice of vinyl and trade of thoughts. But it had been just your delusion, for the woman beside him was just the proof of that.

_-🖋 Baby Boss-Man (or Boss Baby?) (one-shot; request; fluff, bf!Sylus)

One misfire of another one of Philip's odd inventions and Sylus is aged back to a five-year-old bundle of chaos version of himself. But as you try to survive his oversized cuteness, you can't help but catch baby fever. When the antidote arrives, you're sure that you'll be rid of those thoughts. The only difference is that Sylus intends to make them real.

_-🖋 Terms & Conditions Apply (series; mild angst with a happy ending; crime; cheating but not between the main leads; reader is Sylus and MC's baby's surrogate)

Prologue | HIATUS! Returning June 17

What begins as a financial lifeline quickly transforms into an emotional labyrinth once you agree to become both the surrogate and ova donor for the Qin family. With an entire year remaining under their roof, you begin to unravel the hidden truths behind their seemingly perfect façade. Worse still, you find yourself confronted with things that were never outlined in the terms and conditions.

_-🖋 Belly Dance (one-shot, suggestive, fluff, bf! Sylus)

Sylus unearths a college-era belly dancing outfit during your move-in to his house. After you reluctantly agree to perform, his awe and love help you rediscover the fun, confident person you were. The night ends in passion and sensuality as Sylus shows you just how beautiful you have always been.

_-🖋 Death Comes For Us All (series, Goddess of Death! Reader x Sylus, mild angst with a happy ending, enemies to lovers, love triangle)

Prologue | HIATUS!

You, the Goddess of Death, are given six months to capture the one soul who's escaped countless times or give up your mantle. What begins as duty transforms into obsession as you chase the one deathless man because of a love-bound oath.

_-🖋 Req 2 halted for some time, I apologize.

╰┈➤ Rafayel 𓆝

_-🖋 Interdimensional Epiphany (series; heavy angst, slowburn, self!aware, fluff, slight smut)

CH 1 | CH 2 l CH 3 l CH 4 l HIATUS! Returning June 12

A fortnight of compensated leave from your company was supposed to be a rejuvenating experience. Things take an unexpected turn when Rafayel, your choice of ML, starts becoming self-aware. His love knows no bounds, not even interdimensional ones.

_-🖋 Three Times A Charm (one-shot, au, fluff, Idol! Rafayel x Idol! Reader)

Star-studded music shows, nosy cameras, misinterpreted gestures, and three different fated meetings between you and Rafayel.

╰┈➤ Caleb ✈︎

_-🖋 Mirage (series; heavy angst, enemies to lovers, slowburn, major character death(s), extreme violence, yandere themes)

CH 1 l HIATUS! Returning June 15

In a world where power is survival's currency, you are a former top Colonel in the Farspace Fleet, now demoted to lieutenant colonel. You've lost your rank to Caleb, a newcomer who has taken your place. But when fate takes, it also gives. You discover that the man you despise is linked to the very organization you've been trying to expose for years. Yet, you find yourself being deterred from your mission as the line between loathe and love blurs.

_-🖋 One-shot releasing 🔜

╰┈➤ Xavier ⚔︎

_-🖋 Series 1 releasing third week of June

_-🖋 One-shot releasing 🔜

╰┈➤ Zayne ❄︎

_-🖋 Heart Shot (one-shot, Zayne x Nurse! Reader, lots of pre-relationship fluff)

It started as a coping mechanism — a secret, anonymous flirtation you expected to burn out with the help of a pink bow and silly notes. But every arrow you fire lands closer to something real — and the man you thought was untouchable suddenly isn’t dodging anymore.

_-🖋 Series 1 releasing third week of June

_-🖋 One-shot releasing 🔜

[magiccath]

The Doctor's Coat

Tenth Doctor x GN!reader

Summary: In which you're not that cold, you just like wearing the Doctor's coat (ft. a bit of Martha) (Based on a request from @internet-stranger-says-hi)

As always, it was supposed to be a relaxing trip. A normal weekend getaway in a fancy hotel. The Doctor felt a bit bad about all the running you had been doing, so he wanted to treat you and Martha. 

But, trouble followed the Doctor, that much you knew. So, frankly, you weren’t that surprised when you ended up running around the massive building fighting off homicidal aliens. At this point, it was just another day for you. As annoying as it could be at times, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Doctor gripped your hand tightly in his as you ran, his fingers firmly intertwined with yours. He was very prone to grabbing your hand at the slightest suggestion of danger, but you seemed oblivious to this. Surely he must do that with everyone, right?

“I’ll hold them off!” Martha called from behind you, going down a separate hall from you and the Doctor. You knew she could more than handle herself, but you still worried. You didn’t like it much when the three of you separated. The Doctor, on the other hand, was more worried about getting you to safety. You were always his first priority. 

He turned a corner sharply, almost ramming into the wall. His dirty old Converse thudded against the garishly patterned carpet as he rushed for the hotel’s kitchen. You struggled to keep up with him, desperately trying not to trip over yourself. 

The Doctor led you through the winding halls at a surprising speed, the walls rushing by in a blur. You weren’t sure where you were, or where you were going. The only thing you did know was the Doctor would get you to safety. He always did.

He dashed through the closest door, casting worried glances over his shoulder. In his rush, he didn’t pay much attention to where you were going. He guided the two of you into a room without really looking inside and shut the door behind him. You were too busy catching your breath to pay much attention either.

“We should be safe in here,” he said reassuringly, peering out of the small window on the door. He still seemed entirely oblivious to your surroundings. 

Your breathing started to steady and you looked around the room. A frost covered the walls and the metal racks, small crystalline structures stuck to anything they could latch onto.

“You put us in a freezer,” you pointed out, starting to feel the chill on your skin. It wasn’t unbearable, just noticeable. 

The Doctor looked around, just now realizing where the two of you had ended up. 

“Well…” he winced, peeking back out again. The kitchen appeared to be empty. 

“We should probably be safe to make a run for it,” he suggested, pacing back and forth. “We could reconvene with Martha and get out of here?” 

“Let’s,” you shivered, the cold starting to penetrate your sweater. The sooner you could get out of here the better.

The Doctor moved to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He yanked it repeatedly and even tried kicking it. He pulled the Sonic Screwdriver out, buzzing around the door. Slowly, he turned back to look at you with a nervous smile.

You’d seen that look many times before. You’d seen it when he left you stranded on Mars on accident, when he crashed the TARDIS into the side of your Grandparent’s house, and when he neglected to tell you he replaced the ship’s toilet with a DIY chemistry lab.

“You locked us in here,” you gasped, throwing your hands up in frustration. 

“I’m sorry,” he winced. You could see on his face how much it upset him. As frustrating as the situation was, you couldn’t bring yourself to get mad at him. You never did, no matter how bad he messed things up.

“It’s ok,” you whispered, shuffling your feet. You could handle a bit of cold, it’s not like the Doctor did it on purpose anyway. 

“Here,” the Doctor said, slipping his coat off, “take this, it should help keep you warm.” 

“What about you?” 

“I don’t get cold,” the Doctor shrugged, pushing the coat into your arms. You stared at it for a moment, surprised to even be holding it. The Doctor’s coat was one of his most prized possessions, even if something just like it could be found in just about every charity shop across London. 

Slowly, you slid your arms through the coat, shrugging it on. The fabric was a well-loved cotton, softened from years of wear and wash. Strangely, it was very warm.

“Better?” The Doctor asked, worried. You wrapped the coat tightly around yourself and smiled, nodding your agreement. 

This was much better, and not because you were a little cold. The coat smelled like the Doctor - exactly like the Doctor. It felt like being hugged by him, and you relished the feeling. You burrowed further into the jacket, closing your eyes blissfully. You could stay like this forever.

“Hey,” The Doctor put his hands on your shoulders, “don’t fall asleep on me,” he urged, figuring that you were much colder than you were. 

“Martha should be around soon and she’ll get us out, I promise,” he reassured, rubbing his hands up and down on your arms to create friction. You peered out from under his coat to look him in the eye. His face was riddled with anxiety, his big brown puppy dog eyes staring at you with worry. 

You blushed a deep red, finding his concern adorable. You really were fine, especially now that you had a coat to keep you toasty. Even if you were cold, you wouldn’t really mind it considering the circumstances. You were wrapped up in the Doctor’s coat as he rubbed your arms lovingly - it was like a dream.

