#makes me wonder what he did and how he felt

[nadvs]

the power play (part one)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

tags college au. fake dating. grumpy athlete/sunshine tutor. reader is bubbly, talkative, and passionate about literature. very slowburn. he falls first. alcohol use. suggestive moments, but no smut.

power play (noun)

an offensive tactic in a team sport; a deliberate attempt to manipulate someone.

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You hoped it wouldn’t feel the way it used to, but as you sit in the stands behind the home bench next to Lyla, it’s all the same.

You’re watching Beck zip across the ice with a painfully familiar sense of longing hammering into your chest. Falling for him always felt inevitable; you just didn’t expect that he wouldn’t be there to catch you.

When you and Lyla became friends in the ninth grade, you quickly grew close to her family, spending more time at their house than your own, tagging along to watch her twin brother’s hockey games.

The more you got to know Beck, the more you fell under his spell, charmed by his warmth, by every part of him that made him the most captivating person you’d ever met.

He stole your heart. Considering the way he treated you, you were sure you’d stolen his, too.

You spent most of last semester helping him with a class, even though you were in the same overwhelming throws of being a college freshman. Every study session in his dorm room drifted by with an undercurrent of certainty that he felt something, too.

It crushed you to realize that it’d all been in your head. A few weeks ago, you’d met him after his final exam, which he said he knew he nailed thanks to you.

You thought he was finally going to make the move that felt like it’d been hanging over you for years. But all he did was pull you into a side-hug and say, “You’re more of a friend to me than my own sister.”

Thinking about it still makes you cringe. You hate how weak you feel ruminating over this, trying to get over someone you were never even with.

It’s a Wednesday night two weeks into the spring semester, and you’re at the first home game you’ve been to in a while. Although you’ve always loved the loud, buzzing atmosphere of a hockey game, you’ve been staying far away from the campus arena and the man who hurt you.

You haven’t spoken to Beck. And he hasn’t reached out. What he did was an indirect rejection, his way of saying, It’s obvious that you like me and I need you to know once and for all that I don’t like you back.

Since then, every time your best friend has asked you to come to games or parties, you’ve told her you’ve been too busy, using your new position in a tutoring program as your excuse.

You prefer a distraction from Beck, and helping other students with a subject you’re passionate about has done the job.

But you can’t blow Lyla off forever, so now, you’re sitting with her in the stands among a small crowd of spectators.

The championship season begins in a month. Every seat will be full then. But you wish more people were around now. You welcome any noise to drown out your thoughts.

Everyone else cheers when Beck smashes the puck against the back of the net, securing the team’s first goal. You find it hard to join the celebration. Even though you’ve always thought of him as kind, you wonder if he could tell how much you liked him. If he consciously led you on.

For years, you’d watched him date other girls, hoping he’d finally realize you were the right one for him all along. You daydreamed far too much about him, imagining that he’d become your first boyfriend and take you on your first date and give you your first kiss.

The alarm blares to signal the end of the second period, pulling you out the haze you’ve fallen into a thousand times since that day in front of his exam room.

“You want to get some snacks?” Lyla asks.

“Sure,” you reply, doing your best impression of a girl with nothing weighing on her.

Once you walk up to the end of one of the arena’s concession stand lines, Lyla recognizes the people standing in front of you, greeting both girls with smiles and hugs.

Through introductions, you learn that Emma and Gabby are friends Lyla made at a party last semester. After some small talk as the line shuffles forward, Lyla points back to the rink.

“The seats next to us are empty if you want to sit with us,” she offers.

Emma and Gabby happily join you as you settle back in your seats soon after. You gaze ahead at the empty rink as they chat, the 3-1 score glaring above the ice in red neon numbers.

“No way the coach isn’t chewing them out right now,” Lyla says with a shake of her head.

“Why do you know on the team again?” Emma asks.

“My brother, Beck,” Lyla says. “You?”

Emma’s mouth twists into a tense smile.

“My ex,” she says, her voice lowering. “I wish he didn’t play, because I actually really love coming to these games.”

“Bad breakup?” you surmise.

“Brutal,” Gabby chimes in. You can tell by her expression that she’d supported her friend through the fallout.

“I just don’t want him to see me here and think it means something,” Emma sighs. “If he thinks that I want to get back together, it’ll be a disaster. We broke up a month ago and he’s still bothering me.”

You hardly know this girl, and you know her ex even less, but your reflex is to feel bad for him. You’re well acquainted with the pain that comes with caring about somebody who doesn’t want you.

“Oh, yeah,” Lyla remembers. “Rafe, right?”

Emma nods.

“Yikes.”

“Yeah,” Emma laughs.

The three girls share a knowing look, something unsaid passing through them.

You don’t know much about Rafe. On the rink, he’s a strong, aggressive defenseman, a sophomore who spends more time in the penalty box than any other player. You’ve seen him at a couple of parties, too, but never exchanged any words.

You don't understand the girls’ tense reactions to the mention of his name.

“What am I missing?” you half-whisper.

“You’d be missing nothing if you actually came to the parties I invite you to,” Lyla teases.

You can count on one hand how many parties you’ve been to since you started college. But it works for you. A party every few weeks is enough.

“I come when I can,” you reply, nudging her playfully. “Fill me in.”

“He’s a trainwreck,” Emma explains to you. “He has a million red flags that I ignored because I thought he was hot. Literally all we ever did was fight.”

“Yeah,” Lyla huffs, raising her brows. She looks at you. “Maybe it’s actually a good thing you don’t come to every party.”

You consider their words. They must have had a penchant for making a scene, shamelessly arguing in front of a crowd.

“I couldn’t take how mean and moody he was anymore. I dumped him and he won’t let it go.” Emma breathes a laugh. “It’s pathetic. He even called me crying the other night.”

Again, a confusing pang of sympathy for him hits you. It has to be your own heartbreak influencing you. You can’t imagine you’d normally feel bad for a guy described as having a million red flags.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“I’m over it,” Emma says carelessly.

“He’s not,” Gabby murmurs.

The players storm out on the rink again moments later, blades slicing the ice. They’re all so fast and powerful, and knowing that Rafe, the most forceful one of the group, is going through a version of the pain you are is oddly comforting.

A couple of minutes in, he gets thrown into the penalty box for charging an opponent. He skates to the opposite side of the rink, Cameron stitched across the black polyester of his jersey.

He stares at the floor as he waits out his penalty, tense, still. You think that if someone who looks so big and strong can hurt just like you, maybe you’re not as weak as you think.

════════

Rafe swings open the library entrance door with a scowl, irritated as hell that he has to be here. It’s annoying that the athletic department gives this much of a shit about players’ grades. Rafe knows he’s one of the best on the hockey team. He wishes that were enough.

Freshman year was fine, but he barely made it through last semester. He just failed his first assignment in a half-term literature course that was supposed to be an easy A.

Coach wasn’t pleased, saying it could screw up his GPA and deem him ineligible to play. Rafe tried to convince him that he’d do better on the next one, but Coach set him up with a tutor, unwilling to hear him out.

He’s already hardwired into a constant state of anger. Life has always been a storm, and now more than ever, there's no refuge in sight.

He's dealing with a coach who has no hope in him, on top of a painful breakup, on top of a shitty loss last night, on top of the fact that now he’s being forced to talk to a stranger about some boring book.

He can’t catch a break.

He looks at the email on his phone again. Study Room 205. He eventually finds the open door and taps his knuckles on it to get your attention.

You lock eyes with the person you’ve been waiting on for the last ten minutes. You had no idea who was coming up to meet you – just that the athletic department set it up.

But you know him. Or of him, at least.

A second ago, you were thinking about how you’ll have to ask whoever you’re meeting to be on time for future sessions. Now, your mind is consumed by the harsh words you heard about him last night.

“Hi,” you say politely. “Are you here for Lit Arts?”

He nods tersely in confirmation, stepping in. He drops his bag onto one of the empty chairs surrounding the square desk in the middle of the small room. You introduce yourself and when he sits down diagonally opposite to you, he murmurs, “Rafe.”

Discomfort swirls in your stomach. You’d heard something so personal about him at the rink, gazed at him in the penalty box from a distance, feeling like he’s a kindred spirit, and now you have to pretend like none of it happened.

“You’re on the hockey team, right?” you ask.

He realizes he’s seen you before. He can’t figure out where.

“Yeah.”

“I was at the game last night. Tough loss.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything. The clock ticks rhythmically. You clear your throat, figuring it’s best to skip the small talk.

“I took this class last semester. I know exactly how the prof grades, so you’re lucky to have me in your corner.”

Rafe is many things right now. Lucky isn’t one of them.

“Do you have your laptop?” you ask.

He unzips his bag and pulls out his computer.

“You can go to the course portal,” you tell him. He lets out an exhale as he navigates to the webpage. You lean closer to make sure that the class is currently on the book you brought with you.

You pull out your copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, page edges littered with different colored sticky tabs.

“Did you get a chance to start the book?” you ask.

He shakes his head. He’s not hiding that he really doesn’t want to be here. Nonetheless, you’re determined to crack him.

“Do you have a copy of it?”

“No.”

You nod slowly, picking up that he planned to coast through the class, not even bothering to buy and read any of the books.

“Do you like reading?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says with a grimace, as if he’s offended you’d assume that.

“You might like some of the books on the syllabus. This class is a lot of fun.”

“Fun,” he echoes with a stare that makes him look like he wants to bolt out of the door he just came through.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you reply with a smile. “Your idea of fun is skating around and getting slammed into walls. I should be the one judging you.”

He gazes at you like you’re from another planet, blue eyes hard on you. It’s nothing short of amusing.

You pull his laptop closer, hovering the cursor over the ‘My Grades’ tab, and ask, “Do you mind if I check how you did on your last assignment?”

“I bombed it,” he says.

As you gaze at the screen, Rafe clues in on where he’s seen you before. With one of the team’s freshmen.

Varsity athletes who live on campus are lumped together in the same dormitory block, and he’s seen you hanging around with Beck, going in and out of his room.

He wouldn’t consider Beck a friend. He’s a teammate and at best, an acquaintance. The guy’s a kiss-ass to Coach, and does everything by the book, skipping most parties and never drinking.

It makes complete sense that a rule-follower like Beck would date a good girl like you. Who the fuck calls a class fun?

You click to see his failing grade percentage for the first assignment of the semester in bolded red.

“Did you get any feedback on where you went wrong?” you ask. You know he’s going to shake his head before he does it. He doesn’t seem to care at all. “You have a whole semester to get your grade up. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not,” he replies stiffly.

“Well… maybe you should worry a little bit,” you say lightheartedly. “I know your coach is serious about grades.”

Rafe figures you must have heard that from your boyfriend. Maybe Beck took this class, too. It’s popular among busy student athletes because it’s supposed to be an easy way to fulfill a humanities credit.

He could just convince Beck to give him copies of his assignments. He’d have to change stuff around, but at least he’d get out of tutoring.

“Did you help Beck with this class?” he asks.

You’re taken aback by the sudden reminder of him, brows knitting together, a shift in your breezy demeanor.

“You’re his girl, right?” he says, as if it’s obvious.

“No. We’re– we’re friends.” You chew on your bottom lip. Tutoring is supposed to be a distraction from Beck, not the topic of conversation. But your curiosity burns in you and there’s no chance of putting it out. “Did he talk about me or something?”

“No,” he says, a bit too harshly for your liking. “I just figured ‘cause you’re with him all the time.”

“Right,” you say. All the time. Like a lost puppy, no doubt. Embarrassment pricks at your skin. “I helped him with another class. We’re friends.”

Rafe cracks his first smirk since he walked into this stuffy little room. You said friends twice, both times with uncertainty.

“You sure?” he chides.

“What?” you say stiffly. “Yes. I am.”

You crack open the book.

“So, A Portrait is about a man named Stephen who navigates the idea of identity,” you say quickly, trying to shake off your nerves. “We should look at the discussion question.”

You shut the book abruptly, then turn your attention to the laptop.

“You need to write a 1,500-word reflection for each book,” you ramble. “You’ll do better if you find a personal connection to the text. Maybe we start there.”

Rafe watches the nervous way your eyes dart around the screen as you scroll. His joke threw you into a tense, awkward panic that he has no interest in being around.

“You can relax,” he says. “I don’t care if you like him.”

You don’t look at him. You thought you were relaxed.

“Well, I don’t.”

You scroll to the question, one word in particular striking you.

What role does Emma play in Stephen’s growth and how he defines himself?

Of course. As if you needed another reason for this to be even more awkward.

Seeing Rafe’s ex’s name makes what she’d told you about him echo through your head again. Despite his teasing, the sympathy you felt for him comes back tenfold.

You know things about him that you shouldn’t. You feel a responsibility to balance the scales, but the air is too tense, the unfamiliarity too uncomfortable.

“Did you take a look at the question?” you ask.

He shakes his head, still slouched back. At this point, his apathy is starting to get to you.

“Listen, I can tell you don’t want to be here, but could you please try to meet me in the middle?” you say.

Rafe’s lips pull into a firm line, but he relents and leans closer to look at the screen. His body goes cold when he sees her name. He’d rather not be reminded of the girl who broke his heart right now.

“Emma is Stephen’s love interest,” you begin, trying to act like you don’t know a thing about his past relationship. “He sees her as something she’s not.”

You leaf through the book, finding a note you’d written in the margin.

“She represents idealization,” you read. You look up at him again. “Stephen sees by the end that she’s just a normal person, not this perfect girl he thought she was for so many years.”

You open a blank document on his laptop.

“We can write up some notes to start us off,” you say. “This prof grades high when you relate to the text. He likes the sentimental stuff, so until you read the book, that’s what we’ll have to work on.”

You chew on your lip again, unsure if you should bring up what you heard in the stands. It feels unethical either way.

“It doesn’t have to be a person,” you say. “It could be a place or an experience. Have you ever thought something was great and then realized it wasn’t?”

Rafe’s stomach is in a knot. The thought of being tutored and having his hand held through a class was bad enough. Now he has to get into his feelings with you?

“I don’t know,” he says.

You look at the blinking cursor, your head cocked in thought.

“Maybe relating it to a person would be easier, then?” you ask.

Nothing can make this easier. Rafe rakes his hair back, gazing down at your hands stalled over his keyboard.

“I get that this is awkward,” you say. “But it doesn’t have to be anything super personal. You could even make something up if you want.”

He only purses his lips, eyes fixed on your hands, as if he hopes you’ll give in and just do his work for him.

You take a deep breath and interlace your fingers on the desk. You figure that if you’re a little vulnerable, he might be, too.

He’s unknowingly feeling the same pain you are and saying the truth out loud to someone who gets it might even be a relief. There’s a risk of it getting back to Beck, but something tells you Rafe’s not much of a gossiper anyway.

“To be honest, yes, I like Beck. I thought he felt the same, but he doesn’t. Between you and me, sometimes I think he took me for granted and led me on. I idealized a friendship and it ended up hurting me. If this were my assignment, I’d relate to the book with that.”

Rafe is thrown off by your sudden honesty. It’s actually refreshing, considering all the bullshit he’s been dealing with lately.

He looks at you wordlessly.

“It’s just an example,” you say with a soft chuckle. “I did well in this class because I found pieces of myself in every book. All you need to do is read the material, find something you can relate to, write a decent report, and you’ll get a good grade. Well, that and prepare for the midterm and the final.”

“This class was supposed to be easy,” he finally says under his breath.

“Can you let me know when you’re going to be done complaining?” you ask playfully, looking up at the clock. “It’s been five minutes and you’re still going.”

Rafe huffs an almost-laugh. He adjusts his posture again, pulling at the collar of his hoodie.

“You really don’t have to be specific,” you reassure him. You tap your fingers over the keyboard again, just light enough to not press any buttons. “If you can relate the character of Emma to someone, you don’t have to say their name.”

Your eyes stay glued to the screen, your shoulders stiff as you wait. You’re acting weird again. The way you said Emma’s name looked like it pained you.

And it dawns on him.

“Should’ve known she’d talk shit,” he realizes. “What’d she tell you?”

“What?” you say, meeting his gaze.

“What did Emma say about me?” Rafe drawls, his deep voice reverberating through you.

Your lips part, but words refuse to form. For a guy that doesn’t like to read, he’s very good at doing it to you.

Rafe leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk. You can now see what makes him so intimidating on the ice. Every edge of his face is sharp now, apathy replaced with intensity.

“Nothing,” you reply. “It’s not my business.”

How did he not clue in before? If you run in the hockey team’s social circle, of course you heard about their breakup.

Emma never cared to keep things private. And you’re so willing to share your own personal stuff because you know more about him than you’re letting on. Because you pity him.

“Come on,” he scoffs, frustrated.

“I met her at the rink last night. She just mentioned you used to date.”

He shrugs impatiently, a silent request that you keep talking. You sigh. He’s stubborn.

