#perhaps this was never meant for live action | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

avatarchic · 8 months ago

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TWENTY-SIX MONTHS

— starring. baby daddy!todoroki shoto x fem!reader

— tags. miscommunication trope, angst, pregnancy and giving birth, friends with benefits, vague relationships, running away, slight single parent!au

— warnings. ages are unmentioned, but shoto is in his late 20s/early 30s, smut, soft sex, cunnilingus, praise, p in v, use of petnames (baby, pretty girl), reader gets called a good girl once, shoto is highkey a munch

— word count. 8.2k

— requested? no

— notes. this one ruined me tbh LOL i have a nasty habit of slipping btw present and past tense so the tenses in this one might be all over the place :')))

Whatever you and Todoroki Shoto had together, you knew it wasn’t romantic.

You were his outlet. His source of relaxation when being a hero became too much to bear on his shoulders alone. You were fantastical. You were illusionary. With you, he was no longer Pro Hero Shoto, Number Three Hero. With you, he was just Shoto. And for your moments away from the world hidden beneath wrinkled sheets and closed curtains, that was enough for him. When morning came, and those curtains had to be drawn, he would become Pro Hero Shoto again, and you would wake up to an empty bed.

For you, he was everything.

For you, he was your hero before he became a Pro. He saved you from succumbing to the stress of standing out to survive as a support class student. He saved you from your insecurities and false ambitions, and he saved you from living a life you didn’t truly want. Todoroki Shoto was your best friend before he became the man shrouded in shadow — the man you hid away in secrecy to bed whenever he wanted.

He told you he would be gone for a while. A mission in upper Kyoto that took him away from your arms while you stayed safe in Tokyo. He assured you that he would be fine and return to you as soon as possible. If you were a fool, you might’ve taken those to heart and swooned under the pretense of love. But you knew better.

Before Todoroki Shoto came Pro Hero Shoto. You would be a fool to think he would pick the first before the other. You would be a fool to think that you, a citizen with no name, could ever stand by his side. In your eyes, Shoto put his work before himself. Admirable, strong, ever-the-reliable Pro Hero Shoto. The nights he spent with you as just Shoto made you wonder who else got to see his true self.

The second month of his absence came, and you were sick. An illness had overtaken you, leaving you bedridden for days on end. At first, it had just been nausea. You put it off as motion sickness — you often had to take the train to and from anywhere. Perhaps your stomach had simply met its limit and was taking it out on you with lashes of sickness and vomiting.

After a week of being washed away in your bile, you realized that you had yet to bleed that month. Rather, you realized you hadn’t had your monthly bleeding for a while. You weren’t stupid. You knew what it all meant, and you knew the consequences of your actions had finally caught up to you. You hid away from the world, only leaving to purchase tests from the store.

The answers mocked you. PREGNANT. TWO MONTHS+.

You considered getting rid of it. To keep it your dirty little secret. Shoto would never have to know — no one would ever have to know. But as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, your hand resting atop your stomach, you felt at peace for once. As if you finally had a reason to keep going.

Five months had passed since he was gone, and you felt it now more than ever. You never explained to any of your friends or neighbours who was responsible for the swelling of your tummy, nor about the packages of furniture fit for a nursery that showed up on your doorstep. They never asked. No one knew your trysts with Shoto, and you planned to keep it that way.

For his sake.

You wished. You desperately wished that he could stay by your side, that he could support you through this time of anxiety and worry. You daydreamed of welcoming him home, your little bundle of joy wrapped in your arms as you kissed Shoto on the cheek — a reward for working hard as he always did. You thought about spending more than just nights of pleasure with the two-toned man, about wearing his ring and raising your beloved child together.

As a family.

Thirteen months had passed since you last saw Todoroki Shoto.

Thirteen long, gruelling, and lonely months were spent mourning his absence, even though he was still alive somewhere. It felt like the clouds that followed you for weeks parted only when your son was born. He looked like you. He had your nose and your eyes. He had the same rounded cheeks you still adorn, even well into adulthood. His voice was like bells on a clear sunny day, and when he lay in your arms, you declared that you would love him for all you were worth.

Even if the tuft of red and white on his head brought you immense heartache.

A selfish part of you wished that nothing of your son, whom you’ve named Yami, would resemble his father. That way, you could truly hide his origins — your past that you refused to uncover. But the bigger part of you was overjoyed. The moment you laid eyes on his hair, matted down with blood and amniotic fluid, you sobbed uncontrollably. The nurses and midwife recognized the two-toned hair immediately and watched you with pitiful eyes as you clutched Yami to your chest.

You moved away the second you were discharged from the hospital, baby carrier in tow. You wished your neighbours well and thanked them for being so kind to you in the years you lived among them. You were gone within that same week.