The Doctor misread your blush and assumed that the cold was flushing your face. He moved his hands up to your face, cradling it. He knew his hands weren’t exactly warm, but maybe the contact could keep the cold out. His thumbs rubbed soft, concentric circles into your skin. He traced the words of a language only he knew into your skin, trying anything to comfort you.

“I’ll get you out, it will be ok,” he reassured again. He moved his hands to wrap the coat tighter around your body, pulling the collar up to shield the lower part of your face. “Hang in there for me,” he urged, eyes still pained with anxiety.

You let out a soft shiver, the constant contact making you incredibly flustered. Again, the Doctor misread your responses to his affections. His mind was running a thousand miles an hour, trying to figure out a way to warm you up. If he lost you to frostbite due to his own obliviousness he would never forgive himself.

“Shh,” he hushed, even though you hadn’t said anything. He rubbed his hands up and down your arms again, desperately trying to warm you up. 

“I’m so sorry that I got you into this situation,” he sighed, still rubbing you gently. 

You shook your head quickly, “s’alright.” You would never admit it to him, but you were really enjoying this. Maybe being trapped in a freezer wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

“No,” The Doctor shook his head, “it’s really no-”

Suddenly, the door to the freezer opened and Martha popped her head in. “What on Earth are you two doing in here?” She asked, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. The Doctor was known to do weird things, but this had to be high up on the list of strange hiding places. 

“Martha!” The Doctor cried, overjoyed to see her. “Hurry, we need to get them out of here,” he urged, already guiding you out of the freezer. He practically pushed you out, his hands never leaving your body.

“Please check on them, they’re freezing,” he urged, guiding you to a seat. You were perfectly capable of directing yourself, but the Doctor seemed adamant on it. He was babbling incoherently, waving his hands about in distress.

“How long were you in there?” Martha asked, she had split from you less than an hour ago. Surely you couldn’t have caught frostbite in that little time. She leaned down in front of you, her fingers resting against your neck to check your pulse.

“10, maybe 15 minutes?” The Doctor started wringing his hands anxiously. 

After taking your pulse she placed both hands on your face, gauging the temperature of your skin. You were chilly, but nowhere near cold enough to warrant the Doctor’s distress. 

“They’re fine,” Martha shrugged. 

“Are you sure? Check again,” the Doctor begged, his eyes still seeping with anxiety. 

Martha sighed exasperatedly, “I’m sure.” 

Behind her, you turned a deep scarlet. It was embarrassing to watch the whole interaction, but you were too flustered to admit that you really just liked wearing the Doctor’s coat. It was easier to let them argue than admit you had a crush.

“Look!” The Doctor cried, pointing at you, “They’re all flushed! Something has to be wrong.” He fiddled anxiously, bouncing slightly on his feet. Looking at him you’d think you had grown a second head or something terrifying. 

Martha looked over at you, her eyebrows furrowed. You avoided her gaze, picking at your hands absentmindedly in your lap. She quickly picked up on what was happening and rolled her eyes.

“Seriously?” She whispered to you sharply. You pursed your lips, shrugging slightly in response. 

“What’s going on? Is everything ok?” The Doctor asked, growing more worried by the minute. 

“Please tell him, this is getting ridiculous,” Martha groaned, her eyes pleading with you. There was only so much of this she could put up with.

“Tell me what?” The Doctor was hovering now, fiddling anxiously, “is everything alright, what’s wrong?” he asked you this time, moving closer to you. 

“I’m gonna give you a minute,” Martha said, her eyes darting between the two of you. You tried to open your mouth to protest but she was already slipping out the door, leaving you alone with the Doctor.

He crouched before you, his hands resting on your knees, “what’s wrong?” He asked, looking up at you. You could tell he was holding his anxiety back, trying not to let his own worries affect you.

“I’m fine,” you blushed, looking down at the floor. You really didn’t want to admit your feelings for the Doctor, especially like this. You supposed you didn’t have much else of a choice, Martha had made sure of that.

“I-I just,” you whispered, not really wanting the Doctor to hear you, “liked wearing your coat.” 

“You what?” the Doctor gasped, surprised. He wasn’t entirely sure he had heard you right.

“It smells like you,” you mumbled the justification more to yourself than him. 

“You’re not sick?” He asked, clearly more worried about your health than your confession. 

“I’m perfectly fine,” you let out a small chuckle, “nothing to worry about here.” 

“You’re not cold?” 

You shook your head, you were far from cold now. In fact, the anxiety was making you sweat.

“You just liked wearing my coat?” He clarified eyebrows furrowed as his brain struggled to keep up. Could this mean you liked him? He tried not to get his hopes too high.

Embarrassed, you nodded your head meekly. God, this was awful. You wanted nothing more than the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“Is that so?” He laughed, a cocky smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Oh shush,” you scolded, hitting his arm lightly. Of course, he found this amusing.

He smiled softly at you, his eyes softening as he realized you were going to be ok. Better than ok. He brought his hand up to your face, cradling your cheek in his soft hand.

“Are you trying to say you have a crush on me?” He smiled inquisitively. 

Your eyes widened, your face turning the deepest red it had been since getting into the freezer. Perhaps he wasn’t as oblivious as you thought.

“Maybe,” you whispered, it’s not like you could really hide it anymore. The Doctor’s face immediately lit up, a large grin taking over his entire face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you frowned, confused by his sudden excitement. He should be upset, kicking you out of the TARDIS, or making excuses for reasons he couldn’t love you back. Instead, he was still sitting there looking at you with that stupid grin. It was impossible to fight back the small smile tugging at your lips when he was looking at you like that. 

“What if I told you I had a crush on you too?” He whispered mischievously, his eyes twinkling with excitement. 

You stiffened, shocked by his admission. “If you’re having a joke I’m gonna throw you into an exploding star.” 

The Doctor chuckled, the sound dancing around the room. “No, I’m not.” 

“You really fancy me?” 

“How could I not?” He hummed, stroking your cheek gently. You were stunning. You were always stunning to him, no matter the conditions.

The Doctor leaned closer to you, hoving slightly over your lips. His warm breath fanned your face, sending shivers down your spine. He stayed there for a moment, giving you plenty of time to pull back. When you didn’t, he brought his lips gently into yours. 

He kissed you like you were his entire world, his hand still holding your face. He was soft and gentle, but incredibly loving. You melted against him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull him closer to you.

Martha silently poked her head in the door to check on you, just in case. She sighed when she saw the two of you in a tight embrace, closing the door to go handle the alien invasion on her own. 

[kissenturine]

𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 kazuha x m!reader — 5.1k words, not proofread, minors do not interact

TO NOTE: strangers to lovers, mentions and use of alcohol (no drunk sex though), kazuha and reader are roommates, sort of college / modern au, morning sex / sleepy sex, praise, pet names (good boy [?], angel, uh i cant remember sorry), aftercare is not written but it is given, praise teehee, reader rides kazuha, kazuha jerks reader off, lmk if i missed any thanks :3

KAI SAYS: GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!!! birthday post im now 20 that sounds so old euugghh

Rent was hell.

Your minimum income, which was mostly spent on necessities and college fees, was barely able to pay last month. And now with inflation, you weren’t sure how you were going to make it through another year.

But, there was always hope. It was only the beginning of June after all.

Last week, your friend introduced you to a website to find roommates. Having a roommate would solve a few of my problems, you thought as you scrolled through the site on your computer. For one, the rent would be split between the two of you, which was much more manageable than right now. And, for two, you would get to actually talk to someone every day.

It would be a win-win situation if the two of you got along.

After a few days of thinking everything through, looking at different people’s profiles, because the site was a “Tinder for roommates,” as your friend had put it, you found a man that matched your preferences.

Kaedehara Kazuha.

From what you could tell by his profile, he looked like a sweet man. His profile picture was set to a white cat, and you can see his hand atop its head, gently petting against the cat’s ears. You hadn’t met him in person yet, but through text, you’d managed to get to know him a bit.

The two of you texted about your hobbies and Kauha told you about his life. He was getting a degree in poetry at a college near your house, which is why he selected the area. He told you earlier today about himself. He liked to eat fish and go drinking out. He liked staying with animals he liked warm weather and sunny days, and he liked to spend time with his loved ones and friends.

To be honest, he seemed a bit too good to be true.

But, you think, I suppose some people are just like that.

With a content sigh, you shut your computer. You’d texted Kazuha and the two of you had planned for him to move in today. It seemed a little quick to you, but Kazuha said he didn’t really have anything big to move over. According to him, he’d only be bringing one suitcase and backpack.