“She said she likes coming to games, but it’s hard to because her ex is on the team.” You grimace. There’s no way you’d actually tell him all of it, all of the insults she muttered. “It’s not worth repeating, but… basically, she told me she broke things off and you won’t move on.”

Rafe nods, lips twisting. The way she’s been ignoring his texts and his calls to try to fix things stung enough. Talking to strangers to embarrass him hurts on an entirely different level.

He didn’t know Emma could be this cruel. This is mortifying. He’s done trying to make things work with her. No matter how hard the loneliness is hitting him.

You slide the book across the desk towards him, desperate to move past the tension.

“You can start reading,” you say. “And you don’t have to buy any of the books. I’ll just lend you mine. I’ll get some notes down for you to work from and you can do the personal connection part on your own.”

You start to type and immediately wonder if he’ll drop the class. You’ve never had that happen with someone you tutored before, but you wouldn’t blame him.

It must feel crappy to hear from a girl you don’t even know that your ex is saying bad things about you. A girl that you have to see every Thursday afternoon for the next three months.

Rafe cracks open the book in the middle to fan through the pages, a weight sitting on his chest. The pages are worn, words underlined, notes scribbled in the margins.

“You put this through the washing machine or something?” he murmurs.

“I’ve read it a few times,” you say simply. You keep typing.

Emma said he’d called her crying. It’s hard to imagine the man sitting next to you crying. It’s weird knowing something about someone that they wouldn't want you to know.

Rafe’s already bored with the first sentence. It’s long and confusing and completely uninteresting. His eyes drift up, absorbing the way your face softly creases in concentration as you type.

Now that you’re not talking at a thousand words a second, he can actually take you in.

You’re the type of girl he’d approach at a party. There’s no doubt about that. But once you’d start yapping about reading like you just did, about finding pieces of yourself in a book, he’d find a way out of the conversation.

Playing hockey at the college level is demanding; he likes the other things in his life to be fun and easy. Keeping up with a girl like you and pretending he’s interested in whatever you’re rambling about would be neither.

As he studies you, he doesn’t get why Beck friendzoned you. You’re pretty. And you’re the same type of person that Beck: straight-edge and so cheerful it’s annoying.

Rafe is typically one to outright say what he’s thinking, but he has the restraint to keep the idea he just had to himself. He needs to sleep on it. He’s done some crazy shit since Emma broke his heart and he’d rather not add to the tally.

You notice him looking at you in your peripheral vision.

“You’re not thinking of dropping the class, are you?” you ask.

“No,” he says. His eyes stay on you for another beat, then find the words on the page again.

════════

You thought Rafe came to your first session in a bad mood. Compared to how you feel right now, he was peachy.

Lyla called you on your way to the library and mentioned in passing that her brother asked about you last night. She said Beck seemed like he missed you, all sympathetic when he asked, is she doing okay?

She’s oblivious to the real reason he brought it up. And it’s irritating. Because he doesn’t even ask you himself. Because he’s right. He knows that his passive rejection left a wound.

“You’re on time,” you say in surprise when Rafe saunters into the study room.

“You talk a lot,” he mumbles. “I’m not interested in a lecture after you told me not to be late.”

Despite your bad mood, you crack an amused smile. You’d ended last week’s session telling him that tardiness was not only disrespectful to you, but to his own academic success. He rolled his eyes, but he clearly listened.

Rafe settles in the same chair as last time, holding your copy of the book he was supposed to read.

“Did you read it?”

“Mostly.”

“What’d you think?” you say with hope.

“Boring.”

“Fair,” you say. You gesture for his laptop. “Let’s see how far you got on the report.”

Your brows drop in disappointment when you see how much he added to the file. It’s a bunch of pasted summaries and disorganized thoughts, taking up only half the page.

You eventually reach the end of your hour-long session and have him read over the assignment one last time before submitting it. You check the syllabus to confirm what the next book is, then shut his computer.

“Try to have more for us to work with next time,” you tell him. “And you should have the next book totally read by then, too, okay?”

You hand him your copy of Pride and Prejudice and push your seat back, ignoring his frustrated sigh.

“You talk to Beck lately?” he asks after a beat.

“What?” you say, face screwing up. You’re reminded all over again of what Lyla said. “No. Why?”

“You’re still pissed at him,” he says. He’s confident, coming to the conclusion himself instead of waiting for you to admit it.

“Why are you talking about this? We had a perfectly nice hour together,” you try to joke.

Rafe finally gives a voice to what’s been swirling in his mind since last week. He’s used to being mad, to feeling spiteful, but the way his ex broke his heart has never made him want revenge more. He wants to hurt her as badly as she hurt him. He wants to make her regret leaving him.

“We should get back at them,” he says.

“I’m sorry?” you say, your chin dipping as you stare at him.

“Hear me out,” he tells you. “We’re going to keep seeing Beck and Emma around, right? We could make it look like we’re better off without them. Make them jealous.”

You squint, waiting for the details. Rafe draws in a sharp inhale.

“She said I’m not over her, right? And you said he took you for granted. If they think we moved on, I bet at least one of ‘em will realize they fucked up.”

You consider it. Admittedly, making Beck think you’re perfectly fine – no, thriving – after his rejection is enticing.

“Okay, how do we get back at them exactly?” you ask.

Rafe scratches the back of his neck. It’s the first time he seems kind of nervous to you.

“We pretend we’re together,” he says.

“You and…” You look over your shoulder, because he must be talking to somebody else who snuck into the room at some point. “You and me? Together together?”

“I know. It wouldn’t ever happen.”

You can’t even be offended. He’s right. He’s a skilled hockey player and undeniably good-looking, but that’s where the compliments end.

Two afternoons of working together and making small talk have shown you that you have nothing in common. And frankly, while you do laugh off his bad attitude, it gets on your nerves.

A relationship would never work, let alone even begin.

“But they don’t know that,” he continues. “All they’ll see is that someone they lost is happy without them.”

Your mind starts racing. The years of pining over Beck, the pain of his rejection, the frustration of him asking his sister how you’re holding up. They’ve all left cracks in your heart.

The more Rafe thinks about rubbing his happiness into Emma’s face, even if it’s bullshit, the more he hopes you’ll be on board. But you’re not saying a word.

“If you’re not in, fine,” he sighs, pushing his chair back to start to leave. He should have figured you’d be too uptight to do it. “I’m just saying I bet you wouldn’t hate making Beck sweat.”

He stands up, but you hear yourself say, “Wait.”

Then you hold out your hand.

Rafe breathes an amused chuckle, flashing the first sincere smile you’ve seen on his face, when he realizes what you’re doing.

Your hand slips into his, touching for the first time to seal the deal and shake on it.

“This is insane,” you say. “Count me in.”

(to be continued)

>>> new parts drop every friday at 8:30 pm eastern

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[dollbrbie]

♡ ⸝⸝ THE BREAKUP

cw. fratboy isagi, so so so angsty, isagi really gets his feelings hurt :(

“i think we should break up.”

isagi gives a slight huff, “it’s not funny when you say things like that.”

you breath in, “i’m not joking, isagi.”

he turns around to face you, currently sat on his bed with your brows pinched together slightly. it was clear you had been thinking about something.

“what’s going on, baby?”, he asks, his tone more concerned.

you debated telling him the truth, making yourself look like a fool and having isagi so easily convince you that you’re wrong. he’s too reassuring like that.

ever since you heard everyone say you weren’t good enough for him, that you were too mean, too much for someone like isagi, it just kept playing on your mind like an endless loop, causing you to second guess yourself over and over.

because as much as you hate to admit it, they were right. you were mean, way too mean for a guy like isagi. he’s so sweet and genuine with not a nasty bone in his body. he deserves to be treated like a king, to have a girlfriend adore him just as much as he adores you.

but were you really that? are you really giving him everything he truly deserves?

“i just don’t think.. we’re really working out.”, you sigh.

he frowns, “you don’t think that at all. why’re you saying this?”, the hurt evident in his voice.

and that hurts you.

“isagi, stop.”

he doesn’t.

“no. tell me why you’re saying this. you’re not throwing our whole relationship away because in your eyes we’re suddenly ‘not working out’.”, he explains with air quotes, “you don’t get to say that without some explanation, it’s fucked up.”

you wish he just made it easier for you, to just accept this. but now having to rip the bandaid off you say, “fine then. i just don’t want to be with you anymore.”

there’s a long pause where isagi just processes what you say, “you don’t mean that.”, he whimpers, his eyes glossy.

of course you didn’t mean that. god, the look on his face hurt you more than anything, your own heart heavy. that’s when you knew you had really hurt his feelings and that’s the last thing you ever wanted to do. but, this was in isagi’s best interest.. right?

“i do.”, you whisper, you eyes down as you fiddle with your fingers, sat cross cross on his bed.

“why? what did i do? i can fix it, baby. whatever i did, i can fix it.”, isagi pleas frantically, scurrying closer to you by sitting on the edge of his bed, “please, just tell me.”

“you can’t, isagi. just stop it, okay?”, you sigh, getting up from his bed before grabbing your bag and packing up the few essentials you had in his room, “we just aren’t working, that’s it.”

“no- i just, i don’t understand what i did.”, he swallows, “i thought- i thought you loved me. i love you.”

you feel your bottom lip tremble. this felt like kicking a sweet puppy who kept running back to you.

you don’t say anything, in fear of losing composure and crying your heart out. so, you carry on packing your things, muting out isagi’s frantic pleas and breaking voice despite how hard it was, before rushing out of his room to get back to your own dorm, leaving him alone where everything felt too silent besides his thumping heartbeat.

and that’s when he felt the tears fall from his eyes, and down his cheeks. isagi wasn’t a crier, not at all. but, here he was, crying over you as you leave him with no closure, no nothing. without the answers you couldn’t give him, all he could do was wonder what the hell went so wrong. what the hell made you leave him so suddenly?

with all of his thoughts going rampant in his mind, isagi mutters, “fuck, man.”

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[scribblemesylus]

What they need to hear from you

The one where you comfort him : Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus, Xavier

Hello! This is my first official writing of the LaDS characters; I hope you enjoy it! comments and reposts and love are most appreciated! 💕 The reader is the MC in this one! Angsty (but happy endings) No other warnings.Thank you to my friend who helped me find some inspiration for this post <3

Caleb

Caleb always tried to be the Caleb you remembered, even if he could not remember it that well, he searched through the little memory he had left to piece himself together. Because it was for you. He saw your face that day, the day you told him you didn't need him. That look in your eye, he didn't know exactly what it was; disgust? Pity? Terror? He couldn't recognise it. So, instead of acting like it never happened, he tried to make himself better, just so you would never leave his side again... you liked him before, right? So, it shouldn't be too hard... right?

Turns out, it was harder than he had ever imagined, after all the time he had not seen you since you were released from his fleet, everything between the two of you became suffocatingly awkward. Neither of you knew what to do, what to say, he was beginning to believe that even with the silly coupon (he didn't find it silly... not really), there was no salvaging what the two of you had.

He had destroyed it all in desperation to have you.

So, even though whenever he was near you, he felt like as if is chest was caved in from shame; he stayed by your side. Letting himself silently suffocate because that is what he deserved for letting you down -- or so he believed. It wasn't until you came back injured from a mission, where he ran to you, but he didn't dare touch you, his hands just sort of... hovered over your injuries, his eyes darting around, his brain trying desperately to find a way he could help you without terrifying you again. You sighed and watched him before slowly reaching toward his hand, your fingers brushing against the top of his hand "Caleb..." You whisper, your now strained relationship was hurting a lot more than your physical injuries "Caleb, I am not scared of you... I need you to help me." You push and look at him "Please.." It was true, what happened in Skyhaven was behind you and even though it was killing you with how different the two of you were compared to before, you aren't able to clean all these wounds yourself.

Caleb's eyes softened immediately, and he nodded. "Of course, Pipsqueak, you must be hurting a lot; I'm sorry." He quickly got up and grabbed the first aid kit as he slowly sat you down gently and began to look at your injuries, taking a deep breath before he peeled your sleeves away. "Pips... where did you go to... to get these types of injuries?" He asked gently, but when he was met with nothing but silence, he let out a sigh. "Please, prioritise your safety..." He muttered before continuing to help you as you focused on other wounds. You turn to him and nod "I do, it's just-" He didn't need you to explain, "I know." Was all he said before finishing up and packing the first aid kit "Do you... uh.." He scratched the back of his neck. "Need help with anything else?" He asks gently, but when you shake your head, he just gives you a soft smile and lets you be.

He stood in the kitchen and sighed gently as he slipped the first aid kit back into the cupboard. It wasn't easy to see you like this, in pain and uncomfortable. He just wanted to fix everything; he was good at it whilst he was younger, so why wasn't he good at it now?

He knew you had to do this; you had to save the people the way that you and he weren't in that catastrophe, but he wondered if you were trying to prove something to yourself, too. Caleb wanted to push them, tell you that saving the world wasn't your responsibility, but he has just got you back; you're finally not scared of him anymore; he couldn't ruin that. All he could be is glad that you were here now, that you came to him after all.

He closed the cupboard and prepared a small cup of hot chocolate for the two of you, and sat in the sitting room, waiting for your return.

After getting changed into comfier clothing, you nestled into Caleb, your heart racing slightly in fear he would reject this form of affection after so long... after what you said to him. But, he welcomed it and wrapped his arm around you. "I want to go back to how we used to be.." You say softly, looking up at his big purple eyes. "A-At least, start working towards it... You're my home, Caleb... I don't want this... awkwardness anymore."

You swore you could almost see him levitate off the couch as he practically shone with happiness as if those were the only words he ever needed to hear. "Anything you want, Pipsqueak, I am yours to command."

Rafayel

Rafayel was not an insecure man. At least, that is what everyone else thought. Rafayel, on the other hand, was not so sure. It is not that he felt insecure; it's more he felt this emptiness inside of him, and he had no clue what to fill it with. After all these years, he had you in his grasp once more, so close, yet so far. Because he remembered everything, he even knew what was to come, but you? You're so clueless. He knew how he lost you, how he would lose you and how he could lose you. And he had to deal with this pain and anger all alone.

His past failures jabbed into him as if he were Prometheus, constantly being pecked by a bird. He lived between what was his life and the life he had before, dealing with the betrayal he caused, all for the one he loved, for you, but you didn't know. You will never know.

A part of him did not want you to ever find out what kind of monster he was, afraid he would scare you away, like the otherworldly beast he is, but the other part of him was so tired of carrying this alone.

He wasn't insecure in himself, but insecure for what he could do for you, insecure in his love for you. Would it be enough for you to stay? For the two of you to finally have an entire lifetime together? Would it be worth plunging his people into darkness?

It was a constant spiral he had since you came back into his life, like a rollercoaster, but forever stuck on the loop, the happiness that he finally has you and the pain of what he was - it was a never-ending cycle. That a part of him didn't want to escape; he deserved this pain after all, didn't he? For what is a God who does not live in shame for causing suffering to his people?

But, deep down, he was just afraid he would become unloveable in your eyes. That was his deepest, darkest fear, the one that drowned him in darkness once the night time hit.

You knew something was wrong. It seems silly but when your world was a bit duller, when the grey clouds seemed more prominent or when the lakes and seas swayed as if it was heavy, you knew Rafayel was not himself. So, with a spare bag of seashells in hand and some of the rare materials you knew he liked, you headed over to his place.

The plastic bag twisted against your fingers, almost cutting off circulation entirely as you made your way through the streets and to the beach, slipping your spare key out of your pocket and into the keyhole of the gate, twisting it a few times to unlock the gate.

You gently swished the bag beside you as you made the way to the door, and you imagined your boyfriend's smile when he saw you. However, your heart fell to your stomach as Rafayel's 'organised' mess was scattered and ruined across the floor. The studio was a mess and unkempt; it was almost like an abandoned building.

"Rafayel?" You called out and looked around the place before you saw him sitting on the balcony.

He turned to you, his eyes screaming emotions at you that you had never seen on him before "Cutie..." He whispered meekly.

You fell to your knees by his side once you approached his side and cupped his face "Darling? What has happened? Are you struggling to paint?" You ask as you caress his cheek, your heart fluttering as he leans in as if he hadn't been touched by you in weeks (he saw you yesterday)

"Will you still love me, no matter what I become?" He asked you suddenly, and you froze as you looked at him; the two of you had silently loved each other until now, finding other ways to highlight your love rather than saying it.

"Of course you wouldn't." He muttered bitterly and turned from you, missing how your brows scrunched together with a mix of confusion and anger

"What-?"

"How could an angel like you love a monster like-" "I love you." You blurt out and make him face you, "I wanted to say it in a more romantic way, in a way that you will always remember.... but I love you, Rafayel, no matter what you become.." You smile softly and place a kiss on his cheek and caress it into his skin as if to heal him.

Rafayel's hand slipped down from above yours to your wrist as he searched your eyes for any deceit.

"Promise?" He asks, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as he anticipates your answer.

"I promise, my heart has always been yours and always will be.

Rafayel may have a piece of him missing, but he was sure it was to be filled by you.

Zayne

Zayne is a man who craves control, not over anyone else, just over himself. He had to, because if he was void of control, there would be cracks and the cracks he could not let you see. If you saw his cracks, how could you trust him as your doctor?

He had let you down once, all those years ago when he left you, abandoned you, even if it was not his choice. But he had a choice now and he would use it to make sure he never let you down again.

So, every single crack he kept to himself, stayed up later, worked later until he could fill them all up again before he could see you. However, as he scribbled down notes on his research, the memories of his nightmares played in his mind, taunting him, punishing him, and he came to accept he deserved it. He shouldn't have let all those people come to die, he was a doctor, and a doctor's role was to save a life, not to let it fade away, yet with every year, the list of his letdowns grew.

Everyone told him that it was expected: that to save a life, you were bound to lose a few; it was how life worked. But not for Zayne, not at all, because with every name that appeared on that list, he was afraid it was a name closer to yours.

He couldn't have that, not when he gave up the life he wanted for yours to prevail.

You, on the other hand, were becoming increasingly worried and slightly frustrated with your doctor because this was the third time you tried to coax him out of his office. You have tried everything; cake, macaroons, sweets... all came to a disappointing ending. You thought that trying something as harmless as sweets wouldn't highlight your increasing worry, and it was small enough so you could get a small look at him.

It had almost been two weeks now, and so you made your way to the hospital. You just wanted to know that he was okay and maybe scold him slightly for shutting you out... again.

Once the doors slid open, you gently greeted Yvonne and walked to Zayne's office after making sure he had no more patients to see. You looked down at the box, a small muffin for Zayne, before inhaling and knocking on the door.

Gosh, you hope he doesn't reject you because as your knuckles collide with the door, It dawns on you that he might be avoiding you because you might have done something wrong.

"Come in."

You gulp down and hold the small box a little tighter in your hand, causing it to crease slightly before opening the door. You shifted on your feet as he was too immersed in his work to even look up at you.

"Hi." You greet him gently and slip the muffin on the table, and his eyes instantly break away from the paper at the sound of your voice

"I thought that since you wouldn't come to me for the sweet treats, I would just come to you because I know you cannot go too long without them." You say lightly and place yourself on the chair opposite his desk.

"Thank you." He says softly and looks between you and his work a couple of times before bunching the papers together in a neat pile and slipping them away. "Did you just come from a mission?" You raise a brow. "Are you not going to explain why I haven't seen you in two weeks? I know being a doctor is exhausting, Zayne, but you normally tell me ahead of time-"

"I didn't want to worry you over something foolish. I have it under control."

"Under control? What is under control? Why aren't you talking to me? You know that I am here." The words fall out, conveying your desperation. You had felt empty without him, alone, and you didn't want to feel that again. "It does not concern you, Y/N." He retorts, "If I thought you needed to know, I would have told you." You bite back your words and nod "Alright.." You sit there silently. You would've typically left, but something told you that this time, you needed to stay, that he needed you.

After a few beats of silence, you try again. "You don't have to keep it all to yourself... I know it may not concern me, but that doesn't mean you have to lock it away."

He tensed up. He hated how you could still see through him, even after all this time. He pulled away from his computer, which he was only looking at to control his anxiety for nearly scaring you away. He released the tension in his shoulders and took the muffin. "I lost a patient... two weeks ago."

Sylus

'What a fool' is all he could think as he sat in his office, piles of vinyl scattered across his usually clean office. No tune or genre was calming him. After all this time, after sensing you like he did, after preparing this life for you, he had scared you away.

He couldn't bear to think that because of who he was, his reputation, and who you believed he was made him lose you, not after all this time, not after the promise the two of you shared, not after what you went through.

He was a fool for pushing you too quick, too hard; his excitement and desperation had blinded him; why was he so hellbent on making you remember if he could just build new memories with you? Foolish.

You not remembering a thing, he could get behind, it made sense, but your hatred, your disgust. That he could not get behind, no matter what you believed about him. All he wanted to do was to have you in his arms and to show you what he had made. It might not be the cave you had a lifetime ago, but it was spectacular in this lifetime. A lifetime he built for you, and you didn't even want it.

He supposed he could understand. You did think he killed your family, even though he would never. All he would do would be to keep you safe. It pained him to understand your point of view, to see him as a monster. He was in his last life, so it only made sense that he was in this one.

But he had made you fall in love with him once, and back then, he was truly a monster, so he could make you fall for him again. He just had to give you the choice to choose him.

So, over the next few weeks, he let you choose him, come back to him. Not pushing or pulling, he didn't need to; the door was always open, and you knew that.

That didn't stop his heart from doing flips in his chest each time he saw you walk through the base's doors.

Tonight, you were also expected to come through the doors; he had the twins make sure the base was clean and tidy, that your room was prepared, and that security was at its highest. It was something he always did when you were coming over.

However, you never showed; you were on a mission, so maybe you went home and forgot; that would be reasonable... except come rain or shine, injury or no injury, if you said you were coming, you were always there.

He knew there was something more to your tardiness; without another thought, he sent Mephisto to look for you, and when he came back, the air was knocked out from Sylus' lungs.

You were found passed out, just outside of the base; it didn't take him a second to cross the base and have you in his arms "Oh, kitten.." He brushed the hair from your face, his heart breaking as you weakly opened your eyes.

"Sylus, I am sorry, I tried to call, but..."

"Shh, it's okay. You're safe now." He tried to use his usual tone with you, but his voice was softer, almost as if he was trying his hardest not to let it break.

He worked quickly to get you patched up, swallowing down his worries and quite possibly his tears as he did so, not even letting the twins near you. He sat with you, putting on your favourite vinyl softly in the background as he waited for you to wake up, not leaving your side, his hand placed on yours, afraid that if he let you go, he would lose you like he almost did tonight and the guilt was eating him alive.

"Stop looking at me like that." You mutter and glance toward him. "You're looking at me like your cat just died." You smirk slightly, and he lets out a chuckle "Kitten, why didn't you ask me to pick you up?"

"I assumed you had business to attend to-" "You should've called me. What happened if you never made it here, if we never found you, if you never came back to me, do you think I could live with myself."

You slowly sit up and look toward him "Sylus, I will always come back to you, always. I will always find myself here. You need to trust me on that."

"I do. It's just tonight seeing you like that made me feel-" "Scared?"

He huffed through his nose and pinched the bridge of it "Something like that..." He brushed the hair out of your face "Call me next time." You nod and smile "I will."

A few days later you were back fighting wanderers, but this time Sylus was by your side, his evol swirling around his arm and his hand "You sure about this, Sweetie?"

You nod "I'm Sure, I am safe by your side."

Sylus smiled; you were safe with him; you chose him, and fighting beside you was the greatest honour to have, so he made sure you left the mission without a scratch.

Xavier

It wasn't unusual for you to not see or hear from Xavier for days; you were sure he would pop up at one of the most convenient moments to be by your side. Or, pop up just before you were assigned another partner by Captian Jenna.

This is what happened; before you, the captain, could even mutter another person's name, Xavier appeared, literally faster than the speed of light beside you. Jenna sighed and cleared her throat. "Y/N, your partner will be Xavier for today's mission.

You didn't even look at him before you went to collect what you needed from the information room, and Xavier didn't seem to mind this. He just followed you obediently and read through the information quickly.

You were brought out of your focus when you suddenly heard his voice.

"Aren't you even going to ask where I was for the past few days?" He questioned and tilted his head, unsure why you're not interrogating him like you usually do.

You shrug and turn back to the tablet sitting in your hands. "Why should I? I trust you. If you want to let me know, you will when you need to."

To you, it was just a simple establishment of trust that you assumed you both knew of, but to Xavier, it was everything, and quite clearly, as little lights started to float around him, there was a slight smile on his face.

Trust was a big deal to him; after meeting you for the second time, he almost felt guilty about how angry you were at him for leaving you behind like he did. Not only that, but he failed his planet and the people on it, as well as the people he dragged here, to try and save you... He had failed them all and probably even you to the point where he believed he wasn't even worthy of trust.

You two didn't make a comment about it from that point. It was almost like, 'What is said in the information room stays in the information room.'

You watched him stand there and fiddle with the protocore between his fingers before, like always, crushing it into oblivion.

"Why do you always do that?" You ask, but he does not answer; he just walks you home. "Xavier, are you feeling okay? You've been silent the whole walk home.."

"I'm alright." He shot you a small smile like he always did and went inside. It was yet another protocore that was a waste, another step further from home, another disappointment to the people relying on him... but, at least, you trusted him.

So, he walked down the stairs and to your apartment and knocked on the door. He didn't even have to say a word, you just let him walk in and sit down, plating up some food for him.

You sit opposite and begin to eat, speaking about trivial things with him before he speaks up, "I don't expect you to understand me fully, but I need to find something, and I can't find it, and it's driving me mad."

"I can help-" you pipe in, but he just shakes his head, causing you to deflate, but you understood him in a way; you had things to do, personal missions to complete that you wouldn't want anyone to touch either. You clear your throat. "Well, if you ever need someone to help cheer you up or clear your mind, you can come here. If I can't help you with your mission, I want to at least help you after them." He smiles and looks at you, placing a star-shaped dumpling into your bowl and nods. "That'll be nice..."

Taglist: @61chai-tea @lueurjun @thebangtancloud @nawysstuff @phantom-astra

[sainamoonshine]

That is my exact experience with sports.

In high school I used my dad’s old badminton racket. When the strings broke he would replace them with fishing string. Until my gym teacher noticed and basically begged me to buy a new one, even got me a deal at the local sports equipment store. (My parents felt shame that their stinginess had been noticed, that is the only reason they agreed to buy the new racket.)

It turned out that modern rackets are WAY lighter now and also badminton racket strings make the bird BOUNCE, and those two things were so strange and surprising that all my meager skills in the sport evaporated because I just wasn’t USED to that. But on the other hand new skills were MUCH easier to pick up afterwards.

Same with skating. My mother believed that paying 1 Canadian Dollar to get skates sharpened was a waste of money. I was also using her old skates from when she was a teen until a couple years ago. When I finally brought them to be sharpened, the guy at the shop DID NOT BELIEVE that I could actually skate on them. Flat out refused to believe it. Because it turns out skate blades are supposed to be curved on the bottom. I never knew that because mine had always been flat. (Until that moment I had also not understood how you could acquire a cut from skate blades lmao). Anyway after he sharpened them I fell flat on my ass every time I tried to skate that winter because OH MY FUCKING GOD are these things slippery. For fifteen years I knew how to skate but it required will, it did not just HAPPEN the moment your skates touch the ice what the actual fuck. Anyway I bought new skates now and I suck at skating because I have to relearn it from the ground up.

Walking shoes. Did you guys know that there exists shoes with curved bottom? Rocking sole shoes they are called. Oh baby when you have those on your feet it’s so EASY to walk. The shoes WANT to walk and they’ll leave with or without you. Also you can purchase a thing called an arch support sole which you can put IN your shoes and your back and knees magically stop hurting all the time.

Also modern snow shoes are long and thin, and when you are three feet tall they aren’t half your height in width and they don’t require you to hobble awkwardly with your feet so far apart it looks like you’re riding and invisible horse. Walking with snow shoes adapted to one’s height can in fact be easy and perhaps even quite pleasant. You can even go faster than a snail’s pace with them!!!

All this to say: I often wonder if I would have learned to enjoy sports if I had learned ANY sport with decent equipment. Because it is INSANE how much of a difference it fucking makes.

My roommate thought she hated cooking and then she moved in with me and started using knives that were actually sharp and realized cooking is fun. Sometimes I wonder how many other situations are like this. It's not you, or your skills. It's just the lack of correct tools. Everyone knows you need a knife in the kitchen but no one mentions a sharpening stone.

[pomegranate-theater]

helloo i wonder if you have no problem with the idea of reader passing out during an intercourse?🥹🥹🥹 if that so, could you please write yandere phainon with reader who always reject his affection—even the smallest affection—despite already living together for almost a year or even more? then one day he just snapped and tying reader's hands to the bedpost, then mercilessly—but also gently—having his way with her until she overwhelmed and can't think of anything else other than "maybe his love is the only thing that i need" then eventually passed out? and phainon, being the sweet 'lover' he is, giving the best aftercare for her even when she's still lying unconscious. oh! it'd be great if you could put nipple play here and there. OMG i'm so sorry i talk too much, i hope you don't mind😭😭😭

BITTERSWEET / YANDERE PHAINON

cw: female reader / non-con / bondage / overstimulation / rough sex / nipple and breast play / phainon is kinda delusional / passing out during sex / aftercare / kinda angsty. not suitable for minors or anyone uncomfortable with the mentioned warnings. word count: 2.1k

Note: I tried my best to fit the description into the fic, and I hope everything still blends together well! Let me know.

Could a man being so cruel with you still try to exude sweetness? Because the ropes he chose to tie you with were silky ribbons, with him not daring to chafe your skin or even strain your wrists — should they tug against the headboard. The carefulness of the gesture didn’t mean he gave you any freedom in your movements, however — the binds were still meticulously twisted, not able to be broken unless you possessed a Herculean strength.

“How did this come to be,” Phainon said with bitterness, too shaken up by his frustrations and despair to be stopped in his actions of fucking into you to have a chance to realize the repercussions of doing this to you. “Almost a year of living together, almost a year of me pouring out my heart for you…” his hands gripped harshly on your hips, making you cry out from a small ache, and all you could have done is wrap your legs around his hips tighter if the upper limbs were restrained above your head.

“… and yet, you continue to break my heart repeatedly. I’m starting to think I’m not the selfish person here,” he hissed, and you felt your mind slipping away somewhere, far away, to escape the fire coursing through your nerves.

When Phainon first cornered you after you had yelled at him today, once again, for not respecting your space with what you deemed as clinginess, despite it being scary if out of the range of his typical behavior, you still asininely assumed he’s just agitated and affronted by your additional rejection. Unfortunately for it it turn to be punitive, when soon after he was pouncing on you this way — tying you up, eating you out until your clit was too numb to feel any pleasure, and now — fucking you like an animal, while shifting the blame at you.

You couldn’t be at fault here, in any way, if you’ve never asked him to become your lover nor did you ever have to accept anyone’s affection — no matter how unconditional, well-thought or sacrificial they could be. But put a man to be so desperately in love with you, reaching levels of unhealthily obsessive, and he’ll start to feel entitled to you involuntarily to him.

As he fucked you, and fucked you, and fucked you, not giving you any moment to be spared of him stretching your pussy and digging deep inside with his cock. Your indignant protests have gone quiet at this point, replaced with pleads for mercy as your sensitive body was being lit up when he was forcing you with an intention of making you cum again — this time on his dick, towering over you pliant body with him on his knees between your thighs to be thrusting hard into you.

“P-Phainon, I can’t—” you were sobbing at this point, not even capable of focusing on any specific part of your body, if every was tormented in some ways — so you felt overwhelmed everywhere’s. His cock was hitting your insides with too much depth and scraping them with fast frictions, his hands moved from hips to your breasts to be fondling them; and your clit was sore from both previous actions and now his hips constantly running the ache with thrusts.

“Well, maybe not everything happens to be about you for once—” he spit with venom, and his fingers skillfully massaged your buds between his fingers. Your body lunched upward, the stimulus shattering your last remains of sanity. Could a person die from being overstimulated so much? He’s tortured you with foreplay, if you could call it that, now his cock was his next lesson for you.

When your body went slack, mind fuzzy and difficult to follow up with anything, only then Phainon softened — pitying was visceral to him. “Must you really be so cruel and treat me like I’m a dictator with your rebellion, if I’m only trying to show you my love?” he asked with longing, and slowed down for you sake. In this state, your mind was more susceptible to anything he could throw at you.

“P-phainon… I’m sorry,” you choked out, your sobs having died down but the feeling of being minced in every inch of your body remained.

You either knew how to play him well, what vulnerabilities of Phainon to tug at; or you were genuinely sorry — he couldn’t tell, but didn’t he wish to hear more of your kindness.

“Do you mean it?” he asked with a hope for your benevolence, and grabbed your legs to throw them over his shoulder, before he leaned down to be on top of you — face to face. You were drenched in your sweat, your eyes barely held up with his, and your breath was disturbed.

Somehow, it only made you more beautiful to him; regardless of him being the meanest he has ever been. He was making you his, if you didn’t want to be his. Maybe he’s been too lenient. Maybe he’s given you too much benefit of the doubt, thinking you just need to adjust to him — it’s been more than eleven months now, and he’s been kind, wasn’t he?