Yesterday, you cleaned out the guest room—well, know his room. It was tedious work, something you hoped you wouldn’t have to do again. Ever. But, you supposed it would be worth it in time.

So now here you were, sanding proudly with your hands on your hips smiling at your spotless house. Kazuha better like it here… You think. Your hand goes to run through your hair gently, combing it back. You’re about to flop down onto the couch and maybe take a nap—only for the familiar tune of the doorbell to ring through the house, echoing and bouncing off the walls.

Your head snaps backwards, a nervous smile making its way onto your lips.

You rush to the door, ignoring the slight shake in your step. Your heartbeat quickens and you don’t know why. Kazuha’s a nice man. You remind yourself, though you don’t think that’s why you're nervous.

Slowly, you unlock your door and turn the doorknob with your other hand. And there, standing to greet you is your new roommate. Kaedehara Kazuha.

You greet him with a polite smile, cracking open the door just enough to let him inside. The roll of his suitcase from the sidewalk outside up onto the flooring of your house sends a loud ‘Clunk! Clunk!’ sound and you wince a little.

You shut the door behind you, schooling your expression as you turn back to Kazuha. He trunks to you quickly and smiles gently. “Ah,” he says and his voice is so soft when he speaks, “I’m Kazuha, but I suppose you already know that.”

You introduce yourself, finishing off the same as him with a short, “but I suppose you already knew that too.”

He nods politely a small laugh flitting out of his lips. You lead him to his new bedroom, helping him carry his backpack as he lifts his suitcase, not wanting the wheels to dirty the floor. Kazuha takes a look around, his smile being ever present as you drop his backpack by the door.

“It’s nice here.” He comments, turning his gaze from you to his bedroom.

A bashful grin makes its way to your lips. “Thanks.” You murmur. “Cleaned just for you.”

With that, he’s looking back at you. “Just for me?” He responds, and there’s an edge of playfulness that lies beneath the overlaying gratefulness in his tone. “Thank you.”

You just nod, not fully trusting your voice.

After a moment, Kazuha sits down at the edge of his bed, tracing his hands over the expanse of the duvet. “We should go out sometime.” He says and you blink. You’re face feels warm and you hope Kazuha doesn’t see.

“Like…” Your voice trails off, leaving your sentence unfinished. Like a date? You wanted to say, but your lips don’t seem to work.

Kazuha seems to take note of this, chuckling softly. “Just to get to know each other better. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy.” He gives you a comforting smile and your nervousness seems to dissipate when you look at him.

“Ok.” You agree. “We can plan something for after you’ve gotten more… settled in.”

Kazuha’s smile widens and he gives you a nod. “Thanks.”

You take a deep breath, before speaking up again. “I’ll leave you to it then.” You turn on your heel before walking out of Kazuha’s new bedroom. You shut the door gently before speed-walking to your room and collapsing onto your bed.

Your breathing comes out in soft puffs as you bury your face into a pillow, curling yourself on your bed. What the fuck was that? You cry mentally. You grip onto the bedsheets tightly. Your heart is beating fast and you think it’d beat tight through your ribs if you don’t calm down soon. You bring your hands to your face, dragging them across your eyes. “I’m fucked.” You curse quietly. Kazuha’s so nice! You know you probably won’t even last a month without developing some sort of feelings for him and that scares you. 

You… don’t want to ruin what little the two of you had managed to build up in the past week. As little as it was, you like what you have with Kazuha. In the back of your mind, though, there’s the nagging feeling for more. You want to get closer to Kazuha, you want to spend time with him.

Maybe that date of his wouldn’t be too bad.

With a heavy sigh, you twist your body to lay like a starfish, sprawled across your bed. You turn your gaze to your window, squinting as the sunlight fans through the glass and into your eyes. If you just ignored any feelings that developed, they would just go away, right?

The first six days with Kazuha were… different from your usual routine, to put it simply.

On Monday (because everyone knows the week starts with Monday and not Sunday!) you awoke to the smell of food wafting through the house. You were instantly up and out of bed, barely managing to throw on a shirt—backwards—before you stumbled into the kitchen.

You were taken aback by the sight that greeted you.

Kazuha, in his pyjamas and an apron, was humming a soft tune as he cooked something on the stove. He turns once he notices you, standing in shock by the doorway. “Ah,” he said, “I see you’re finally awake.” He humed, using the spatula to plate a scrambled egg. He handed you the plate and Archons it smelled good. “I made breakfast. Used some of your food, if you don’t mind.”

You absentmindedly nodded, entranced by the way he moved around the kitchen, putting things in the dishwasher, plating his food, and turning off the stove. All of those were such ordinary things, but, for some reason, it just made you more drawn to him.

You brought your plate to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down, still watching Kazuha. “Thanks for breakfast.” You murmured after a few bites. “It’s really good.”

“Well, it’s only natural I repay you somehow.” Kazuha said before sitting down beside you. “You basically lent me your house to live in.” He joked.

“Our house now.” You responded. “Since you’ll be payin’ half the rent.”

Kazuha nods, taking a bite out of his own breakfast. “I plan on spending the week organizing my stuff. Nothing big, just getting everything tidy.” The two of you sat in comfortable silence, basking in the warmth of the summer weather.

Besides that, Monday wasn’t anything eventful.

Tuesday was spent helping Kazuha. Cooped up in his room, the two of you went through his clothes and belongings, organizing them into his closet and drawers. Kazuha had a decent amount of clothes, which were the bulk of what he brought.

You talked and talked and talked with Kazuha. He was so sweet. You swore you’d told yourself that a million times by now, but it was always true. Kazuha’s laugh was soft and kind, he laughed at all your stupid, cheesy jokes, no matter how unfunny they were. He’d help you cook meals—much better than you ever could.

Tuesday was when you had come to realize that maybe you were enjoying his company a little too much. But, you thought, he’s just… fun to be around.

You used that excuse for the rest of the week.

Kazuha was just… nice. Everyone would enjoy his company like this. You were no different!

It was a pathetic excuse, but it was pathetic enough for you to cling onto.

Wednesday you and Kazuha went out and you showed him the neighbourhood as the two of you walked to the store for some groceries. Kazuha took an oddly long time looking through the fruits and vegetables section, eyeing each piece we selected carefully before placing it into the plastic bag we used to carry everything.

It was endearing.

After a good forty-five minutes of walking around the store, the two of you finally decided to head to the cashier for check out. Kazuha was polite as he made idle chatter with them, but you couldn’t help the frown that pulled at your face.

You were right there. If he wanted to talk to someone, why couldn’t it be you? You were sure you were more entertaining than that cashier worker.

But you pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind. You pulled out your credit card, expecting to pay, only for Kazuha to gently pull your hand back. “Let me.” He says gently. Your eyes dart to him and your face flushes when you feel his hand graze gently over yours as he pulls it back.

He wanted to pay for you.

Ah, if you hadn’t fallen for him yet, you sure as hell had now.

He taps his card quickly and you barely manage to make it out of the store while avoiding Kazuha’s gaze.

Things only started to set in on Thursday.

You’d woken up with a heavy migraine and a grumpy mood, so it didn’t come as a surprise that you didn’t want to talk to anyone. Unfortunately, that also included Kazuha. And yet, Kazuha didn’t push you when you refused to talk to him while the two of you ate breakfast.

“Good morning,” He had said in greeting. “How’re you?”

You don’t respond, only taking the plate of food he’d set aside for you. You’re swift to finish your food; shovelling it into your mouth and not even bothering to wait for Kazuha.

He, on the other hand, still had that oh-so-sweet smile of his plastered across his pretty lips. “I’ll take it you’re not feeling great, then.” He murmurs. Kazuha gets up from his seat beside you before handing you a glass of water. “You should drink up. Water’s very good for you, so I’m sure it’ll help you a bit.”

You do as he said, chugging the glass of water in one go. “Thanks.” You whisper. Those were the first words you said to him that day, and you could already feel your migraine easing up. Kazuha is like magic, you think, he fixes everything without even trying.

You gave Kazuha a half-hearted smile before placing your plate and utensils in the dishwasher and heading to your room to take a nap. Naps always seemed to ease your headaches.

As you collapsed on your bed, snuggling up under your heavy duvet, your thoughts drifted back to Kazuha. He was sweet, but you’d also come to the realization that he was handsome. His hair was always up into a ponytail, with that little section of red swooping on top of his ear. His eyes are quite pretty, too. You thought. A shimmering red that often matched the clothes he wore, sparkling as he laughed. And his hands, they looked so gentle as he carried things around. His fingers worked effortlessly as he wrote his poetry in that small notebook of his.