Begrudgingly, you agreed. You were losing your mind in this situation too, especially you — at this point, the singular aspect that could prevent your life becoming from more of a ruin was giving in to him. There was no way Phainon would ever let you go, not if he’s not dead, so you could either continue struggling or… try to make the best of this situation to live a better life. “Y-yes, I’m sorry. I know you care…”

It was as if your words whipped him, making him still, as his blue eyes looked at you with disbelief. An acknowledgment, no matter how minuscule compared to the amorphous affection and devotion levels he has expressed when being with you, was a blessing and felt like a greatest of gifts. Perhaps, he’s made a good choice coming at you this way, and should have nipped that in the bud much sooner — in his opinion.

A man now vivacious kissed you with joy and excitement, and withdrew few seconds later when hearing your whimper. “Sorry, I must have exhausted you. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle now.”

Hearing him signal he’s not done yet, just more careful, made you want to protest again. Yet, you didn’t, scared of bursting his bubble or bringing his wrath back. “Okay…”

“That’s right,” he said with pride, and still slow in his thrusts, his lips kissed all over your collarbones, gently, to not further fray your nerves. Phainon knew — at least has learned it today — that you were holding particularly erogenous areas in your breasts. That’s why his lips nipped at the soft flesh.

With your hands still tied, you couldn’t grab at his hair to have something to hold onto; you only grazed your skin with the sting and writhing of the material as you tried to tug your hands away from the headboard. “No… not here!” you begged, trashing under him.

“Shh. I’m being gentle, as per my promise. You can take it, if my only wish is to make you feel good.” You couldn’t explain it to him that feeling good wasn’t the problem here; sadly, once this man sets his mind on this idea, he couldn’t stop.

“And it does feel good, doesn’t it?” he inquired. It did pleasure your body, unfortunately not fully exploitable to you if you felt out of control and way too intense… though, with him looking at you with hope, you muttered “yes”. The sooner you let him finish, the sooner he’ll snap out of his trance — and maybe you’ll manage to let yourself fall too.

You wanted to take it back when his lips wrapped on the right nipple and sucked, nerves in your plush flesh feeling prickled with needles.

“Oh, gods, Phainon, it’s too much!” you cried out, tears spilling on your face again. The drain concerned him for a moment, and he looked up at you, wiping tears for you.

He knew he should be stopping at this point. But there was something in him, not even fueled by sadism, that wanted to see how far he could push you — for his own satisfaction and comfort, so he can be assured in his belief you’re his. Maybe it was control-driven, but having control over you meant he had you.

“Then let it go. Let it all go, and everything will be alright,” he smiled, way too innocently for your distress, and lunged at the other nipple with a doubled fervor. His hips were now awful to you again, chasing the intense unravel from you. He wanted to see you get lost entirely, so he could impose your mind with him only.

His hands under your bent knees, he split you on his cock fast and deep, hitting a spot below your cervix that made you feel lightheaded. His lips were vicious too, swelling the nipples. You couldn’t speak anymore, only make almost screeching noises, among skin clapping and wet stirring sounds reverberating from the walls of a bedroom that should have been a safe haven.

His mouth finally left your nipples and he moved himself closer to you between your legs, his arms sliding upwards — his hands were now holding the sides of your head, his face so close your noses were almost touching, and your legs rested bent over his forearms.

“My love- please, tell me you love me,” he pleaded, his voice cracking, as he sped up his thrusts in chase of anything from you.

To his shock, you reciprocated the words, albeit meekly, “I love you.” Phainon couldn’t be sure if it was you meaning them, or if you simply were repeating anything when your brain was dead and soaking anything like a sponge — but he closed his eyes and pretended it was an honest confession.

“Thank you, thank you…” he moaned when you tightened around, so nearing your orgasm, and hid his face in your neck. “Thank you so much. I love you so much, I could just die—”

You meanwhile, couldn’t even hear his manic ramble, busy with your body getting so light you thought you could fly away. The overwhelming pleasure and approaching demise in form of the orgasm was rushing your blood to be hot and fast through your veins. You weighed nothing, when the final peak of the day was by overly stimulated furnace of your body, and the climax would be your last straw.

The pressure in your abdomen snapped, making you twitch around his cock violently, and you couldn’t even scream when finally lost consciousness, not able to handle the blood pressure change.

He didn’t notice yet, rapt by the ecstatic state of having both of your pussy and your “devotion”; not until he was done filling you up with cum — even with your body limp, he was clueless.

“You are unreal,” he sighed contentedly, trying to bury down the arising guilt coming with the pleasure being lifted off. When not hearing your response, he suddenly snapped his head up, and gasped when seeing your unconscious form. Phainon gently shook your shoulder and when you didn’t wake up, palpated for your pulse — thankfully, you were alive, just shaken up by the intense experience.

A dutiful lover he was, he gently pulled out, witnessing his seed drip out onto the bedsheets under you. You could be waking up any moment, and him not wanting you to panic by discomfort, he was quick to clean you up and dress you up — no matter if sad by the loss of skin to skin contact, all gentle and delicate for you and your sensitive body.

He was conflicted and flickering between two emotions — guilt and satisfaction. Guilty from pushing you so far, and jubilant from your submission and admission (whether honest or not, time will verify).

When you began to awake, slowly coming to the realization of what has happened as you regained your bearings, you didn’t find it in yourself to struggle. Too exhausted physically and wiped out emotionally, you let him hold you.

“I’m so glad you’re awake. I was extremely worried about you, my muse,” he was now in a cosseting mood, speaking to you as if you were a sick baby of his. That’s why while running his hand over your back, safely nested in his arms, he spoke sweetly; as if it wasn’t all his fault, just duty doing to finally make you see his efforts and love, “Are you in any pain?”

“I’m sore…” you replied with no enthusiasm; to which he didn’t deflate, assuming you’re as tired as you say. “Hm, I’m sorry for that, but I’m sore with our intimacy, we finally have made amends.”

“Amends”, he says. You didn’t want to make any; however, what other choice did you have at this point? You had to survive somehow.

“… Yeah,” when you confirmed and even cuddled up closer to him, he smiled beaming with happiness, and was quick to be on his feet. “Stay here.” Not that you could walk anywhere. “I’ll bring you some water and food, and then I’ll massage your legs-”

When Phainon disappeared out of the room, you closed your eyes with resignation — you even missed the warmth of his body and hoped for its quick return.

[wroetolando]

𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where netflix interviews you about your relationship with lando

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: you are in love - taylor swift

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The room hums with quiet anticipation as the Netflix production team makes their final adjustments. The bright white walls and minimalist décor give the space an almost clinical feel, but the warmth of the overhead lights makes it slightly more inviting. A few feet away, the interviewer shuffles through her notes, her well-rehearsed smile never faltering.

You sit in the plush white chair, Lando’s hoodie draped over your frame like a protective shield. You hadn’t meant to wear it—well, maybe you had. It had been an early morning, and in the rush to get ready, you grabbed the first thing that felt comfortable. Now, as the cameras adjust focus, you wonder if people will notice, if fans will recognize it from the countless Twitch streams and Instagram stories. They probably will.

The cameraman counts down from three with his fingers.

“And… rolling.”

The interviewer’s smile widens. “Alright, let’s get started.” She flips open her folder, her pen poised between her fingers. “You’ve been around the paddock for quite some time now. Fans have seen glimpses of you, but you’ve managed to stay relatively low-key despite being in a relationship with one of the most talked-about drivers on the grid. How has that been for you?”

You shift slightly in your seat, keeping your hands clasped together in your lap. “I don’t really think about it too much,” you admit. “I mean, I know people are curious, and I understand why, but I’m not here for the attention. I’m here for Lando.”

The interviewer tilts her head slightly. “That’s interesting because, whether you like it or not, you have become a figure in the F1 world. From being spotted in the McLaren garage to celebrating podiums with Lando, the cameras have taken notice.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that too.”

She flips to the next page of her notes. “Let’s go back to the beginning. When did this all start? How did you and Lando first meet?”

A soft smile tugs at your lips. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. It wasn’t like some dramatic love-at-first-sight thing. We were just… friends for a long time. It was always easy between us, you know?”

“Friends to lovers?”

“Yeah.” You nod, the memory of it still so vivid in your mind. “It just sort of happened over time. I don’t think there was ever a moment where we sat down and said, ‘Okay, we’re in love now.’ It was just us, and at some point, we realized we couldn’t imagine life any other way.”

The interviewer smiles. “That’s really sweet.” She glances at her notes again. “Now, Lando is obviously a very public figure. His fanbase is huge and passionate, and with that comes a lot of attention—not all of it positive. How do you handle being in that world?”

You take a slow breath, choosing your words carefully. “It can be overwhelming sometimes,” you admit. “I try not to let it get to me, but there are days when it’s harder than others. Some people are really supportive, but others…” You pause, debating how honest you want to be. “Let’s just say not everyone is kind.”

There’s a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “Does that ever affect your relationship?”

You shake your head. “No. At the end of the day, I know Lando, and he knows me. That’s all that really matters. It’s easy to get caught up in the noise, but when we’re together, none of that exists.”

The interviewer leans forward slightly. “So, let’s talk about race day. You’ve been in the paddock for some of Lando’s biggest moments, including his first podium and some really close battles. What’s that like for you?”

You let out a small laugh, already feeling your heart rate pick up at the thought of those high-stakes races. “Stressful,” you say with a grin. “Really stressful. I trust him completely, but watching him go wheel-to-wheel at 300 km/h? Yeah, that’s terrifying.”

“I imagine it’s quite an emotional rollercoaster.”

“Oh, absolutely.” You nod. “There are days when he’s on top of the world, and there are days when it’s devastating. And you feel all of it with him.”

The interviewer watches you carefully. “And how do you support him through those tough days?”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric of his hoodie. “I just remind him that one race doesn’t define him. He’s so hard on himself sometimes, and it’s easy for him to forget how incredible he is. So, I try to be the voice that tells him it’s okay to have bad days.”

She smiles. “That’s beautiful.” There’s a brief pause as she flips to the next question. “Now, fans have picked up on how he looks at you, how protective he is. There was even that one moment on Twitch where chat thought it was adorable how he made sure you were okay. Do you ever notice those things?”

Your cheeks warm slightly. “I mean, yeah, I notice,” you say with a soft laugh. “But that’s just him. He’s always been like that, even before we were together. It’s just who he is.”

The interviewer grins. “Well, fans love it. And speaking of fans, you’ve gained quite a few of your own. Do you ever think about that?”

You blink in surprise. “Not really.”

“Well, you should. People adore you.”

That makes you smile. “That’s nice to hear.”

She sets her notes aside. “Alright, last question—where do you see this going? The future?”

Your gaze flickers toward the door, where you know Lando is probably waiting just outside. Then, you smile, your answer coming easily.

“Wherever he goes, I’ll be right there with him.”

The cameraman signals that the recording is over. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The interviewer offers you a warm smile before thanking you for your time, and as soon as you step out of the interview room, Lando is there, leaning casually against the wall.

“How’d it go?” he asks, pushing off and slipping an arm around your waist.

“Not too bad.” You glance up at him. “They asked a lot about you, obviously.”

He smirks. “Well, of course. I am pretty great.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can retort, he tugs you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thanks for doing it,” he murmurs. “I know it’s not your thing.”

You lean into him. “It’s worth it for you.”

And as the cameras pack up behind you, fading into the background, you realize that no matter how many interviews come your way, no matter how bright the spotlight gets, this—being here with him—is what matters most.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Toto’s Guard Dog – Part 5

Part 1 Parte 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word count: 636

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

Summary: Y/n finally kisses Toto, but when Christian Horner catches them and starts running his mouth, she unleashes hell.

________________________________________________________

Y/n had Toto Wolff right where she wanted him.

For weeks, he’d been smirking, teasing, playing his little power games. But now? Now she was in control.

And Toto hated it.

Well, hated might be the wrong word.

Because every time she leaned in just a little too close—every time she touched his tie, ran her fingers down his arm, or murmured something suggestive just for him—his restraint cracked just a little more.

She was winning.

Until, of course, he decided to ruin her life.

It happened in the Mercedes motorhome.

The paddock had been hot, sticky, exhausting. Y/n had been up since sunrise, running around, dealing with logistics, making fun of Horner three times before breakfast—the usual.

By the time she made it back to the hospitality lounge, she was done.

Toto, of course, looked perfectly fine. No sweat, no exhaustion—just standing there in his crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, arms crossed, watching her like he knew things.

She scowled. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His smirk deepened. “Like what?”

“Like you’re thinking.”

Toto chuckled, stepping closer—too close, really. “I was just wondering…” He tilted his head. “How far are you willing to push this, schatzi?”

Her breath caught. “Push what?”

Toto leaned in, so close she could feel his breath. “This game of yours.”

For the first time in her life, Y/n was speechless.

And Toto?

Toto knew it.

He chuckled, so smug, and started to pull away.

Absolutely not.

Before he could move, Y/n grabbed his collar and kissed him.

Hard.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow. It was a collision—weeks of tension snapping like a rubber band, lips crashing, hands tangling in fabric and hair.

Toto made a sound deep in his throat—half surprise, half something much darker—and then his arms were around her, one hand gripping her waist, the other cupping her face as he devoured her.

God, he kissed like he did everything else—completely, overwhelmingly, like he owned her.

Y/n felt dizzy. Drunk. Gone.

And then—

“Ohhhhhh, well isn’t this adorable?”

Y/n and Toto ripped apart.

And there, standing in the doorway, looking way too smug—

Was Christian Horner.

Y/n was going to jail.

She could already see the headlines: Mercedes Strategist Murders Red Bull Team Principal in Broad Daylight.

Horner was grinning. “I knew there was something going on with you two.” He wagged a finger between them. “You know, Toto, for all your talk about professionalism, this seems very—”

“Get out.” Y/n’s voice was deadly.

Horner ignored her. “Honestly, this explains so much. The guard dog routine? The constant defending?” He smirked. “Tell me, Y/n, is it loyalty or are you just whipped?”

Toto tensed.

Y/n saw red.

“Oh, that’s rich,” she snapped. “You want to talk about being whipped? You’re the one whose wife has to publicly defend you every other week because you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

Horner’s smirk faltered.

Y/n wasn’t done.

“You have the audacity to call me Toto’s guard dog when you’re literally running around begging for scraps of validation from a team that doesn’t even like you? How embarrassing.” She took a step closer. “You think I’m obsessed with him? Sweetheart, you’re obsessed with beating him. And you never will.”

Horner opened his mouth—then shut it.

And for the first time ever, Christian Horner had nothing to say.

Y/n smiled sweetly. “Now. Get out.”

Horner turned on his heel and left.

The second the door shut, Toto let out a long whistle. “Mein Gott.”

Y/n turned to him, still fuming. “I hate him.”

Toto grinned. “I know.”

She crossed her arms. “I—”

Before she could finish, Toto grabbed her face and kissed her again.

Hard.

Possessive.

Like he owned her.

Like he was saying, Mine.

And Y/n?

She kissed him back.

[songbirdseung]

‘  𝑯𝑰𝑺  𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑬  /  𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑲  𝑺𝑼𝑵𝑮𝑯𝑶𝑶𝑵  ’

𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

Never in your life did you think you’d end up dating someone like Park Sunghoon. Someone who wasn’t just admired but practically worshipped by everyone who laid eyes on him.

He was the definition of perfection; good looks, undeniable talent, a gentleman in every sense of the word, patient, kind, thoughtful, and just all-around breathtaking. A man who seemed too good to be true. And somehow, out of all the people in the world, he had chosen you.

But not everyone was as thrilled about your relationship as he was.

Whispers followed you everywhere you went. Girls giggling and saying he was too good-looking for you, others wondering what he saw in you when he could have anyone he wanted. There were always comments under his posts, too. Fans claiming he deserved better, people saying they’d rather see him with someone who matched his "level."

You tried to ignore it. You really did. But tonight, it felt suffocating.

So there you were, curled up in bed, hugging the blankets close to your chest, tears silently streaming down your face as you tried to hold it all in. Sunghoon was supposed to be exhausted, his schedules had been packed, and he barely got a break. The last thing you wanted was to burden him with your silly insecurities.

But you underestimated him.

The second he walked into the room and saw your trembling figure beneath the covers, every ounce of fatigue left his body. Without hesitation, he strode over and climbed into bed beside you, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest.

“Baby?” His voice was soft, laced with concern, his hand gently rubbing soothing circles on your back. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

You shook your head, biting your lip to stop a sob from escaping, but Sunghoon wasn’t having it. He carefully peeled the blanket away from your face, revealing your tear-streaked cheeks and puffy eyes. His heart clenched at the sight.

“Talk to me, love,” he urged, his fingers brushing your hair back with such tenderness that it only made you want to cry harder. “Please?”

You took a shaky breath, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I don’t know if I’m good enough for you, Hoon. Everyone keeps saying you could do better.”