“This man,” you whispered to yourself, “is too good to be true.”

On Friday, Kazuha let you have the honour of brushing and tying up his hair.

He’d caught you staring at him as he sat on his bed, his fingers wove through his white locks. With a raised eyebrow, he beckons you over, handing you a red hair tie. “Mind helping me?” He asked softly.

You complied eagerly, scooting behind him. You ran your hand through his hair, gently scooping it behind his shoulders. Kazuha let out a soft hum, as he nodded in content. Carefully, you pull his hair into a ponytail, twisting the thin band to wrap carefully around it a few more times.

“There.” You said. “It’s done.”

Kazuha turned to face you, his knees pressed much too close to yours. “Thank you.” He grinned, grabbing your hand to rest in between his cool ones. “I really appreciate this.”

Your face flushed, an embarrassing warmth coating your cheeks. You brought your free hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of your neck before mumbling out a response. “No problem, Kazuha.”

Saturday was spent planning the two of your guys’ “date” that would be happening on Sunday.

Kazuha suggested a picnic, and you couldn’t help but agree. Maybe it was the thought of spending a day with him, or maybe it was how he wanted to spend a day with you, but you knew you would’ve agreed to anything he said.

The picnic would be on Sunday, in a park the two of you found online.

After a very successful planning session, the two of you spent the rest of the day preparing and packaging food for the picnic.

It was somewhat chaotic—but it was also fun.

Kazuha taught you how to make his favourite sandwich, how to toast the bread perfectly, and how to cut each one into little heart shapes. All with a soft smile dancing on his pretty lips as he guided your hands gently, easing the knife into the bread.

Archons, you were fucked. How’re you supposed to live with him, like this, every day?

And now, it’s Sunday; the day of the picnic.

Your foot taps nervously against the floor of your bedroom. What am I supposed to wear? Yes, you do know you’re probably overthinking this, but you can’t help it! Not when it’s because of Kazuha! You have to make sure you’re always looking your best!

Your cheeks puff out as a heavy sigh leaves your lips, eventually settling on your outfit of the day.

Finally ready, you nervously open the door, heading out to meet Kazuha in the kitchen.

He greets you with a smile and a call of your name. His arms find their way around your waist in a tight hug and you blink. Oh, oh, oh, oh—what do I do!? When did he get so… touchy?! Not that I’m complaining but—You stand frozen, yet Kazuha doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls back with his signature smile. “You’re ready to go?” He questions, taking a step towards the front door.

“Y-Yeah.” You manage to stutter out. “I’m ready.”

“Great!” He grabs your hand, leading you out of your shared home. He doesn’t let go as the two of you walk to the park. With the picnic basket in his free hand, Kazuha still grips yours gently as he leads you. His thumb runs over the skin of your hand absentmindedly. You think it’s supposed to be a calming gesture, but, it only makes your heart beat faster and your face go warm.

You eventually find yourself in a large field, small flowers adorning the grass. Kazuha tugs a blanket out of his bag, laying it over the grass. He plops down on it, patting the space beside him as he does. “Sit with me.” He says.

You comply quickly, placing your own basket down and taking a spot beside him. “...Thanks for doing this with me.” You murmur, giving Kazuha a shy glance.

He only grins in response, digging through his bag and handing you one of the sandwiches you prepared yesterday. “It’s nothing, really.” He smiles, and you feel a tingle go through your hand where his finger brushes over yours. “I like spending time with you.”

“I like spending time with you too.” You match his expression, your lips pulling into a smile. It hasn’t even been a week, and yet it feels like you’ve known Kazuha for years.

Kazuha grins, reaching into his bag. “Good.” is all he responds before pulling something out. Is that a wine bottle? “Now, would you like a drink?”

You… never took Kazuha as a drinker.

And yet, here he is, drunk out of his mind as slurs slip from his lips. Kazuha calls out your name, his head slipping onto your shoulder as his hands grip the blanket the two of you are sitting on. “Do you…” He trails off. “Do youuu… wanna watch th-the sunset w’me?” He slurs his eyes fixing on yours from his position on your shoulder.

You cough awkwardly. “Kazuha.” You say softly, easing his head off your shoulder. “It’s four-thirty in the afternoon. The sunsets not coming out anytime soon…”

“B-But—” He whines. “It woulda been soooo romantic.” Kazuha grins, his eyes lolling shut as he slumps against your chest this time. “Jus’ you, me, an’ the flowers.”

“Oh, Kazuha.” You sigh. “I’d love to watch the sunset with you, but we have to get you home before dark. It’d be dangerous walking out drunk at night.”

“No!” He cries. “I could… could protect you… from th’danger.”

“Nope.” You say, trying not to let his words affect you. “We’re going home now, okay?”

“Okayyyy.” He whines, dragging out the word as he says it. “But only—only cause you said so.”

“Good.” You wrap an arm around Kazuha, right under his shoulder as you help him stand. You leave him for a bit, turning around to pick up the blanket and his bag. “Kazuha!” You call, and he’s instantly behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, pushing his face into your neck.

“Hm?” He coos. “D’ya need something?”

The warmth of Kazuha’s breath fans over the skin of your neck, goosebumps rising lowly. “N-Need you to carry your stuff.” You mumble. Your hands remove Kazuha’s from your waist, shifting to grab his wrist as you gently drag him off you. “Let’s go home now.”

Carefully, you take Kazuha home, not really minding his drunk ramblings. He goes on and on about the sunset, about how he’d stare into your eyes and giggle while he holds your hand and the sun sets.

It is endearing seeing him drunk out of his mind and yet still so lovey-dovey.

It only takes the two of you a fifteen-minute walk to reach your home and you’re quick to open the door and let Kazuha in, the two of you dropping your stuff as you help him up the stairs, your arm wrapped snugly around his waist. He slurs your name again, his pretty red eyes meeting yours. “C-Can we cuddle…?” He whines and you instantly turn your head, wanting to hide the warmth on your cheeks.

“I…” You whisper. “You’re drunk. Let’s just get you in bed first.”

“Noo!” Kazuha cries, planting his feet on the ground, stopping you. “Y’always make me wait! Made me wait for our date, now you're still makin’ me wait when I jus’ want cuddles!”

“Kazuha, really, maybe we should—” You try to protest, only to be interrupted.

“Please,” Kazuha whines pitifully, “Jus’ for a bit.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, letting out a deep exhale. “You’re still drunk,” you start, “but fine. I guess some cuddles won’t hurt.”

Kazuha grins happily, snaking his arms around you, just under your arms as he lifts you into the air. “You’re th’best!” He slurs. “Come, cuddles time.” With that, he’s lifting you up and carrying you over into his bedroom.

He tosses you gently onto the bed and you land with a quiet: “Oof!” Before you feel the bed dip as Kazuha joins you. His arms find their familiar place around you and his nore presses into the back of your head as he twists your body into a spooning position with his. One of Kazuha’s legs is haphazardly thrown over yours, and you feel completely engulfed in, well, Kazuha.

“You’re so handsome.” Kazuha whispers into your hair. “My handsome boy.” He presses a kiss to the back of your head, and you have to remind yourself that Kazuha is drunk. He won’t remember any of this, nor will he ever act like this again.

Still, you end up leaning into the touch, falling asleep slowly, basking in Kazuha’s comforting warmth and love.

When you wake up, Kazuha’s body is tangled with yours. His head is on your chest and his arms are wound tightly around your waist. One of his legs is positioned between yours, his knee pressing against you.

You tug him closer, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours. Kazuha’s head dips between your shoulder and your neck, nuzzling into the spot. You can feel the small puffs of air his lips let out against your skin as he breathes, matching the pattern of your heartbeat as he does.

You grin, pulling yourself to sit up—only to be yanked completely down by Kazuha. “Don’ move, please.” He whispers. “Need t’feel ya.”

“Kazuha.” You complain. “You’re not even drunk anymore—”

“No.” Kazuha murmurs. “Need to feel you.” As the words leave his lips, he shifts his body, pressing his hips flush against your ass. 

Something firm pokes into you from behind and—

Oh.

That’s what he meant by feel you.

Kazuha’s hips start a steady grind against you, pushing his erection into your ass as he murmurs breathless nothings into your ear. A desperate whine slips from his lips as he slowly moves his hands from around you to on you, roaming your chest and up your neck.

“Need you.” Kauzha murmurs slowly. “Need you so bad.”

“I know.” You say, turning onto your side to face Kazuha.

He smiles at you, bringing a hand to cup your cheek. “Please let me have you.” He whines.