Sunghoon stiffened for a moment before sighing, resting his forehead against yours. “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

You nodded, eyes welling up again. “I mean… You’re you, Sunghoon. You’re literally perfect. And I’m just… me.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his gaze unwavering and filled with so much love that it almost hurt. “YN, I need you to listen to me carefully.” His hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs wiping away the stray tears. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Do you understand that?”

You hesitated. “But—”

“No buts.” His voice was firm, but not unkind. “I don’t care what other people say. I don’t care what they think they know about us. What matters is how I feel. And I love you.”

Your lips parted slightly at his words, your heart thumping wildly against your chest. You had heard him say it before, but tonight… Tonight, it felt like it carried so much more weight.

“I love you because you make my worst days better. I love you because you see me, not Park Sunghoon, the idol, but just Sunghoon. I love you because when I’m with you, I don’t have to be perfect, I can just be myself.”

Tears welled up again, but this time, they weren’t from sadness.

“And if anyone ever dares to say you’re not good enough for me, they clearly don’t know a damn thing about me.” His fingers traced along your jawline, his eyes darkening slightly. “Because I’d choose you in every lifetime, in every universe, over and over again.”

A small, shaky laugh escaped you. “You’re really dramatic, you know that?”

He smirked. “Only when it comes to you.” he pulled you impossibly closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before tucking you against his chest. His warmth, his presence, his love. It was everything you needed.

And as you drifted off to sleep, feeling safer than ever in his arms.

The golden hues of the setting sun cast a warm glow over the park, it was a perfect evening. Peaceful, quiet, and just the kind of day where being with Sunghoon felt like the best thing in the world.

You had momentarily stepped away to use the restroom, leaving Sunghoon waiting near a bench. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, his tall frame relaxed as he admired the view. But, of course, Sunghoon never went unnoticed.

A group of girls, likely fans or just admirers, hesitantly approached him. At first, they were polite, asking for quick greetings and making small talk about his recent schedules. Sunghoon, always the gentleman, responded with a soft smile, nodding along as they spoke.

But then the conversation shifted.

"You’re seriously too handsome, Sunghoon," one of them giggled, twirling a strand of her hair.

"Yeah, it’s kind of crazy how you’re... with her," another added, her tone laced with something less than admiration.

"She’s cute, I guess," a third chimed in, clearly trying to sound more generous, "but you could have anyone."

"Someone more... on your level, you know?"

Sunghoon stiffened for a split second. He had heard comments like this before; backhanded words disguised as harmless opinions. But no matter how many times people questioned his choice; his answer remained the same.

"I think you guys are misunderstanding something," he started, his gaze never wavering. "Y/N makes me happier than anything in the world."

The girls exchanged glances, clearly not expecting that response.

"I know people like to say things like this, but to me, there's no one better than her. She’s the one I choose, every single time," he continued, his tone light but unwavering.

Just as the girls were processing his words, a sudden warmth enveloped him from behind. Two arms wrapped around his waist, and the familiar scent of your perfume filled the air.

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch. He knew it was you.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he glanced down at the arms holding him tight.

"You heard all that, didn’t you?" he murmured, amusement dancing in his voice.

You only nodded against his back, tightening your grip around him as if to say thank you.

The girls awkwardly excused themselves, sensing they had overstayed their welcome, but you didn’t even spare them a glance.

He turned in your arms, his own wrapping around your waist with ease, pulling you close until your forehead rested against his chest. "You okay?" he asked softly, his fingers gently stroking your back.

You nodded, though your heart still ached a little from their words. But the way he had defended you, the way he always made sure you never doubted your place beside him, it made everything else fade into the background.

"I love you," you whispered, looking up at him. Sunghoon’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting nothing but pure affection. "I love you more," he murmured before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

Fairytales weren’t real. This? This was better.

This was you and Sunghoon.

The car ride home was quiet, but not the uncomfortable kind. It was the kind of silence that spoke volumes. One filled with unspoken reassurances, stolen glances, and the comforting presence of each other. Sunghoon kept one hand on the steering wheel while his other rested on your thigh, his thumb moving in slow, soothing circles against your skin.

By the time you both arrived home, you stepped inside, kicking off your shoes and setting your bag down, you exhaled softly, ready to move on from everything. But before you could take another step, a strong yet gentle pull stopped you in your tracks.

Sunghoon’s arms wrapped securely around your waist from behind, tugging you back against his chest in a way that made your breath hitch. His warmth immediately enveloped you, making you realize just how much you had needed this, needed him.

A small gasp left your lips when he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his soft, steady breathing sending delicate shivers down your spine. His grip tightened slightly, as if anchoring himself to you, as if this was where he found his peace after a long, exhausting day.

"You know," he murmured against your skin, his voice a low, soothing hum, "I meant every word I said back there."

You swallowed, your hands instinctively reaching down to hold onto his arms, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

"You don’t ever have to question what we have, Y/N," he continued, his lips barely brushing over your pulse point, the gentleness of his touch making your heart stutter in your chest. "You’re it for me. Always."

His words settled deep within you, easing every ounce of doubt that had crept into your mind. Just as you were about to respond, he pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your neck, his lips moving with deliberate slowness, as if imprinting his love onto your skin. Another kiss followed, softer this time, trailing downward to your shoulder.

Your fingers curled around his arms, gripping onto him as he continued his tender assault on your senses. "Sunghoon…" you breathed out, tilting your head slightly to give him more access without even realizing it.

He chuckled against your skin, the deep, rich sound vibrating through your body. "Hmm?"

"You’re not tired?" you asked, barely able to form the words as warmth spread through you, making you feel lightheaded in the best way.

He hummed in amusement, his lips ghosting over your jaw before responding, "I was. But not anymore."

He pressed another kiss just beneath your ear, the sensation sending goosebumps down your arms. His hands, still resting on your waist, tightened slightly as he whispered against your skin, "You're mine, Y/N. And I’ll remind you as many times as you need."

Turning in his hold, his arms instinctively loosened just enough to let you face him, but he didn’t let you go. His hands remained firm on your waist, fingertips pressing gently into the fabric of your shirt as if afraid you’d slip away. His dark eyes, warm with adoration, searched yours, drinking in every detail; your slightly parted lips, your breathless expression, the way your hands found their way to rest against his chest.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just stood there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the world outside your little bubble fading away.

Then, with the softest smile, Sunghoon lifted a hand to brush his fingers along your jawline, his thumb grazing your cheek before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You know, staring at me like that isn’t going to convince me to stop kissing you," he murmured, the corners of his lips tugging into a teasing smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but the way your heart fluttered betrayed any attempt to act unimpressed. "I wasn’t trying to make you stop."

His smirk deepened. "Oh? Then what were you trying to do?"

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head before gripping the collar of his shirt and pulling him down just enough to press a lingering kiss against his lips. It was slow, unhurried, just the two of you melting into each other, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment.

"Sunghoon," you whispered, tracing absentminded patterns along his chest.

"Hmm?" His voice was lower now, huskier.

"You’re staring."

A chuckle rumbled in his throat, his arms wrapping around you just a little tighter, pulling you flush against him. "Can you blame me?" His lips ghosted over yours, barely touching, teasing you just enough to make you lean in slightly.

You tilted your head, feigning thought. "Hmm, I guess not."

His hand slid down to the small of your back, his touch just firm enough to send a shiver down your spine. "Good," he murmured, dropping another kiss on your jawline before leaning in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Because I plan on staring at you all night."

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. "Oh yeah?" you teased, attempting to keep your voice steady, even as your body betrayed you.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his smirk unmistakable now. "Yeah," he whispered, his eyes dark with mischief. "And maybe… a little more than that."

You bit your lip, tilting your head as if considering his words, but the way he was looking at you made it impossible to play coy for long. "Well," you murmured, fingers tugging at his collar as you leaned in, brushing your lips against his. "We do have all night, don’t we?"

Sunghoon’s responding chuckle was low, almost smug, as he closed the gap between you once more, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that left no room for argument.

[persephonerinyes]

I'm glad she found a way to get Aemond to open up...and in such a delicious way, too, with his desperation and confessions...

“I must have you,” he whispered, his voice thick and raspy, “...please.”

“Since the day that we met I have wondered what it would be like to have you cry out my name, to make you writhe in ecstasy…I…I never knew how to ask you.”

She knew now – this was Aemond’s act of service to her; to pleasure her, and now she had discovered it she would do all she could to ensure he felt he never had to inhibit himself in front of her ever again. 

Yaaaaassss! Get those flowers...reassure him...anything to get that level of desire and devotion!

It was the only place in the green expanse of the Red Keep’s lush botanical space that the sun did not touch, so it surprised her that such beauty was able to thrive here, though she supposed that Alicent Hightower had managed to raise three achingly beautiful children in equally suboptimal conditions. Similar to the Targaryen children, were these flowers also fatally flawed beyond their pretty exterior?

What a beautifully written passage while reminding me that Aemond, Aegon and Helaena are damaged af. Maybe this was the first step to starting Aemond on a healthier path, at least. The man just needs some love!

Fetor and Fertile

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Word count: ~2.5k

Summary: Aemond is not a man of pleasure, everything must serve a purpose, exist for functionality. With the threat of war looming ever closer, his wife wants to inject some brightness into their space. Little does she know that the flowers she has cut from the far corner of the Keep's garden to decorate their rooms will coax out a side of her husband that she has yet to meet... Author's note: Written for The Big Fucking Stupid Sex Pollen Writing Challenge. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

The sweet smell of honeysuckle filled the air, carried upon a gentle breeze that ruffled the hairs at the nape of her neck. The sun shone down upon her, warming her skin as she walked slowly through the Keep’s gardens, the only sounds were the crunch of her slippers upon the gravel path and the gentle buzzing of nearby bumblebees. For a moment, she was simply enjoying a peaceful summer’s day where only she and the flora she walked among existed.

She looked up as the garden was plunged into shadowy darkness, seeing the fearsome bulk of Vhagar pass languidly overhead. The sheer monstrous size of the great war dragon caused a chill to run down her spine despite the warmth of the day. As the lumbering beast banked over the sparkling grey waters of Blackwater Bay, the sun was once more visible, however, the illusion of tranquility was shattered. Atop the dragon that had just passed overhead was her husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen. He was patrolling the city, providing preemptive defence against the anticipation of attack that would kick start a war, threatening all of their lives. She sighed, about to turn and go back inside, when a splash of colour in the far corner caught her eye.

Stepping closer, she saw a vine of trailing flowers upon the stone wall in the far corner of the gardens. It was the only place in the green expanse of the Red Keep’s lush botanical space that the sun did not touch, so it surprised her that such beauty was able to thrive here, though she supposed that Alicent Hightower had managed to raise three achingly beautiful children in equally suboptimal conditions. Similar to the Targaryen children, were these flowers also fatally flawed beyond their pretty exterior?

Her eyes raked over the thick, winding stem, a dark green that protruded from a crack in the top of the wall, before twisting its way downwards, just shy of touching the perfectly manicured lawn below. The flowers themselves, blossoming along the vine, were almost trumpet like in shape, with petals that tapered out into points. Their edges were a vibrant orange that bled into a deep crimson at their centre, housing thick stamens laden with bulbous balls of yellow pollen. The colour reminded her of fire, fitting for House Targaryen, and so she carefully plucked enough to make a modest bouquet. They would look nice in a vase upon the table at the centre of her and Aemond’s marital chambers, she decided. It was a space that was furnished to be functional and comfortable, but it was otherwise dreary and in need of brightening up. The flowers would do just that.

Functional, but in need of brightening up was also an adequate description for her marriage to Aemond. Theirs was a political alliance, a union of powerful houses to strengthen his brother’s claim to the throne, so she was under no illusions of their match being one of heartfelt declarations of love or unbridled displays of passion, but she had hoped that that would grow in time. In the three months since the Targaryen prince had draped her in his house colours and taken her under his protection, he had not been unkind to her, but she had yet to see beneath the hardened shell of stoic duty that he hid behind. When he lay with her he made it clear that it was for the intent of producing heirs, and he remained stoic, his movements utterly controlled as he rutted atop her. She wondered if he took any pleasure in it all, save for the moment his eye would screw shut as he spilled inside of her with a groan. Everything Aemond did was in service of others – an attack dog for his brother, a protector for his mother and sister. She had yet to decipher what roles they played in each other’s lives that ran deeper than armies and fealty, though she was desperate to find out. Despite his reputation for being a ruthlessly violent kinslayer, in person he was quiet, controlled, and devastatingly handsome in a way that made her ache. It frustrated her that she never saw any of the fire in him that his house was renowned for. 

Once the flowers were arranged in a dark green ceramic vase upon the table, she found the space was much more pleasing to look at, a welcome burst of colour among the stacks of old books, dragon skulls and tapestries depicting grisly acts of war from the age of the Conqueror. She felt as though there was finally a little something of her influence in the room, and not just her husband’s. 

He returned as she was knotting the tie of her royal blue satin robe around her waist, not long having stepped out of the bath. Clad in his riding leathers, with both his sword and dagger at his hip, he cut an imposing figure, and she feared she would never grow used to the way he seemed to draw all the air from the room whenever he stepped into it. She stood frozen, taking in the windswept state of the long, silver hair that hung loose around his shoulders – the top half, as always, was pulled away from his face and tied at the back of his head.

Her gaze followed his single eyed stare as it fell upon the flowers on the table, his eyebrow raising subtly in silent question.

“They are beautiful, are they not?” she asked hopefully, a smile spreading across her face as she stepped towards him, watching as he lifted the vase in his gloved hand, dipping his head to smell them.

“Mmm,” was all the response he gave, before setting them back down, and her heart sank at his disinterest. She had hoped that in attempting to put her own stamp upon their shared space that it would pique Aemond’s interest in her, and inspire him to get to know her on a deeper level. He remained apparently unmoved by her efforts, however. “Help me disrobe,” he commanded softly, once he had unfastened his belt, resting his sword against the wall and his dagger upon the table beside the vase of flowers.

He sat upon the chaise beside the table, a wordless and small act of kindness that meant she would not have to reach up on her tiptoes to unhook the clasps nearest his throat. She worked silently, pulling off his black leather gloves and boots, then ridding him of his green waxed leather riding coat and black leather jerkin. He remained silent, his body pliant to the tugging and pulling of the clothing coming away from his body, though his breaths seemed rapid and shaky; she attributed it to the exhilaration of his afternoon patrol, and the speed at which he had to travel on horseback to return to the Red Keep once he had dismounted Vhagar near the Kingswood. By the time she had finished, Aemond remained in only his white cotton breeches, rid of his eyepatch with the entirety of his hair now loose. She stepped back, allowing herself an appreciative glance at the hardened planes of his torso, before beginning to move away to order that the tub be filled with fresh hot water for him to bathe in. She had barely taken a single step when the prince’s hand shot out, grasping her wrist with such force it made her yelp in surprise. Her eyes flitted down to where his fingers tightly encircled her wrist, then up to his face. The ravenous hunger she saw reflected in his dilated gaze made her stomach erupt into nervous butterflies. The darkness she saw in his mismatched stare was a dangerous thing. He had never looked at her that way before – no one had.

“My Prince, what are you– oh!”

She gasped as he pulled her to him, pressing his face against her lower abdomen and inhaling deeply, smelling her in much the same way he had the flowers just moments earlier. His fingers splayed out against her lower back, fingertips pressing firmly into the meat of where the shape of her hips began to flare outwards. He moved his face lower, pressing against her insistently with the tip of his nose. It made her tremble with excitement, her core beginning to throb in anticipation of the trail his touch seemed destined to end at.

“I must have you,” he whispered, his voice thick and raspy, “...please.”

He did not wait for a response, as his nose brushed against the cleft between her thighs, making her mewl softly as her hips bucked instinctively towards his face. He had never been so assertive with her before, never made his desire known to her – what little of it she had experienced thus far seemed to be a dark and ravenous thing, and she was eager to coax it out in its entirety. She threaded her fingers into the silken strands of his hair close to his scalp, tugging gently and he groaned long and low, the sound a deep rumble from within his chest.

“Gods,” she breathed shakily, her head tipping back as she felt the flat of his tongue stroke languidly against her slit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body that caused her knees to weaken.

Aemond drew back before she could fall, grasping her by the waist and manhandling her to lay beneath him on the chaise. Her legs dangled precariously off of the edge, but he seemed not to care, grasping her knees and bringing them to rest either side of his waist as he loomed over her upon his knees, folding her in on herself.

She wondered if this was how prey animals felt when caged in by predators, moments before rending jaws closed in and put an end to it all. No – they did not wish for death, she decided as he tore open her robe, baring her body to his esurient gaze. His chest heaved with each of his ragged breaths and she could see the way his hardness strained against the confines of his undergarments, turning the fabric translucent with the arousal that leaked from the tip. Her core clenched at the site, her neediness and arousal growing rapidly as his large hands pawed against her breasts, the feel of his calloused palms against her soft flesh making her hiss through her teeth and writhe beneath him.