You smile, leaning into his touch and pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “Of course, you can have me. I’ve been all yours from the start.”

Kazuha’s lips press against yours as he gently pushes you to lie on your back against the bed. His hands trace your sides, going from your neck to your hips as he pulls your pants down. He releases you from his kiss, the both of you gasping for air as he yanks down your boxers with impressive speed.

A soft whine slips from your throat, needily grinding your hips into the air. “Kazuha…” You moan, needing his touch desperatley. “C-Can you just—”

“I know.” He coos, trailing his hand to your hard cock. “I know, pretty boy, but I jus’ wanna take my time with you, ‘kay?”

You hesitantly nod, bringing your hand to thread through Kazuha’s hair as he peppers an assortment of kisses all over your cheeks. His hand starts a slow rhythm, gliding up and down the shaft of your cock slowly.

His grip is teasing, the way he squeezes up as he reaches your tip, dragging the pad of his thumb down your dick as he does. Kazuha’s fist moves quicker, watching as your eyes scrunch up in pure ecstasy from his ministrations. “That’s it.” He murmurs encouragingly. “C’mon, I know you’re close…”

A gasp leaves your lips as Kazuha drags his thumb over your slit, rolling it and smearing your precum everywhere, watching with nothing but a pleased smile as your hips frantically twitch in his hold. He smiles, pressing a kiss to your neck—right bellow your ear before giving the spot a teasing lick.

Kazuha’s hands work at your dick again and again, sliding with a steady rhythm up and down until your brain feels muddled and hazy. You grip at his wrist, not knowing if you want him to stop or keep going.

“K-Kazuha,” you whine, “please.”

A soft laugh leaves his lips and he once again kisses your neck. “Shh.” He murmurs. “Be patient, my dear.” With that, he’s pressing a harsh bite into your supple skin, letting his teeth graze over before digging them into you. A loud moan slips from your lips, your dick twitching over and over until your eyes are squeezing shut and thick ropes of milky white shoot from your tip all over your tummy and Kazuha’s hand.

“O-Oh.” You manage to squeak out. “You’re good at this.”

Kazuha smiles, helping the both of you sit up—with you in between his knees with his erection still pressed into the curve of your ass. He rolls you over, bringing your hips ontop of his as he pulls his leaking cock out of his pants, watching intently as you practically drool at the sight.

“Ride me, please.” Kazuha whispers, his desperation clear in his tone. You wrap a hand around his dick, rolling the pad of your thumb against his tip before lifting your hips. You line him up quickly, feeling the head of his cock push against your hole. Your mouth drops open, a low whine leaving your lips.

Slowly, slowly, very slowly, you sink down on his cock, taking him all the way in. You’re about halfway in—from what little you can tell—when Kazuha grabs your hips. His eyes are teary, staring into yours as he grabs the fat of your ass, and pulls you down.

A loud moan slips freely from your lips and you collapse onto Kazuha, the both of you panting heavily.

“A-Archons.” He whispers, his fingers rubbing smooth circles over your hips. “You’re so tight, angel.”

Angel.

He called you angel.

You bury your face into Kazuha’s neck, taking in his scent as you breathe. “Kazu…” You whine. “Need you so bad.”

“I know, pretty.” He whispers. His grip on your hips tightens as you lift your head off him and look into his eyes. His deep, red eyes. “C’mon. I’ll help you, ‘kay?” He smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips before leading you to sit up above him. His finger taps against your waist before he starts. “Lift your hips f’me.” Kazuha instructs and you comply quickly, lifting your hips before dropping back down.

As soon as you drop down, Kazuha’s tip knocks against your prostate harshly and you cry out, your hands barely managing to find purchase against his shoulders. “Good boy.” Kazuha whispers sweetly, running his hands over your chest. “Jus’ like that…” He murmurs. “Think you can keep going?” You nod eagerly, lifting your hips again only to drop down.

Your thighs shake but you don’t care! Not when it feels so good to be bouncing on Kazuha’s dick like this. Not when he hits all those good spots that make you see stars as your eyes roll back.

“Kazuha.” You moan out, rocking your hips tirelessly up and down his dig. You can feel the drag against every vein against your walls, the way he nudges just right against your prostate. Your eyes roll back as your dick twitches against your tummy, drooling pre uselessly as you ride Kazuha up and down, over and over again.

“T-That’s it, pretty.” He whispers. Kazuha’s hands come to grip your ass again, picking up the pace for you as he starts to buck his hips up and into your awaiting hole. “I—holy shit—I’m close.” He whimpers, and you swear there’ll be bruises from how tight he grips your waist. “Need to cum—” He whines, his eyes squeezing shut.

You nod your head eagerly your ass squeezing so tightly around him as he picks up the pace, fucking into you harder. You need to feel him, feel him shoot his load into you. You need it, need Kazuha, need every part of him.

Every time he thrusts, you feel yourself get closer and closer to that sweet release the both of you seek. “Kazu…” You moan out. “Close, close—need you t’k-keep goin’”

“I know.” He whimpers. “I know, ‘m not stopping.” Your eyes rolled back, the familiar warmth building in the pit of your tummy. The way Kazuha’s hands trailed over your thighs—everything he did was begging your body to surrender to the familiar pleasure.

“A-At the same time.” You plead, gripping onto Kazuha’s arm. He only nod, his eyes squeezing shut.

You clench around him and Kazuha throws his head back against the pillows as he buries his dick into you, his hips meeting yours in one final, harsh thrust. He pulls your body close, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he whispers sweet nothings into you.

You feel him cum, a thick load going right into you. You whine, tightening so sweetly around him as your own orgasm hit. “H-Holy…” You whimper, not hvaing the energy to finish your sentence. Your dick twitches between the two of you and you cum. Hard.

Kazuha’s grip around you tightens as he doesn’t even bother to pull out. He grabs the blanket, bringing it over the two of you as he nuzzles your face into his neck, your body still twitching.

Archons. You think, watching Kazuha’s eyes close gently. The sunlight falls onto his face, like a golden halo around his perfect features. How long has it been with him? A week?

Only a week, and you’d managed to fall in love.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @helloanime @kiekole (send ask without anon to be added)

© KISSENTURINE. do not translate, plagiarize, edit, or repost

[woso-dreamzzz]

Secret III

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You're a bit messy

When Mapi takes you out to the park, she doesn't expect it to rain.

But it does.

It rains and rains and rains until she's shivering in the cold and wet as you very determinedly stamp around in the mud by the bank of the lake.

"Be careful!" Mapi calls after you and you stick your tongue out at her.

It was a stupid idea to be caught without an umbrella and without a coat but this was Barcelona and she really wasn't expecting it.

"Come on!" She winces as you sink lower into the mud, ruining the new Sambas she had specifically bought for you.

"But Mami-"

"No, Skatt," Mapi says, covering her horror with a little laugh," Let's go home now."

You huff in annoyance, dipping down once more into the mud before running to her side, hands firmly in your pockets as you drag your muddy feet all the way back to Mapi's nice, clean car.

"Oh!" Ingrid exclaims when you come running into the house about twenty minutes later," You look all messy, Skatt! Did you have fun!"

You push a strand of wet hair out of your face as you grin. "Uh-huh."

You hurry off into the bathroom, leaving a trail of muddy footprints after you.

"She's ruined them," Mapi laments.

"Well," Ingrid replies, pursing her lips," Seeing as the last four pairs of the same shoes ended up the same way, you can't be surprised Mapi."

"Yes I can! I thought it would be different!"

Ingrid shakes her head fondly, pushing out from the kitchen table. "I told you," She says," Skatt doesn't need fancy shoes. You need to start putting her in her wellies even when you don't think it'll rain. Save the fancy shoes for dinners and birthday parties."

Mapi pouts, scuffing her own Sambas on the hard wood flooring. "I just wanted us to match."

"I know."

And Ingrid does know. You look like her, overwhelmingly so. It makes sense obviously but you're truly like her mini and sometimes Mapi's been called things like your auntie or babysitter by strangers and Ingrid knows Mapi hates it.

"But you can match for fancy events," Ingrid continues," It's not worth it ruining another set of shoes because Skatt decided to go digging again."

The bath starts running and Mapi smiles wryly.

"At least she knows it's bath time when she gets muddy."

"Yes," Ingrid says fondly," We've trained her well." She leans towards the bathroom. "Skatt! Are you getting undressed?"

"Yes, Mama!"

"Do you want to wash her up or should I?"

"You can," Mapi says," I'll grab her a change of clothes. You might need to do her hair. It wasn't tied up properly."

"Got it."

When Ingrid enters the bathroom, she's thrown. There's a remarkably lifelike frog toy kicking around in the water. She's never seen it before but she knows Mapi stopped off at the shops before the park and your interest in frogs is almost as high as your interest in bugs so Ingrid supposes you had convinced Mapi to buy it for you.

She lathers up your hair with shampoo after cleaning your body and you hum happily.

"Did you see a lot of bugs on your trip today?"

"Uh-hu! Saw dragonfly and gnats and flies and bumblebees-"

The power on the toy is really going strong, Ingrid notes, because it keeps swimming in circles and she has to wonder what store Mapi bought it at because it's unlike any other bath toy Ingrid's ever seen before.

"-And wasps and Mami had to run away after seeing it because she was scared it was going to string her."

"That's nice, Skatt." Ingrid rinses out your hair, pulls out the plug of the bath and moves to the living room to start towel drying your hair.

Mapi goes to grab your dirty clothes and throw them in the laundry.

That's when it croaks at her.

That's also when she screams.

A frog stares back at her, perched on the taps.

It stares.

Mapi screams again.

"Mapi?!" Ingrid bursts into the room," What is it? Are you hurt?!"

"What is that?!" Mapi points a shaking finger at the creature and you, still wrapped up in your towel, poke your head around the door.

"My frog!"

"What?!" Mapi and Ingrid both demand, whirling around to look at you.

"My frog!" You repeat," Found him in the park. He was sad so I brought him home!"

Ingrid massages her temples and Mapi shrieks again when she sees the frog hop into the now empty bathtub.

"We can't keep the frog."

You grown. "Why not? We kept my millipede."

Ingrid goes pale. "What millipede?"

"The millipede in my terrarium." You point your own finger at Mapi. "The one Mami bought for me."

"She what?!"

"Ingrid...I can explain!"

[organic-bloodbath]

Can you do a part three for Teach Ddakji to me plz

Teach Ddakji to me - Part 3

The Salesman x American!Reader

Summary: A stranger leads you towards unfolding the secrets of the man you've fallen in love with.

A/N: My people has been begging and i shall serve. Once again, i do not know what the hell i'm writing so i'm just vibing.

Part 1 - Part 2

♡♡

"I can explain," he said, putting the glasses and bottle on a side table. You kept holding the gun with your fingers.

"Yes?"

"It's only for protection, i promise," he insisted. "And it's not loaded."

You were silent, not sure exactly what to do or say.

He sighed. "When my dad was shot, i sort of got a gun to feel safer. He was killed in his own home, so getting a gun meant i could defend myself if anyone came here and tried to harm me as well."

You looked at him suspiciously, narrowing your eyes.

"I haven't used it, i swear," he promised, taking a step closer to you. You let out a sigh.

"Okay," you mumbled and shook your head. "Well, okay, i suppose."

He slowly put his hand on yours, grabbing the gun from your hold. You eventually let go of it and let him have it back.

"I can take it elsewhere if you're more comfortable then," he offered, afraid this was going to scare you away. You nodded and he went to take it to another room where you wouldn't have any business walking into.

You had never been a fan of guns. You knew people in the U.S. who had a gun at their homes but your family had never been one of those, as far as you were aware of.

You did feel bad and had sympathy for him the longer you thought about it. You couldn't imagine how bad trauma you would have if your own father was murdered, you didn't think you would be able to live anymore. You couldn't blame him for having sleepless nights and afraid for his own safety after that.

To be honest, if that happened to you, you would have gotten some sort of weapon into your home too, just in case someone would come after you too.

Soon he came back, a nervous look on his face now when he approached you slowly.

"Hopefully that didn't ruin the night?" he asked carefully and stepped in front of you.

"Do you have others in your house?" you asked. "Or like, anywhere?"

"That's the only one," he immediately swore.

He put his hand on your cheek and pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. His warm touch always managed to relax and calm you down, forget all the worries in the world for a moment. He looked at you with all his love and kindness in his eyes, and you knew you could trust him.

"Let's grab the wine, hm?"

"Okay."

♡♡

He was meant to keep his work a secret from you. You couldn't find out about what he really did, no. You would instantly leave him, that was for sure, and he didn't want to think about that possibility. He only had to come up with more and more lies - but for how long? How long could he really keep up this facade around you? He had turned his back away from you for only one moment at his house and you already managed to find one of his guns.

Or would you leave him? Would you be okay with it after all? It would be so much easier to be able to explain everything to you. But he also knew he had to keep the games secret from any outsiders who wouldn't take a part in the game.

The look on your face haunted his mind the next day as well. You had looked at him in a way like you didn't know who you were dating after all.

And for the most parts, you didn't.

The look on your face had told him loud enough that he couldn't tell you about his true self – not now or in a long time.

Along with that, he had felt someone watching him outside. He wasn't sure who it could be, but he was certain that he was being followed by someone and he didn't like that feeling at all.

He had to find out who was trying to shadow him.

♡♡

The three of you were supposed to go for a dinner together soon, but your brother had to cancel last minute and changed the plans for tomorrow, making you frustrated.

"I'm so sorry, something came up," he had texted. "Let's meet up tomorrow, okay?"

There was always something that 'came up' when you tried to make plans with him. You tried to question what he meant but he wouldn't tell you, preferring to stay all secretive to his sister.

As you were driving home in the car your friend had borrowed you to use for a week, you were falling into your thoughts a little too hard, not paying as much attention to your surroundings as a good and responsible driver should have. Sooner than you realised, you were stopped by a traffic cop and had to pull over.

You saw a man look at you through the window, motioning you to roll your window down.

He said something in Korean to you which you couldn't really understand. He switched to English as he figured you were a foreigner.

"License, please?"

You grabbed it from your purse and handed it to the man.

"You were speeding a little," he stated.

"I know, i'm really sorry, i wasn't thinking."

"I'll have to write you a ticket, miss," he said seriously.

"I know," you sighed and closed your eyes, laying your forehead against your hand. "I really am sorry, i didn't mean to."

"Are you feeling alright?" the cop asked, a hint of worry in his voice – but only a little bit.

"Yeah, yeah, no problem."

Truth to be told, you weren't entirely fine. You had slept only couple of hours and had drank almost an entire a bottle of wine last night. You weren't really hangover right now, just suffered from a bad headache, for which a painkiller hadn't helped.

"Are you sure you're able to drive further?" he tried to confirm, unsure if he should just let you go with the ticket without questioning you further.

"I'm sure," you said but didn't sound believable even to your own ears.

"Could you step out of the car, please?"

You let out a deep breath and opened the door, stepping outside. He stood right in front of you, trapping you between himself and the car. He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket.

"Follow the light with your eyes."

You did as you were told, trying to act as cool as possible. You had been only once before pulled over on the road by a cop and that had been in America. You hadn't been sure if the protocols in Korea would be the same.

He turned the flashlight off and put it back into his pocket.

"Alright, you can go now," he nodded. Thank god he didn't actually believe you had been drunk driving.

Looking at his face closer, you could see that he was young and very handsome. If you weren't in a relationship and would have met him somewhere more... relaxed environment, you could imagine yourself starting a nice chat with him.

"Thank you, officer," you said politely in Korean before stepping back into the driver's seat, slipping the ticket into your purse. You tried to make atleast a little better impression with your poor Korean skills but weren't sure how correct the pronunciation really was.

"Have a good day, miss. And do pay your ticket on time."

♡♡

"Had a fun and eventful night with your man, i hope?" your roommate asked, one eyebrow up and teeth biting her lip to hide her smirk, failing on the simple task.

"Sure did," you answered and managed to make yourself smile. You wouldn't mention the gun part of the night to her, trying to brush the entire thing off your mind. "How about you? Found a hot guy at the club?"

"Oh, i definitely did," she answered. "He's some sort of a rapper, i think, though i had never heard of him. He gave me his phone number if we should catch up again some other day."

"Mhm, he gonna take you on a date?"

"Oh god no, all i want is to get into a bed with him again. He knows what he's doing," she stated seriously. "Besides, romantically i'm into more mature men, like that your hottie. Unfortunately you can't really find those men at the clubs where people our age go to."

Your roommate had met him a few times, but rather quickly, they hadn't had the chance to actually get to know each other since you didn't really bring him inside your apartment longer than a few minutes when he would come pick you up or bring you back home. But when he had met your roommate, he had acted as the most charming version of himself, like a man would act around a girl's parents when he'd meet them for the first time.