“Let me have you…please…” his voice trembled, strained and sounding almost on the verge of tears, almost as though he would sob if she denied him.

She had no intention of denying him his prize, however, not when he had so ardently showed her the depths of his desire. She bit her lip, simply nodding, and in a flurry of movement he freed himself, before surging forward and burying himself to the hilt inside of her. The sudden stretch made her cry out, the sting of her body having to so suddenly accommodate his girth was painful, but not unpleasant. He crashed his lips to hers, swallowing down her noises of discomfort, and her tongue licked against his as he parted his lips, winding her arms around his neck as he began to move, the sticky click of both their saliva and shared arousal the only sounds that accompanied the ominous scrape of the chaise’s legs against the stone floor each time Aemond drove his hips forward, sending cushions toppling to the floor.

When they finally parted for air, Aemond rested his forehead against hers, still driving into her with each brutal snap of his hips as his hands began to explore her body, grasping and squeezing at every dip and curve they fell upon, making her whine. He had never paid such close attention to her body before, she both relished the attention and wanted to hide away at the intensity of it. His hands came to rest upon the globes of her arse, gripping firmly and pulling her body to meet each of his forward thrusts. She cried out in pleasure as it drove him deeper, the head of his cock brushing repeatedly against a spot inside of her that made her toes curl and her thighs tremble.

“I have never wanted anyone the way that I want you,” he panted, sweat beginning to bead upon his brow as she anchored herself to him by digging her heels into the small of his back.

She knew now – this was Aemond’s act of service to her; to pleasure her, and now she had discovered it she would do all she could to ensure he felt he never had to inhibit himself in front of her ever again. 

Aemond pressed his pelvis flush against hers and stilled as he came with a feral snarl, throwing his head back with the force of it, as his lower abdomen twitched with each pulsation of his length inside of her. The sensation pushed her over the edge into rapturous, sweet oblivion, pulling a honeyed, languid sensation from her as her inner muscles spasmed around him, and she whimpered as she convulsed beneath him.

Utterly spent and boneless, she barely registered the weight of him as he collapsed atop her, breathing heavily. After a few moments, he slowly rolled off of her, slipping free of her as she felt his seed begin to trickle slowly down her inner thigh. He shifted towards the centre of the chaise, gathering her against the expanse of his chest.

His voice broke the gentle silence that had fallen between them as his slender fingers danced lazily up and down her spine. “Since the day that we met I have wondered what it would be like to have you cry out my name, to make you writhe in ecstasy…I…I never knew how to ask you.”

His confession curled itself around her heart, spreading warmth through her chest as her lips curved into a soft smile. “You never have to ask,” she reassured him, lifting her head to look at him.

“Then I will not,” he replied with a wolfish grin, making her squeal as he grabbed at her once more, manhandling her by her thighs and hips until she hovered over his face, her knees on either side of his head.

It was then that she looked down at his face, his seeing eye fixated upon her still glistening sex, and she noticed the smattering of yellow beneath his nostrils – the same hue as the pollen that filled the flowers she had plucked from their vine earlier that day, and realisation set in. As Aemond pulled her against his searching mouth, and his tongue began to lap at the mess he had made of her, she moaned softly, looking up towards the vase that housed the pretty red and orange flowers. She decided there and then that they would become a permanent fixture of their marital chambers from that moment onwards.

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More Aemond fics

[yrluvjane]

hi gorgeous i hope ur having a great day <3

i come bearing a request hehe

so james and fem reader are best friends and she loves him and doesn’t know what to do with it cause obviously she thinks he doesn’t like her back even tho anyone with eyes can see he’s lovestruck for her, and one day she’s talking with remus about how much she just wants james and how she cant risk telling him and stuff and JAMES overhears this conversation and is literally SPEECHLESS and cue the confessions and fluff

Thanks love!!

The fire in the Gryffindor common room had burned low, casting long shadows across the stone walls. You sat curled in the window seat, your knees drawn to your chest, watching the first snow of winter dust the Forbidden Forest in quiet white. Behind you, the portrait hole creaked open, but you didn’t turn—not until you heard the familiar, hesitant clearing of a throat.

"Mind if I join you?"

Remus’s voice was soft, careful. You nodded, scooting over to make room as he settled beside you, his long legs folding beneath him. For a moment, there was only the crackle of the dying fire and the distant howl of the wind outside.

Then—

"You’re in love with him."

It wasn’t a question.

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening around the edge of your robe. You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Remus sighed, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "How long?"

"Years," you whispered. The admission felt like pulling a splinter from deep under your skin—painful, but freeing. "Since third year, maybe. I don’t even know when it started. It just... was."

A log shifted in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks. Remus studied you, his amber eyes too knowing, too kind. "You’ve never told him."

You laughed, but it came out hollow. "What would be the point? James Potter doesn’t see me that way. He can’t."

"Because of Lily?"

"Because of everything," you said, voice breaking. "He’s James. He’s brilliant and brave and—and golden, Remus. And I’m just... me."

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it again, his brow furrowing. For the first time, he looked almost frustrated. "You really don’t see it, do you?"

"See what?"

"The way he looks at you."

You froze.

"The way he always saves you the seat beside him in the Great Hall," Remus continued quietly. "How he remembers your favorite flavor of every sweet at Honeydukes. How he hexed Mulciber last year for daring to smirk at you in the corridors." He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Merlin, the poems, darling. The rose petals. The way he—"

A choked noise from the staircase cut him off.

Your blood turned to ice.

There, halfway down the steps, stood James.

His face was pale beneath his tan, his glasses slightly askew, as if he’d stumbled to a halt mid-step. His knuckles were white where they gripped the banister, his chest rising and falling too fast.

He’d heard.

Oh Godric, he’d heard everything.

For one endless, suffocating second, no one moved.

Then—

Remus stood, his chair scraping against the stone floor. "I’ll just... give you two a moment."

You wanted to beg him to stay. To fix this. But before you could speak, he was gone, the portrait hole swinging shut behind him with a finality that made your stomach drop.

Silence.

James didn’t move.

Neither did you.

Then, all at once, he was there—kneeling in front of you, his hands hovering just above yours, trembling.

James breathed, and your name on his lips sounded like a prayer.

You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear to see the pity in his eyes. "James, I—"

His fingers brushed your chin, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

What you saw there stole the breath from your lungs.

There was no pity. No discomfort.

Just wonder.

"All this time," he whispered, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone, "I thought I was the only one hiding."

Your heart stuttered. "What?"

James let out a shaky laugh, his other hand coming up to cradle your face. "I’ve been in love with you since third year. Since you hexed Snape into next week for insulting Remus. Since you laughed at my stupid jokes like they were actually funny." His voice cracked. "Since forever."

The world tilted.

"You—" You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. "But the rose petals—the poems—I thought—"

"I was trying to tell you," he admitted, cheeks flushing. "But every time I got close, I—" He huffed, frustrated. "I panicked. Because what if I ruined everything? What if you didn’t—"

You kissed him.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t planned. But the second your lips met his, something inside you clicked into place, like the last piece of a puzzle finally finding its home.

James made a noise against your mouth—half-surprise, half-relief—before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you at all.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

"So," he murmured, grinning that stupid, beautiful grin, "does this mean I can finally take you on a proper date?"

You laughed, tangling your fingers in his hair. "Only if you promise to keep the rose petals."

James kissed you again, slow and sweet and perfect.

And outside the castle, the snow kept falling, covering the world in quiet, gentle white.

[illyrianshadow]

Lost in Shadows (pt. III)

Summary: After centuries apart, you see him again — Azriel, the boy who once kept you safe in the shadows of Windhaven.

But now he’s a stranger and you’re left wondering: does he remember? And is your connection, fated or forgotten, still strong enough to bring you together?

Warnings: none really, just two idiots sickeningly obsessed with each other, read at your own risk

A/N: Get ready for another lil' peak in to Azriel's mind. If you were thinking he couldn't become anymore tortured than he already is, think again. Always excited to hear your thoughts loves. x iz

Word count: 2K

Part 1 | Part 2

———

Azriel’s POV 

The Spymaster of the Night Court is freaking out. He’s having a full blown, existential crisis and he’s very glad his family are too wrapped up in themselves to notice. 

He looks at Rhys and Mor still bickering about god knows what. He’s glad for the distraction, it’s causing them to focus purely on each other instead of the Shadowsinger crumbling in front of them. He’s relieved they are no longer obsessing over his lack of focus. Busybodies. 

The last thing he wants is for his family to start asking him why he’s so lost in thought. How would he even begin to explain? 

He’s kept a huge secret from them for most of the time he’s known them, he’s not sure how they are going to react when they find out. If he was them, he would probably feel betrayed. At least for a little bit. 

What would he even say to them? 

When we were young I had a secret friendship with the daughter of one of the most brutal males Windhaven has ever known? She was everything to me, and days after I found out she was my mate she had to leave and I haven’t seen her in over 500 years? I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see her again? 

Not exactly light conversation. Besides, Rhys and Cassian had absolutely despised Baric when he was still alive. Finding out their brother is mated to his daughter and hid it from them for centuries is probably not something that will go down well. 

It’s rare for a mating bond to present itself so young, but when it happened it hadn’t scared him. You were his safety net, his home. It felt right. 

He’d been building up the courage to tell you, planning on surprising you on your birthday and if the moment felt right, he would’ve told you then. When he arrived at your hiding spot and found your note it broke him. 

He became frantic, all of his instincts telling him to chase after you. He needed to find you, help you, protect you. It was his duty. You were his mate and now you were gone. Before he even got the chance to tell you. 

That’s when he sent one of his shadows after you to track you down, to make sure you were okay. 

When it found you in a harbour in Velaris days later and returned with the message that he needed to let you go, he promised himself that he would do everything it took to be reunited with you again one day. He’d never stop fighting for you, never stop looking. 

He threw himself into his training until it became all consuming. His brothers noticed something was wrong, but they assumed he was just dealing with his traumas. Everyone did. They didn’t know the training kept him steady, focussed. He was training so he could be ready in case he ever needed to fight to get you back. It was an outlet for his feelings, a way for him to feel useful. 

Azriel sighs softly, one of his hands rubbing the spot on his chest just over his heart where the mating bond has been lying dormant for centuries. He’s become so used to it, some days he can almost forget it’s there. Almost. 

It’s stirring now though. Your presence has awoken something primal that’s been suppressed and pushed down for longer than it should have been. 

He’s itching to go over to you, to reach out. It’s taking all of his control not to run to your side and take you into his arms. To fly you away from here to have you solely to himself. 

He’s becoming more restless by the second and even your presence nearby is starting to lose the calming effect on his shadows. 

That’s a first. 

They’re starting to swirl around him, behaving a bit more frantically as they try and break free to make their way over to you. It’s taking all of his willpower to not give in and let them do what they so desperately want. 

Touch. They whisper in his ear. Mate. Hold mate. 

He can feel one of them starting to move, slithering over the floor towards the bar. It’s the same one that once followed you all the way to Velaris. It’s always been drawn to you. He lets it go and prays you won’t notice its presence before he’s ready. 

Once again Azriel’s thoughts are rudely interrupted by his brother. 

Rhys slaps his hand down on the table in force. “On that note, I have to leave.” 

Azriel looks at him, puzzled by his sudden announcement. 

Rhys just rolls his eyes slightly when he realises his brother has not been paying attention to any of their conversations. “Duty calls. Nyx has had a nightmare. I’ll see you tomorrow brother, I’ll stop by the training ring.” He presses a kiss to Mor’s cheek. “Goodnight cousin darling. And behave.” With a last wink at both of them he winnows home. 

Now it’s just him and Mor left. 

Once this would have been all he wanted. 

When he first met Mor he was taken aback by how much she reminded him of you. Her strength and resilience. Her ability to make light of tough situations. Her unwavering confidence. The beauty radiating from her that makes people stop in their tracks. 

Frantic to have any part of you he could, even if it wasn’t real, he became obsessed with being around her. It was the closest thing he had of you. He knew it wasn’t healthy but he just couldn’t help himself. He thinks it was some ancient, territorial part of him that made him do so. Always looking for his mate, never resting. 

Mor looks at him, concern shining through in her eyes. She places her hand on top of his and gives it a small squeeze. 

‘Are you okay Az, you seem distracted?” 

He just nods, not ready to voice any of this just yet. He needs to speak to you first, see you first. 

“Yeah I’m good.” he mumbles. “I think I just need to be alone for a bit.” 

She gives his hand one final squeeze and gets up. “I’ll go and see if Amren and Nesta feel like going to Rita’s with me. Will you be alright?” 

Azriel gives her a small smile in response. He loves how she never pushes him to talk when she can tell he doesn’t want to. He just waves her off. “Go have fun. Don’t spend too much of Rhys’ money.” 

She grins and winks at him when making her exit. “Can’t make any promises there.” 

And then it is just him. He downs the rest of his drink and wills his shadows to stay by his side while gathering the courage to approach you. After a few minutes he gets up. 

He turns around and his eyes immediately fall on your form in the corner of the bar. You look absolutely breathtaking. You had always been beautiful but it seems like you have grown into your beauty even more. 

He tucks in his wings and starts walking over to you, a fake confidence in his steps. He’s hoping it will make him feel more prepared, maybe he can fool himself into believing he’s ready. That he’s not absolutely terrified.  

Just when he’s about to clear his throat and speak your name, you jump up from the stool and lose your footing. 

He reaches out to you immediately, scarred hands touching your waist , sending a jolt of electricity to his very core. 

You look up at him and that’s when he feels it. The bond in his chest roaring to life, finally answered by the one thing it’s been seeking for over 500 years. It can no longer lie dormant, be one-sided or suppressed. 

 His shadows start whispering again. Home. 

———

Reader POV

Mate. The word echoes through your head over and over again.

You’re suddenly hyper aware of the male in front of you. Being this close to him, his overwhelming scent of night-chilled mist and cedar fills your senses.

Cedar, like the forest surrounding Windhaven. The same forest that provided you a safety blanket before Azriel did. The smell of home. 

You feel dizzy from the overwhelming realisation of how right this is. Everything makes so much sense, you feel blind for not seeing it before. You and the male in front of you fit together like a puzzle, both of you tailor made by the cauldron to only fit each other. 

You watch him, his shadows hanging still around his frame and you wonder if he has come to the same realisation. Surely he must be feeling this too? 

You put your hand on top of his scarred one still resting on your waist. Your head is spinning and you are struggling to focus with the alcohol roaring through your bloodstream. 

This is not how you imagined this would go. 

When you were a child you had often fantasised about meeting your mate one day. You’d heard stories, both good and bad, but had always dreamed you would find that unconditional bond with someone. Hell, you had always hoped it would be Az when you got old enough to wish for those things. 

All you feel is the need to be closer to him. You want to wrap yourself around him, hold on and never let go. But since you haven’t seen him in 500 years and are in the middle of a crowded bar, you’re guessing that’s probably not the proper response. You wish someone had written a guidebook on how to do this. 

Navigating the mating bond for dummies, or how to confront your mate after 500 years 101.

You’re starting to think your approach of getting drunk might not have been the best decision. 

You try to bring yourself back to the present by focusing on the situation at hand. You find Azriel’s eyes and give him a careful smile. He looks at you, gaze soft mixed with a hint of concern and something else you can’t quite place. Is that recognition, or are you imagining things? 

You straighten yourself, placing one hand on the bar to keep you from toppling over. 

By the cauldron this is embarrassing. You are really regretting the amount of drinks you’ve had. 

“Thanks Azzie.” The nickname falls from your lips before you can help yourself. Your eyes go wide at your words as you cover your mouth with your hand in shock. 

You blame the current alcohol content in your body for your stupidity. 

You haven’t seen him since you were 18, clueless and in love. And you’ve just called him by his childhood nickname in the middle of a crowded bar. Your cheeks turn a dark crimson. You wish the floor would swallow you whole. 

He looks at you in shock, but you can read the amusement on his face. He probably thinks you are some foolish, drunk female getting too familiar with the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. 

You’be only been back in Velaris a couple of days but you had heard the whisperings. 

Females obsessed with the Night Court’s most “eligible bachelor” now that the High Lord and Cassian were taken. 

Azriel pulls a bar stool closer to him and gestures for you to sit down while he flags down the fae behind the bar. He gets you both a glass of water and settles down next to you. 

You take a few small sips, aware of his gaze still locked onto your face in shock. 

He clears his throat and you brace yourself for what comes next. You feel a soft pull on the bond in your chest, a cautious contact. Your eyes widen. 

His voice sounds thick with emotion when he speaks. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.”

taglist (comment/send me a message if you'd like to be added and I'll add you in x): @yesiamthatwierd @k-homosapien @mortqlprojections @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @a-courtof-azriel @greenmandm

[lanaroff]

House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 8

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warnings: Angst, Kidnapping

The weight in your chest only grew heavier as you left Natasha’s room. No matter how much you tried to make things right, the darkness inside you never lessened. There was one more thing—one more person—you had to face.