♡♡

"Okay, darling, i need to go to work for a few hours now to settle a few things," he said later that day as you were walking on the street together, his hand holding yours. He leaned down to kiss you on your lips.

"Come pick me up afterwards?" you asked with a smile.

"Of course, see you then," he smiled, pressing one more kiss on your lips, and turned his back to you, disappearing behind the next corner.

You took your phone from your pocket and was browsing a song on Spotify to listen to, until a man stopped you, stepping in front of you.

"Excuse me," the man said, making you turn around to face him. "You were with a man just a moment ago, dressed in a suit, right?"

"Um," you started, brows furrowed in confusion. "What's this about?"

"You were with a man in a suit?"

"Yes, but i-"

"Listen, i really need to find him. He's uh... a colleague of mine," he explained. "And i need to see him as soon as possible."

"Why do you need to see him?"

"We have some business to do. Work related," he quickly answered.

"Don't you have his phone number? Work phone or something?"

"I got a new phone and lost it."

"Just call to your workplace, maybe they can-"

"I don't have the time right now," he said, startling you with the tone of his voice. He noticed it and lowered his voice a little, not meaning to freak you out. "Could you just point the way, please?"

"Well, he didn't really say where he was going. Only that he had to go to work. Can't you meet him there?"

You narrowed your eyes, you could tell he acted very suspiciously. Did this man really know him? He had sounded so hesitant when telling how he knew him. Usually you weren't able to tell very easily when someone was lying to you, but right now even you could tell his behavior and reactions were too odd.

Besides, this guy was complete opposite than the man you knew, by the looks of him atleast. If they worked together and were on their way to work, you'd imagine this stranger would wear a suit too or something similar and cleaner.

♡♡

Gi-hun could tell that you were completely oblivious about the Recruiter or otherwise you were just a good actress to hide his secrets, refusing to tell his location. But you had looked completely lost with Gi-hun's approach to you and the talk about the man's work.

To be fair, he did probably look like a crazy person so he couldn't exactly blame you for not giving the information he so desperately needed.

Gi-hun hadn't thought about the Recruiter's private life, of course not, so it was strange to see a woman kiss him and hold his hand. He always seemed like only a pawn in this sick game to other people, since Gi-hun didn't even know his name either. The Recruiter always wore that same suit too, he felt like some sort of a default character in a game who had no proper development.

Which he basically was.

Gi-hun had lost his contact to the men he had hired to track down this man, until finally, his phone rang again.

♡♡

Of course you had grown too curious and suspicious about this stranger that you had to follow him wherever he was going.

Was it a good idea? Probably not, but you were still going to do it. It slowly started to rain, and of course you didn't carry an umbrella with you.

The man got a phone call, but you couldn't fully understand what he was saying since he spoke in Korean. You had studied Korean the best you could during the months you had been here and a little before you left America, but you couldn't translate complete conversations in your mind in just a few seconds. But you could hear some familiar words in the man's speech here and there. You could have probably understood more if he talked more slowly.

Where?

What?

Hotel?

Four?

The tone of his voice sounded panicked and rushed too, even more making you curious.

After a while he finished the call and put his phone back into his pocket. He started walking fast around the corner, soon starting to move faster and faster.

You quickly ran after him. You tried to make sure that he wouldn't see you if he happened to glance back over his shoulder, but you also couldn't lose the sight of him. You weren't exactly the fastest runner and would be out of breath soon, but luckily the distance to the destination wasn't too large.

Eventually, you ended up by a building, a hotel or hostel of some sorts. He went to the back of the building through a side alley, not entering through the front doors, which seemed to be locked by chains.

When you entered the hotel inside, you had lost the man, but you knew for sure that he had arrived here as well, right before you, so he couldn't be very far.

There was nobody else around, the place was totally empty, most of the lights were out and there were no sounds around you, forcing you to tiptoe even quieter not to make yourself known to anyone else possibly here. You didn't want a guard to find you trespassing, if there was one.

You started walking up the stairs, slowly and as quietly as possible, heart racing so fast you were afraid someone could hear it if they stood too close to you. You unintentionally held your breath as well out of this thick suspense what was going on.

Maybe this was completely unrelated to the man you loved. Maybe something else had come up with him and you were following a stranger somewhere private like a creep. Would this end up being a trap of some sorts?

Then, you heard speech somewhere in the fourth floor and walked towards the noise with even slower steps.

You were approaching one of the rooms where you heard two men talking to each other now much more clearly – the walls of this building seemed to be as thin as paper, since you had heard them already further away.

But then you noticed that the door wasn't closed, so you could easily open it without a sound and peek inside the room.

Two men were sitting at a table on the opposite sides, facing each other. It was that same man who had stopped you on the street. Your eyes widened on what you were witnessing right now.

He had a gun in his hand. It wasn't the same revolver which you had seen in his house.

"I used to work at the game too," he explained to the man with a calm voice. "Clearing and burning countless of bodies of people like you. I remember thinking: 'These things aren't human. They're just trash, they have no purpose in this world.' That's what i kept telling myself for a few years. One day they gave me a gun. I liked the way it felt. It was like someone had finally acknowledged my existence." He leaned back in his chair. "I don't know what year it was, but there was a man who lost, and i went over to shoot him. I recognised his face. Guess who it was?" He now leaned towards the man opposite him, his voice turning into a mere whisper, and you weren't sure if you heard it correctly or just imagined it. "My dad." You noticed a small smile lingering on his lips. "I was pointing the weapon at my very own father. And he begged me, tears in his eyes, to spare his life. You know what i did?" In under a second he lifted the gun and pointed it right towards the other man's face, who didn't even flinch. "I shot him right in the middle of his forehead and i realised: 'Huh, i guess i really am good at this'."

Your blood ran cold and all you wanted to do was to run away, but your legs refused to move at all. They shared a few more words but you couldn't concentrate on their conversation anymore. You felt like you weren't able to breathe. The ground beneath your feet was slowly failing you.

The next time you looked towards them, he pressed the gun on the man's forehead again, now actually pulling the trigger, making you slightly jump from the noise.

You were frozen on your place. What the hell were you supposed to do in this situation? Run away, confront them or call someone for help?

But as he moved the gun towards himself, inserting the gun deep inside his mouth, a playful smirk on his face, you had to act.

You tried to say something as you stepped towards the table from the shadows, finally able to make yourself move before he would be able to pull the trigger, but you couldn't get a word out of your mouth.

He let the gun slowly fall out of his mouth and his entire face turned pale like a ghost as he realised who had joined their little game. When his eyes met yours, you noticed something red on his cheek, and you instantly thought of it being someone else's blood, the same red splattered on the collar of his white shirt.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?"

This was the man who you had fallen in love with. A man who took you on sweet dates, took you into his warm embrace as you slept with him in the same bed, kissed you both softly and with passion... a man who opened up to you about his father's death and how someone had murdered him coldblood.

The murderer had been him all along. How could you be so naive and dumb? Had there been red flags which you had just missed?

Other than the damn gun at his house.

But now there sat only a man just couple of metres away from you who had just confessed on shooting his own father with his own gun. Pulling the trigger himself. And he had told it with a smile on his face.

He had lied to you this entire time. You wanted to shout and yell at him, then run away, but you couldn't move your body. Until he stood up.

Instantly, without hesitation you took a step back as he took one towards you, which made his heart break.

♡♡

A/N: I'm not sorry about the ending 🙂‍↔️ the last scene is obviously not 100% accurate to the show. Next part will take a while too so be patient with me 🫶🏻 if you want to be added or stay on the taglist, lmk.

Tags:

@k1ra-park3r

@aftersnrise

@sakurayashiro

@zmbiefiend

@preppyfella

[firawren]

Yes, the Prince should have let the Enchantress inside

Time for another Disney Beauty and the Beast 1991 rant, because I'm feeling real salty today.

I'm tired of seeing people saying the Enchantress was awful for cursing the Prince because he was a child and shouldn't let strangers inside his house.

No. He 100% should have let her inside.

First of all, he probably wasn't a child. The only evidence he was a child is Howard Ashman's "10 years we've been rusting" lyric because Howard wanted him to be a kid. The two directors of the film wanted him to be like late teens, and all other evidence in the film points to that. So, he has no canonical age at which he was cursed. (And no, him being a kid in Enchanted Christmas doesn't count as canon within the context of BatB 1991 and analyzing the original prologue.)

BUT HEY EVEN IF he was a child, you're mistakenly thinking of him as an ordinary child in modern times and the castle as a modern ordinary house. Neither of those things make any sense. He wasn't just some kid, he was a prince, a leader, a guardian for his people that he was supposed to protect, no matter his age. The castle was his home, yes, but it was much more than that, practically a public place, for his subjects to gather. Any of his subjects should be able to come there and ask to enter.

BUT HEY EVEN IF he was a modern child in a modern house who was taught about "stranger danger," remember that there were dozens if not hundreds of adults in the house with him. He wasn't home alone, nor did he live in a modern normal neighborhood. If you live in the middle of nowhere with no shelter anywhere else for miles, just a forest full of deadly wolves and bears and who knows what other scary shit, and a frail old lady comes to your house at night in the freezing cold, and asks nicely to come in, because she is 100% guaranteed to die if she doesn't, and there are like 87 adults around to make sure she doesn't get up to any mischief inside your house, and you have tons of space and food for her, are you honestly telling me you'd be cool with your kid turning her away to die? No! You would have wanted your kid to let her in and your servants to take care of her. It doesn't matter that you don't know her. You don't go around committing manslaughter when you can save someone's life with zero risk, cost, or inconvenience to yourself.

It was so fucking cruel and sadistic for the Prince to turn her away. There was literally no reason to do it, absolutely zero downside to letting her in. Any halfway decent person would have let her in. Hell, even a dick like Gaston would have let her in. It would be insane for anyone to turn her away in modern times, let alone back then, let alone if you're her fucking leader who has a responsibility for her well-being.

You can still debate whether that horrific mistake was enough to warrant getting cursed over (though we know from the prologue it wasn't a one-off, but I digress), but you cannot debate that it wasn't a horrific mistake. It was. It was dead wrong. Period. And the Prince was a complete sack of shit for doing it, child or no.

[evalevaeva]

In the future | Yeon Sieun

- in which sieun assumes you'll understand in the future.

"You'll understand in the future, why I'm doing this and I never ask you to go out with me, and especially, why I always say after the college entrance exams," Sieun said as you stared at him, feeling the familiar squeeze in your heart.

It was like this every time, and slowly, you feel like you don't understand him anymore. It felt like you were in a dark room, with the one person who could save 6 it was all a blur. You could see his face, stoic as ever. Always refusing to show even a glimpse of what he felt, just for the sake of 'not being pessimistic'. It hurt. It hurt being one of the people he was supposed to lean on for support, but you just felt like another passerby in his life. He was almost indifferent to you.

It was always about the future, what about the present? The current moment that you were in, with him. It's always the same reason over and over again, "After the college entrance exams".

You would be lying if you didn't envy your friends. Seeing them with their partners, spending even 30 minutes sounded like a luxury. To sit down and have a conversation after a hard day at school, or even a phone call seemed like a million dollar dream that you wouldn't be reaching anytime soon with Sieun.

"Why not now?" Your voice was weak, but Sieun definitely heard it as his eyes were stuck onto your eyes that were beginning to water. You sighed as you lowered your head and wiped the tears with the sleeves of your jacket. This wasn't the time to cry, definitely not infront of him.

It sounded crazy. You didn't even feel like you could shed tears in front of him because it felt like he would tell you you're being sad over nothing, or he'd simply say the same statement;

"You'll understand in the future".

"Stop repeating it, Yeon Sieun."

Your voice was harsher than it should've been, but the pent-up anger was spilling out, and if you couldn't catch it, it would spill, and he'd know. Even so, even if he did know, would he do anything?

He spoke about the future the both of you would share. A house with nice decorations, a house with five children running around, and he'd have a good job and spend his breaks at home. He'd have to leave, but he'd constantly text and send gifts for the children's milestones. He'd miss their milestones, but he'd always come back to spend breaks with you and the kids.

He would bring you to places you'd never been to, and the both of you would grow old, and you'd take care of each other.

It felt like a sick joke that you were living through daily. He treated you like you were some fragile piece of ceramic that would fall and shatter at any time, but all you wanted were answers.

You could barely focus on your examinations anymore, feeling the pain crawl up your spine everyday as you stared at the papers given in class.

"Repeating what? That you'll understand in the future?" Sieun asked as you looked up at him, feeling your hands turn into a fist as you held the hem of your skirt in your fist.

"Why can't you tell me anything? You feel like an absolute stranger to me now. You don't want to talk to me in school nor interact with me in school because you're so worried about what other people have to say. Are you shamed of me? You don't want to call, you don't even ask me to call anymore. It's always me making an effort, what about you? Why is it always me? I give up, I'm so tired, Sieun. I want you to make an effort too, to call me 'just because', to walk with me to the bus station 'just because', instead of treating me like the last option and seeing me as someone you'll only put effort in after examinations. I'm hurt too, Sieun. I have feelings too, Sieun." By this point, your face was covered in tears as they fell down your cheek, hot. You still couldn't get close to him, still only being able to say everything from a distance. An arm's length at most.

"We have all the time in the world to do all the things you want to do. Why are you in such a rush?" Sieun questioned, seriously not understanding why you were so upset over such a minor thing.

You let out an exhasperated sigh as you wiped your tears. He would never understand. He treated you like a child that would never understand the world, and you would never get the answers you wanted, even if you begged the Lord above to help you.

"Nevemind. Whatever." You stated, as you turned and got ready to leave.

"Why nevermind? Are you mad again?" Sieun asked as he walked forward to reach out to you.

"I don't know, Sieun, you'll understand soon."

-

i don't know, will i ever understand?

[celestie0]

childhood friends to lovers with gojo.

warnings/tags. fluff & angst, sad ending

you two were five when he kisses ur cheek on the playground underneath the slide n you both thought that counted as a first kiss. u two were attached by the hip all throughout elementary school, i mean srs, your parents would even have joint parent teacher conferences bc there was just nothing the two of you wouldn't do together.

and then middle school came around, you joined the marching band n he joined the football team. he starts acting different around you, and it hurts. bc you two were best friends. you were always supposed to be best friends. he starts hanging out w the popular kids, and you find yourself walking home alone. summer before high school, he wants to hang out again, but you tell him you deserve better than that. and you two drift apart.

it's hard starting high school without him, watching him from afar during lunch in the cafeteria. he's with his table of phonies, acting like someone he's not, and you know because you've always known him. better than anyone else. you really wanna join the cheer team, since you've done gymnastics for a long time, but you've always been too afraid to tryout for the team. this time, you do, and you get in. now all of a sudden he wants to talk to you again, now that you're popular in high school and have earned a place on the field during his games. fuck that, you say to him, you threw away what we had just because i wasn't good enough for you to have by your side. you start dating his teammate, you two are nominated for prom queen & king, and he has to watch as you kiss someone else on stage when you win. someone that should've been him. he starts dating the cheer captain, just to show it off when he comes running to her after a winning game, kissing her right in front of you but he's not looking at her, he's looking at you. to make sure you're watching. and you do the same thing to him. and the whole time you two are wondering what are we doing to one another?

summer after high school, he shows up to your doorstep one day on his skateboard. with a box full of all the letters you used to send him as a kid. you still have yours too, somewhere tucked underneath your bed. you spend the whole afternoon laughing with him as you read through them all, laying on the carpet of your living room, and you both feel like kids again. he hovers over you when he kisses you, but you're still mad at him, and to show him how mad you are, you kiss him back. it's no use, you two are going to different colleges, you'll hardly see him, but he swears he'll call. he swears he'll fly to see you. he swears he'll never makes the same mistakes again, because he wants you. and only you. you kiss his cheek, and say okay.

and he does. he does everything he promises you. but the distance is too hard, and he was a little too late. you break up with him over a twenty-one character text sent while you're drunk at a house party your second semester at university, and he just doesn't understand. he'll never understand. and he never sees you again.

until you're both thirty-two, standing in line at the grocery store. he taps your shoulder, you turn around, you wonder if it's a stranger who wants a favor, and you realize he's so much more than that. he's the little boy that kissed your cheek underneath the slide when you were five. your first kiss. except it wasn't, was it? his face is long, and his cheeks have lost plush, but he looks so handsome it makes your heart skip a beat. you two are pleasant, exchanging it's been so long! and you look great! but when his eyes catch the twinkle of the wedding ring on your finger, his smile drops ever so slightly, and when he scratches his cheek to hide the sadness, you notice a band on his finger too. and he pays for your groceries, just to be kind. and you thank him for it, just to be kind. and you go your separate ways, never to speak again. but there's a box that still sits somewhere in your closet. and a similar one still sits in his too.