Fury.

You stormed through the compound, your pulse pounding in your ears. Every step felt heavier, like you were walking straight into your own execution. Maybe that’s what this was. Maybe you were finally handing yourself over to the inevitable.

When you reached Fury’s office, Maria Hill was standing outside, arms crossed as if she had been expecting you.

“Think twice about what you’re about to do,” Maria warned, voice calm but firm.

You let out a hollow laugh. “I haven’t thought twice about anything in years.”

Maria sighed, looking at you like she could see straight through the cracks, through the barely held-together pieces of who you once were. “Then at least ask yourself if this is really what you want.”

You held your gaze. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

You pushed past Maria, barely hearing the agent curse under her breath before stepping aside.

You slammed the door behind you.

Fury didn’t even flinch. He sat at his desk, flipping through some files as if you weren’t even there. As if you weren’t ready to set the whole damn room on fire.

“What now?” Fury asked, not even looking up.

You clenched your fists. “I’m done.”

That got his attention. He finally lifted his head, one brow raising. “Done?”

“Yes. Done.” Your voice shook with something between rage and exhaustion. “I made a mistake. I betrayed everyone I ever cared about. I lost my team, my friends, five years of my life. And somehow, despite all of that, you still found a way to use me.”

Fury’s expression didn’t change, but there was a shift in the air, a silent warning.

“You knew I had nothing left, and you took advantage of that,” You continued, stepping closer. “You turned me into your personal weapon, day after day, mission after mission, and I let you. Because I thought maybe—maybe—if I kept going, I could make up for what I did.” Your breath hitched. “But I can’t. And I won’t keep trying.”

You let out a shaky exhale. “So if you want to kill me, imprison me, or make me disappear, go ahead. Do whatever the hell you want. Because I have nothing left to lose.”

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper now. “I already lost her.”

Silence.

Fury watched you, unreadable as ever. But you didn’t wait for a response. You turned on your heel and stormed out before the weight of your own words could crush you.

Maria was still outside. She didn’t stop you as you passed, didn’t say anything at all. Just watched you go with something close to pity in her eyes.

You didn’t care.

You were finally free.

Or at least, that’s what you told herself.

After leaving Fury’s office the pain was still there. For a moment you let yourself wonder as you walked around the busy streets of New York, wondering if your life would have been easier if your family had been around. You wonder if you would have met Wanda. If you to would have fallen in love. Maybe you would have been the one she was going to marry, not him. You wonder and wonder, and ended up in the only place that despite everything never changed.

The cemetery felt colder than you remembered. Maybe it was just you. Maybe it was the weight in your chest, the exhaustion in your bones. Or maybe it was the way the world had dulled over the years, ever since you lost them.

You walked slowly, almost hesitantly, your fingers tightening into fists at your sides. The headstones looked the same—solid, unmoving, untouched by time. Unlike you. You had been shaped, broken, and rebuilt over and over again. And somehow, you were still there.

You crouched down, tracing your fingers over the names carved into the stone. The familiar sting behind your eyes started immediately, but you blinked it away. You had done enough crying. Or maybe not enough.

“Hey,” you murmured, your voice hoarse. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Silence. Of course, there was always silence. But it didn’t matter. You talked anyway.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you admitted, exhaling shakily. “I just… I feel like I’ve been running for so long. Running from this, from myself, from everything I don’t want to face.”

Your throat tightened, and you let out a breathless, humorless chuckle. “I thought revenge would make it better. I thought if I made them pay, if I did what I was supposed to do, then maybe—maybe I’d feel different. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so… lost.”

You shook your head, your fingers curling against the stone. “But it never worked. I kept going, mission after mission, death after death, and it didn’t bring you back. It didn’t fix anything. I just got better at pretending. At convincing myself that if I stayed in the dark long enough, I wouldn’t have to feel anything at all.”

Your hands trembled. You weren’t sure if it was from the cold or from the emotions clawing their way out of you.

“I met someone,” you said, your voice softer now. “Wanda. You’d love her. She’s everything I’m not—kind, warm, good.”

A bitter smile tugged at your lips. “I love her,” you admitted, the words feeling heavier than they should. You had been holding them in for so long, keeping them locked away like they were dangerous. “She makes me feel like I’m more than my past. Like I’m worth something. But I messed up. I hurt her. And I told myself it was better this way—that she was better off without me.”

You let out a shaky breath, running a hand down your face. “But standing here, talking to you, I realize how stupid that is. I’ve spent so much time punishing myself, pushing away the people who love me, because I thought I deserved to be alone. Because I thought if I let myself have something good, I’d just lose it. That’s what always happens, right?”

Your voice cracked, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. “But I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

You exhaled, gripping the cold stone like it was the only thing grounding you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For everything. For losing myself in revenge. For wasting so many years hating instead of living. I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

You hesitated before finally allowing herself to say what you had been too scared to admit. “I want to be happy,” you whispered. “I want to find a way to be happy, even if I don’t think I deserve it yet. Because I think… I think that’s what you would’ve wanted for me.”

The wind blew past you, rustling the trees, sending a chill down your spine. For a moment, you let yourself imagine that it was them. That they were here, listening, forgiving.

You stood up slowly, your body still heavy, but your heart just a little lighter. You looked at their names one last time, inhaling deeply before standing up.

You took a deep breath, running a hand over your face. You had said what you needed to say. The weight in your chest hadn’t disappeared, but it felt… lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, you could finally start letting go.

You turned away from the graves, ready to head back. The compound wasn’t home, but Wanda was there. And right now, you needed Wanda more than anything.

But as soon as you stepped onto the quiet road leading back, tires screeched against the pavement. Your body tensed immediately, instincts kicking in. A black van skidded to a stop right in front of you, blocking your path. Before you could react, the doors swung open.

It all happened too fast.

Hands grabbed you. You fought. You fought like hell. Your fists connected with someone’s face, a satisfying crack ringing through the air. But there were too many of them. You reached for your powers, for the chaos bubbling inside you.

A sharp, numbing sensation shot through your veins, making your vision blur. Something was suppressing your powers. Some kind of tech. You gritted your teeth, panic clawing at your throat as you struggled harder.

“Get the hell off me!” you snarled, twisting, kicking, desperate.

A hard strike to the side of your head sent you staggering. The world spun, you strength slipping away.

No. No, not like this—

You barely heard the sound of the van doors slamming shut before everything went dark.

—

Wanda sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the fabric of the sheets absentmindedly. It had become a habit, waiting for you to come back.

After everything that had happened, after all the things said and unsaid, she had assumed—hoped—that tonight, you would stay. That you would sleep next to each other like you had the night before, tangled in warmth and familiarity.

She needed you. She hated admitting it, but she needed you.

But as the hours passed, the realization settled like a stone in her stomach.

You were not coming back.

Wanda clenched her jaw, looking at the empty space beside her. She felt foolish. Of course, you would leave. That’s what you always did. Even when you were there, a part of you always felt so far away.

Maybe you were out there, throwing yourself into another mission, chasing death like it was the only thing you were meant for. Maybe you were drinking, trying to silence the voices in your head. Maybe you were running again, running from Wanda, from the truth, from everything you were to each other.

Wanda bit her lip hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. But it was useless. The ache in her chest grew and grew until it broke through, spilling over in quiet sobs. She curled into herself, gripping the sheets where you should have been.

“I hate you,” she whispered into the empty room. “I hate you for making me love you this much.”

But it wasn’t true.

She still loved you. She always would.

And that’s why it hurt so damn much.

Tag list: @seventeen-x @womenarehotsstuff @redhoodte @ayrtonwilbury @justyourwritter69 @casquinhaa @womenarehotsstuff @justarandomreaderxoxo @yelldontwhisper @raven-ss @chickenlittlsblog @username23345 @justyourwritter69 @ayrtonwilbury

[bartywinter]

faint · @into-the-jeggyverse · jegulus · wc: 809 · cw: smut

James was on a business trip abroad, which mainly meant two things.

First, that Regulus would notice his absence so much he would spend his afternoons texting him, looking forward to calling him after James returned to the hotel at night.

Second, that he had no choice but to have sex by himself. It wasn’t a problem for him —with James around, he would masturbate anyway. However, his hands couldn't compete with James', let alone his mouth and the sweet nothings that left his lips every time they fucked. 

So when Regulus picked up the phone and heard James' my love, he had to bite his lower lip hard to prevent himself from gasping loudly. He replied with a faint hi.

“How was your day, darling?” James' voice sounded lower than usual —probably due to fatigue— and Regulus swallowed sharply, the vibrator inside him clouding his mind with pleasure and want. “I missed you.”

“I-I missed you too.” He threw his head back to rest on the pillow, his dark strands sticking to the sweaty skin of his nape and forehead. “I called in on Evan and we caught up over a coffee.” His breath was fogging up the phone screen. “You?”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. For a moment Regulus thought the call had been hung up.

“What are you doing?” James asked, his voice deep.

Oh, yes. He knew that tone so well. It was the same one James used in the countless times he had fucked him mercilessly against the mattress, watching him in an almost predatory way that awakened every nerve in his system and made his body tremble in anticipation for the orgasm —or orgasms— that were to come. 

Regulus inhaled softly.

“Nothing.”

He heard the clang of a belt snapping open and what he assumed was James settling into bed or into the armchair in the room.

“Which one are you using?” Regulus gulped. “The one I gifted you last month?”

He sometimes hated that James knew him so well —he couldn't keep a secret from him even if he wanted to. There couldn't be any kind of mystery in their relationship. 

Or maybe he was just a whiner by nature and actually adored James paying attention to every single detail about him.

“Hm…” His free hand clasped the sheets beneath him tightly, the vibrator sending waves of pleasure all over his body. 

“You wish I were the one fucking you instead,” he stated, “don’t you?”

Regulus' response was a moan he muffled just in time by raising the back of his hand to his mouth. 

“Regulus,” his voice was unfairly steady for someone who was most likely jerking himself off. “Answer me.”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Yes, what?”

He slightly pulled his hand away from his mouth.

“I wish you were the one fucking me right now.”

He heard James groan into the phone. He bet he was holding it between his shoulder and his ear, tilted towards his lips, just like he did when he was taking a call and Regulus was shamelessly on his knees sucking him off.

“I’d love that too, baby,” his words were thick with arousal. “I'd make you feel so good. You'd look so beautiful, all wet and desperate for my cock.”

“Yeah,” he breathed and removed the toy from inside him, then pushed it back in again roughly. The harsh intrusion drew a loud moan from him. “Y-Yes, James–”

“I wonder how long it would take you to cum if I were the one filling you up.”

Oh, God. 

Regulus pressed the button that increased the vibration speed and writhed helplessly on the bedsheets, rocking his hips up against the vibrator, fucking himself endlessly as he listened to James’ ragged breathing and soft moans.

“Fuck, love, you sound so good. If only I could–,” he gasped, “if only I could see your face right now. You must look so fucked already.”

Regulus whined because he was so, so close he could almost sense the climax already there, and if it escaped him he felt like he might cry.

“P-Please, please, please-.” He couldn’t stop whimpering as his sight started turning white. “James-.”

“Come for me, Regulus.”

He let out a high moan as the orgasm took over his senses, pushing aside the little capacity for reasoning he could muster at the moment, twisting his feet and panting right into the phone’s speaker just for James to hear, who came shortly after with a deep groan.

“Love?” James called after a minute and Regulus replied with a lazy hm? “You can’t fall asleep, yeah? Go get cleaned up.”

Regulus huffed.

“I know,” he chuckled, “it's a shame I'm not there to carry you in my arms to the bathtub.”

A blush quickly spread across his cheeks.

“Shut up, Potter.”

[rickgrimesdoingrickthings]

Rick felt so happy and so relieved to know it was mutual. She really wanted to stay with him...- something like marriage almost- he wondered if marriage still made sense in this ruined world, but it was something he was still a bit romantic about.

When Wren's eyes met his, he knew he wouldn't be able to hide anything from her. She could read his emotions- and Rick was awful at hiding them from her. She started to speak, and the more she did, the more concern left his features, his eyes slowly getting watery- he looked away and slowly started curling closer to her again.

Safe.

She said she would keep him safe. And he believed it. He would do his best to keep her safe as well. Wren said she would love him no matter what...- it felt so deep. He truly believed her. Slowly his eyes got redder and he started to cry, silently. Yes, a lot of pain and trauma. His group, gone. His family- he had failed to protect- and he felt it was his fault. Shane, the prison, everything. Would she still love him if he were a coward? If he lost? According to her words, yes. Yes she would, and that made him feel a lot safer indeed. She wouldn't abandon him, even if he was all broken, he still would have her around.

"Y...yeah, we'll face whatever comes our way." His voice was shaky, of course he was scared, and hiding that was getting harder. He was nude in all senses before Wren- his emotions she could read so well, and his body, under the covers by her side. She would end up knowing everything about him- all of him eventually. It was just a matter of time.

When she mentioned 'those men- though, Rick couldn't help but start shaking a bit, like a scared cat, against his will, tears slowly running down his cheeks, and he was hoping she wouldn't see it or notice it. He still feared to be judged- it was something so common in his previous relationship- but then she kissed him, and he relaxed.

"Mnn...yeah...let's get ready." His eyes were totally passive, she was the strong one at the moment, the leader- and he would follow. Taking a break from leadership was something he really needed. Allow his body to relax and relieve all the tension, forget responsibilities a bit and stop feeling guilty.

"Y...yeah, let's enjoy this moment." He rubbed his eyes a bit, trying to swallow the tears. Rick wondered if she expected anything from him that morning. He had gotten too emotional so he couldn't tell with clarity- so he just decided to ask.

"What do you want me to do now? Do you want...to..." He blushed. To make love? "....or...should I..." his lips tensed a little bit- Should I please you for a while? That's what he meant. "...or...or will you..." he looked away- will you touch me to...relax me...?- it was something he had never asked her yet. He wondered what she was in the mood for. Anything she wanted, he would follow- it was a pleasure for him, bonding always made him happy, and if she didn't want anything that morning, he also would respect that. But honestly, he would love to relax a bit more before going out, even if he wasn't feeling much confident to top her, anxiety and fear would get in the way. He couldn't help but smile though- a legit smile- because she had smiled at him. Wren made him feel so happy, no matter how scarred he was.

@littlewrensx

Rick melted when he heard Wren saying that. She loved him...- and she said it twice. It made him squeeze her a bit more and purr, nuzzling against her, feeling warm, safe, loved- everything was perfect. "I love you too. So so much...I can't even describe it, Wren." Rick muttered, clinging a little, not wanting to get up.

He chuckled when she said it again, his cheeks getting warmer- hearing that never failed to make him happy- "I love you too." He smiled, repeating it, his happy smile so clear on his face, his features so happy- and he looked so healthier. The wounds had healed, he was starting to recover the weight he had lost and even the brown of his hair seemed more lively, and the blue of his eyes and the red of his lips- he was being well fed by Wren. She had so many excuses to give him just one portion of the meals every time, but she never refused him food. All times he still felt hungry after a meal, somehow, she seemed to figure it out and provide him more food.

The fact she hadn't rejected him as he was also shone inside his heart. He got cuddlier and cuddlier, and romantic and sweet...and not even once she had pushed him away or told him to man up- he could be the little spoon when he felt he needed, and he could fill her with kisses and act clingy when he had more love to give. Rick felt safe being himself around her- at least his true, sweet self. He still feared she could fear or dislike him if she saw him killing, if she saw him in his feral worst. He had avoided all sorts of conflict so far, either following Wren around or working by building things or looking after the crops and animals. He was happy to have his farmer life back, but insecurity still resided in his heart. Last time he allowed himself to relax...the Governor took everything from them. Even though he was now dead, Rick knew there still was a dangerous gang around, not too far from their community. The horror he experienced while in their hands...he couldn't, just couldn't let them assault their town or attack people who went outside. He was afraid, he knew he would have to embrace violence again, and that it was just a matter of time. He wondered if Wren had understood all they had done to him since she had been the one cleaning and healing him since she found him half dead. He feared she could think he was weak if those men showed up and told everyone about how Rick had been a toy in their hands- until he violently killed two of the gang and escaped. He really wondered how much Wren had assumed or how deeply she had examined him days before. And he wondered if those men were still around. It was an unfinished business and Rick really hoped they just had decided to vanish from that region to never come back, otherwise, otherwise he wouldn't rest until he killed the remaining ones with his own hands- if they showed up, if there was any sign of them.

"Yeah, I'm ready for the run. It should be easy, but let's stay alert regardless." He kissed her cheek and waited on the bed, letting her decide when to get up. He had so many thoughts in his mind now he didn't even tease Wren- he would leave it up to her, if she wanted the morning to start normally or if she wanted to make it sweeter- "You know...I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, Wren."

@littlewrensx

[zoloft3]

godly summer

☆彡eijiro kirishima x reader

tags -- > summer camp AU, found family, confessions, alcohol and weed mentions, ex! bakugou and best friend! bakugou, its a little poetic don't be mad guys

a/n : this whole fic was inspired by @rueclfer and their evergreen smau series. I read like one sentence of one of the chapters and had war flash back levels of inspiration and somehow... this was born. hope u guys enjoy :p

-------༚☆༚-------

The water was cool against the skin of your ankles. You listened to the sound of the dock beneath you, wondering how something so completely dead, could make so much noise. Funny how certain sounds are always there, and you only notice when you’re alone with them. 

That was how you felt about Eijiro too. 

You’d spent almost every summer of your life together. But it wasn’t until this one that you noticed him, when you were the only two who came back. Out of that original group of ten, just you and him were left. 

His face was lit by the glow of the fireflies, soft and tinged slightly green. His shoulders back as he rested against the wooden planks. You had never known his silhouette, his neck and face, like you do now. Never yearned everyday and begged to your gods, the gods that ruled this summer, for someone like you did for him. Unending, searing heat, that ruled every year and softened the blade of time. Like the stove determines every dinner, the click of the burner signaling the start, summer wouldn’t be the same without him. 

He was always there, right next to you. Playing with the tadpoles you’d catch in your bright blue bucket, chasing after you on your bike as everyone raced to the dining hall for dinner. You’d push him in the pool and he’d beat you in every game of volleyball. Always pushing and pulling, a tidal reminder of your friendship, he’d never been anywhere but next to you. 

The moment you realized that, it was like fate whispering in your ear. Like an invisible hand had turned your head ever so slightly, right in his direction. You wondered how you’d never thought to look that way before. 

༚

He had been chasing the kids around all day. Unfortunately, one of you campers had caught a cold and you'd been cooped up inside, leaving Eijiro to take over many of your duties. When the day had finally come to a close, dusk sweeping over the valley, he'd returned to your shared cabin. Collapsing beside you on your bunk, he let out the biggest sigh before turning to you whispering, “Don’t ever let me go out there alone without you again.”

You glanced over at him from your book, and immediately your heart stopped. Pupils dilating, you watched his chest move with each breath and realized how beautiful he’s always been. Big eyes looking up at you like there was no one he’d rather be staring back at. 

“I wouldn’t dare.”

༚

The dock sighed under his shifting weight and the memory was gone, slipping down to the bottom of the lake. 

He was leaning forward, your shoulders now touching. You watched him as he looked out to the tree line decorating the mountain you grew up under. 

“Do you think you’ll ever stop coming back?” He asked and finally turned to look at you. 

“I don’t think it would be the same if I did.” You answered, “My life would be completely different. Everything revolves around these three months, if I stopped coming I… I don’t know.” 

You looked away, the black lake water consuming you. What would you do? Live in a city for the rest of your life, dreaming about this place like someone yearns for their first love? Pathetic and boring, working some dumb office job you’d never be happy in? If there was no summer, there wasn’t anything else. 

“It’d be like loosing a piece of yourself, right?”

You turned back to him, surprised that he knew the answer. 

“Yeah,” You nodded, watching his hair in the wave breeze, “That’s exactly it.”

You were silent for a few minutes, gathering your thoughts and listening to the swaying of the reeds, “How come it’s only been you and me together… now? Why were we so far apart for so long?”

You noticed his chest deflate, eyes widening “You’re not seriously asking me that.” 

“What? Why wouldn’t I?” The thought of him being upset with you, was almost heartbreaking.

“You know,” He looked so tired, like this was a topic he’d spent his whole life studying, but you’d never even heard of it before.

“I don’t,” You pleaded, “Please, tell me.”

“Katsuki. It was always Katsuki to you. I was just… never enough. Whatever we were was never enough compared to you and him.”

Your heart crumpled. Mostly because he was right. 

Ever since that first summer, when you were all 6 years old. Too young for the sleep away camp, but all your parents had decided to stay in the rentable cabins for a few weeks. You and Katsuki had been the first to meet. From first glance, and then first tree fort, you were inseparable. Everyone else came after that, and you made the best friends you’d ever have in your lifetime. But no one could compete with you and Katsuki. 

You all had come together to form one of the strongest friend groups, pulling the parents in too. It became a tradition. Every year, the same place. A big family that everyone made together. The gods had been stitching the quilt for centuries, and you all had no choice but to be stitched alongside one another. 

The year you all turned twelve, everyone was old enough for the sleep away camp. That’s when it became inevitable. Some of the parents still came, nervous about their babies being all alone, but by fourteen it was the ten of you against the world. Ochako had stopped coming by fifteen. She needed a summer job that paid more, and nobody could be upset about that. At 16 most of you became counselors.

The summers kept getting longer and the friendships too. Campfires and drinking until sunrise. Smoking under redwoods and sex on the forest floor where no one was watching. Phones tossed in the lake and break-ups so tragic they threatened to tear everything apart. Until the next game night, or scavenger hunt, or drunk birthday party had everyone stuck together again. Nobody could stay away for long. You’d be texting all year, sending memes and creating snapchat streaks larger than your bank account balance at times. 

It was only a matter of time though. Before everything began to fall apart. 

The summer before senior year was the best and the last good one. Everyone was there. Ochako, who had negotiated a raise with the camp director. Hanta, who's mother had threatened to never let him come back after last year’s laced weed incident.

It was the summer you kissed Eijiro for the first time. A game of truth or dare had put the two of you out on the lake, naked and in a row boat (don’t ask). He was gorgeous and staring at your naked body like he wanted to swallow it whole, so you thought 'why not kiss him?'  

Unfortunately, it didn’t lead very far, his knee between your legs shifted the weight of the boat a bit too far. You both had to swim back naked and in the pitch black with only the stars to guide you. The whole situation was too dark and wet to search for your clothes, so you both scrambled back to your respective cabins as quickly as possible, forgetting the whole thing. But not really. 

You never forgot how his lips felt, or his hands pulled on your waist and then your hips. How easily he pried you open, and scraped you clean. 

You did forget about Katsuki, though. 

༚

The two of you had been best friends since day one. He was your first kiss, first boyfriend, first time, first love, first breakup, and first life long friend. 

But after senior year, only half of you returned. Most too busy prepping and moving away to college. Mina was moving to Paris, Denki and Hanta off to california for school, and so on. It left the next summer with just you, Izuku, Katsuki and Eijiro. It wasn't inheirantly terrible, the four of you getting along fine for the most part. But that didn't take away from the feeling that your whole world was falling apart. it was as if summer was crumbling under your feet and attempting to drag you down into the lake. The weight of it's loss forcing you to sink into its depths forever. 

Now, it was just the two of you, alone. Izuku had finally landed a job, and Katsuki was off traveling with his new boyfriend. It was all terribly perfect for everyone else. You could barely open your phone, without being bombarded with pictures and messages about how wonderfully everyone's lives were going. How easily they managed to move on without you, without summer.

You’d dated the loud blonde when you were 14, but it only lasted two years. The two of you had eventually realized that you were not good as partners and decided to just be friends again. Somehow, the romance had replaced your best friend, and you needed him more than you needed a boyfriend. 

It was very amicable, but not without tears. You were terrified that the break up meant losing him. Which was part of the reason you held on for so long. But luckily it did the opposite, You were closer than ever. He’d burn the world for you, and you’d always call him first before anyone else for anything. Summer had that effect. A soothing and thick honey that healed over burns and cuts like no other medicine. Something about this place, its humid air and smokey breeze made it impossible to remember your grievances and hold onto grudges. Under the gaze of the mountain and beneath the faceless moon, you were home. Nothing could destroy that, as long as you were here. 

༚

Coming back to the conversation you sighed, “Right, Katsuki.”

Looking at it from an outsiders perspective. You were a bit untouchable. Katsuki was very overprotective and you guys did everything together. If someone was trying to get your attention, without Katsuki noticing, it would be near impossible. 

“Yeah,” Eijiro smiled in exasperation, “You know he punched me in the face for that night on the boat right?”

You gasped, “Really? That’s what that black eye was from?” 

You completely forgot but now distinctly remember Eijiro gaining a black eye soon after the boat kiss. 

“Yeah,” He sighed, “But you see now, don’t you? He was always first, and it was hard to be second.” 

You remembered his and Mina’s cute but very short relationship that transpired a few weeks after that kiss. It ended quickly in the fall, but you remembered how strange it was that he was with her. They got along well, sure, but you couldn’t help but wonder why her, and not you? 

Now you know. 

“I’m sorry,” You put your hand over his, “If I’d known, It could’ve been different.” 

“Oh no,” He smiled, reaching up to smooth a thumb across your cheek, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

You were whispered to once again, the gods pushed your head forward, connecting your lips. 

༚

The next day, you picked up the old payphone outside the office and called Katuski. It rang only once before he picked up.

"Hello, you," You called into the receiver, smiling fondly.

"Hello," You could hear the smile in his voice, "I was just thinking about calling you."

"Oh really? Why's that?" You and Katsuki could go weeks without speaking. Often times only calling or texting when something important was happening. But as soon as you reached out, all the pieces fell back into place, and it was like no time had passed at all.

"You'll never guess who just got proposed to. In front of the Eiffel Tower no less, I almost said no," He answered and you could practically see the smirk on his face

"Katsuki!" You shouted for joy, "I'm so happy for you. Really, you've no idea."

"Yeah, the whole thing is ridiculous, but unfortunately I love him," He sighed dramatically, "Now, what did want to talk about?"

"Well I have some news too," You bit your lip, attempting to contain your exictment and preparing for the onslaught of questions, "Eijiro and I are dating."

"What?!"

There was a loud bump, followed by a thud on the other line, "Sorry, ahem, when the fuck did that happen?"

"well it's been going on for a while, but officially, its only been since last night. We kissed on the dock over the lake and talked for hours. It was so romantic I'm sure you would've had a heart attack."

"I think I'm having one right now."

You laughed, truly happy. In that singular moment as you leaned against the old yellow plexiglass of payphone box, listening to Katuski rant about the responsibilities of a real relationship and safe sex, summer was back. Patting you softly on the shoulder, you closed your eyes, letting it's heat fully embrace you.

Then the dinner bell rung, and the moment passed, carried away on by the evening breeze.

"Listen, 'Tsuki, i've got to go, but I love you, congratulations, text me later okay?"

"Love you too, idiot. Go give Ei a slap on a back for me. Don't tell him it was me though."

You smiled, imagining him slapping Eijiro so hard he started coughing, "Wouldn't dream of it."

༚

You returned to your cabin that night, happier than you'd been in years. The weight on your chest was light and unthreatening. There was something different in the air now. A change of perspective, perhaps.

You knew now that summer would always be there. No matter who joined you, it was something you built over years of loving and laughing. You still knew this place, its trees and streams and fireflies. The memories would never leave, the friendships wouldn't cease to exist. Even if it's not the same, even if it's over, it still happened. Summer would always follow, as long as you made sure to look back from time to time.

The second you walked in the door he came to meet you. The love on his face was enough to ease any remaining worries. Everything else fell away as he held your face in his hands.

You wrapped your arms around him as he kissed you. Summer never tasted so sweet as it did on his lips.

When you were with him, it seemed to never end. 

-------༚☆༚-------

a/n : leaving notes and rebloging helps me to keep writing, so please don't be shy if you liked what you read :)

thanks again to @saemeret for being my beta, couldn't have gotten the courage to do this without you <3

[sshnzsr]

cybersex

wc: 1.1k | masturbation, dirty talk

Dating an idol was tough. You knew that before you even met Jake. Privacy? Forget about it. Time together? Only on holidays if you were lucky. Sex? Barely ever happened.

Jake had left for tour a couple days ago, and you were already missing him like crazy. Usually, he’d make sure your last night together was hot and heavy before he took off, something to hold you over. But this time, he was wiped out from rehearsals and all the prep. His eyes were droopy, and he could barely keep them open as he mumbled sorry into your neck. You didn’t push him—you were cool with it. Sex wasn’t a big deal for you anyway. Before Jake, a couple times a month was plenty. But then he came along and flipped everything upside down. Jake was wild about it—dirty, bold, and totally clueless about holding back. Around you, he couldn’t keep it in his pants. If it wasn’t his dick, it was his fingers, his tongue, or even grinding against you with his abs. At first, it was just fun, nothing crazy. But when he wasn’t on tour, no promos or brand stuff, just chilling at home with you, it got intense. It turned into an everyday thing. Morning sex, quickies in the kitchen, late nights that left you both sweaty and out of breath—it was nonstop.

So when he left for this tour after months of being glued to you, it hit hard. You felt it, but Jake? He was a wreck about it. You still had the toys he’d gotten you, though. He’d gone all out one day, smirking as he handed you a dildo that looked exactly like him—thick, veiny, and long. It wasn’t the real deal, no warmth or heartbeat, but it did the trick when you needed it.

Tonight, you couldn’t get him out of your head. You’d been glued to your laptop, watching his latest concert fancams. His hair was messy with sweat, his eyes sharp, and the way he moved on stage had your stomach flipping. You were sprawled out on your bed, hand already down your shorts, touching yourself while thinking about him. You could still feel how he’d grab you, how his breath would heat up your skin. You grabbed the dildo from under your bed, desperate for something closer to him. You tried hard, sliding it in and out, your legs shaking as you got wetter, soaking the sheets under you. But no matter what, you couldn’t finish. It was driving you nuts—your body was begging for it, but nothing worked.

You gave up and snatched your phone, his goofy grin lighting up the screen. You hesitated, then texted, “Jake, you free right now?”

He answered fast. “Yeah, you need something, baby?”

Your face got hot as you typed, “I can’t cum. I know it’s dumb, but I’ve tried everything, and it’s not enough.”

He didn’t text back. Instead, your phone buzzed with a FaceTime call. You answered, still worked up, your middle and ring fingers buried inside yourself. “Jake,” you whined, almost embarrassed he caught you like this.

“Show me what you’re doing,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. You could tell he was hiding it from the guys in the other rooms. “I’ll help you out.”

Your heart raced as you moved the phone down, showing him between your legs. Your fingers were still in, wet and messy, and you felt shy but too needy to stop.

He sucked in a breath. “No wonder you can’t cum. You’re doing it all wrong, baby.” He sounded annoyed but playful, then started telling you what to do. “Slow it down—yeah, like that. Now curl your fingers a bit, you know where I always hit you.” You listened, catching your breath as it started feeling better. “Rub your clit with your thumb, soft little circles, how I do it. Don’t go fast.”

You closed your eyes, following along, his voice pulling you closer to the edge. Then he said, “Wait a sec,” and the screen moved. When it settled, there he was—pants shoved down, his dick out, hard and ready. He started stroking himself, eyes glued to you. “Jake,” you gasped, almost losing it just watching him.

“Keep going,” he said, rougher now. “Match me. Pretend it’s me inside you.” He sped up, and you did too with the dildo, the sounds mixing with your shaky breaths. His face scrunched up, and he groaned loud as he finished, cum spilling over his hand and hitting the screen in a sloppy mess. That pushed you over—you came hard, yelling his name, your whole body shaking as it hit you like a wave. Tears stung your eyes from how strong it was.

He wasn’t done. “You look so hot when you lose it like that,” he whispered, leaning in closer to the camera, his voice dropping low and dirty. “Go again, baby. Touch yourself real slow for me. I wanna see that pretty little pussy dripping all over your fingers. You’re such a good girl, huh? Spreading yourself wide just for me, letting me watch you shake and cry. Bet you’d love it if I was there, pinning you down, fucking you so hard you can’t even think straight. I’d stretch you out, make that tight hole mine all over again—fill you up till you’re leaking with me. You’d scream my name, wouldn’t you? Beg me to keep going, to pound you into the bed till you’re a sweaty, whimpering mess. And I wouldn’t stop—oh no, baby, I’d flip you over, smack that sweet ass red, then slide back in so deep you’d feel me for days. You’d be so full of me, so wet and slutty, just how I like you. Come on, rub that clit harder—imagine my tongue licking you clean, sucking every drop till you’re squirming, begging me to stop ‘cause it’s too much. But I wouldn’t, I’d keep eating you out till you’re crying, thighs shaking around my head, and I’d drink up every bit of you like the nasty fucker I am. Show me, baby—let me see you fall apart again, all filthy and perfect for me.”

His words hit you like a punch, lighting you up all over again. You couldn’t stop, fingers shaking as you followed his filthy orders, pushing yourself past the edge. You were sobbing now, overwhelmed, the sheets a soaked mess under you as your body trembled under his stare, his voice egging you on until you were wrecked, panting and spent.

“Miss you,” you said, all worn out, when it finally calmed down.

“Miss you more,” he said back, smiling soft and tired. “Few more weeks, baby. Then I’m all yours.”

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