You lived peacefully in your new home, tucked away in the countryside of southern Japan. You opted to stay away from TVs and the internet, worried that seeing his face might make you regret the rash decision to pick up and leave. Yami was growing quickly, already large for a four-month-old. His hair grew out, more red than white.

You didn’t know if Shoto had made it back from his mission. If he did, you weren’t sure how long he had been back or whether he had sustained any injuries. You didn’t know if he went to your apartment to search for his fantasy. You didn’t know if he thought of you at all.

You didn’t know if he was alive.

The longer you spent away from the man, the more your heart yearned for him. Whenever Yami would quiet down for his nap, you stared out the window at the acres of empty farmland. In the vastness of space, you could only think of him. The man who had taken your heart from the tender age of fifteen. The man who possessed your life in his hands, though your essence seemed invisible to those blue and grey eyes.

The fool in you wondered if he ever had feelings for you — if he ever burned for you the way you did for him.

You felt like a dessert. Scorched inside and empty. Golden sands represented him—burning to the touch and yet all-encompassing. Even without him by your side, he was always there. He surrounded you, dragging you in, and you let him.

Yami’s babbling would always break you out of your reverie, the pangs of guilt and sorrow gnawing away at your still-beating heart. The routine remained the same, day after day. After he woke up from his nap with an incoherent cry for his mother, you would settle him onto your lap and cry. You sobbed into his soft tufts of hair, apologizing for taking him away from his father, for hiding him away from the world just because you were a coward.

Yami was your darkness. He was your uncovered secret.

Two years and two months had passed since you last saw Todoroki Shoto.

Yami was seventeen months old and starting to look more and more like his father. He took his first steps earlier than any parenting book had told you he would, and it wasn’t long after when he said his first word. It seemed the world was against you, and the universe was punishing you for keeping Yami away. You broke down for the first time in a while when that first word hit your ears.

“Da… Dada…”

You weren’t alone in your silent, unspoken wishes to be at Shoto’s side. Poor Yami, who had never met his father, spoke Shoto into existence with that one word.

“My baby,” you sobbed, hugging Yami tightly to you as he babbled, repeating those two syllables over and over. “My poor baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Mommy’s so sorry, my baby…” You rocked back and forth, crying endlessly. Yami’s hands grasped at your clothes, hair, and face. His little round features twisted into a grimacing cry as he watched tears pour from your tired eyes for a reason he didn’t yet understand.

The day he spoke his first word was when you showed him a picture of his father for the first time. Recognition flashed behind rounded eyes, recognition for a man he’d never met.

While you were grocery shopping — Yami balanced on your hip, a paper bag full of produce in the other arm — you heard Shoto’s name.

“Didn’t you hear? Pro Hero Shoto is here! In town!”

“Isn’t that weird? Why would such a hotshot be here, of all places? We aren’t even on most maps…”

“Who cares?! Do ya think I can get an autograph?”

You break out into a run without paying attention to the rest of the conversation. You hold Yami to your chest, supporting his head as you run with all your might. The paper bag of fruit and vegetables lay forgotten behind you, surely to be crushed by any passing vehicles. You run until you can’t run anymore, chest heaving in exhaustion. Using your object manipulation quirk, you open the front door to your house without taking your hands off Yami.

You whisper sweetings into his ear, telling him everything would be okay. Maybe you were telling yourself.

Not long after you returned home, the door rattled with a gentle knock. The very door you locked moments ago. You hold your breath, not wanting to see anyone. You didn’t want to see him.

Your name was spoken in that soft voice you missed so much. Before you could stop him, Yami started sobbing, his high-pitched cries alerting the person outside that you were there. You shush Yami desperately, rocking him back and forth in an attempt to calm him down. You kiss his forehead, silently begging him to stop crying.

Your name was called out again, this time panicked and louder. Yami’s cries increase in volume, and you feel your eyes water all the same.

The door hinges begin to frost over, and it’s knocked down in seconds. The loud noise scares your son, causing him to sob uncontrollably as he grasps painfully at your hair. You hide him behind you as you face the intruder head-on. Without blinking an eye, you use your quirk to lift the door off the ground, pushing it against the intruder, hoping to push him out completely.

The door is pushed away easily. After all, you are no match for Pro Hero Shoto.

He has gotten larger in the twenty-six months since you last saw him. His shoulders grew broader, his hero uniform barely hiding the dense but lean muscle that hid beneath it. His hair was longer, falling into his eyes as if he didn’t have time to take care of it. The man in front of you looks different from the man you knew, but it is undoubtedly him.

He breathes out your name, steam rolling off his left side and icicles glistening atop his skin on his right. He steps over the forgotten door, into your house, and into your safe haven, large and commanding of your attention. You try to make yourself bigger, to hide Yami from his eyes, and perhaps to hide your shame as you stare at the father of your child.

“I looked for you everywhere,” he gravels, his voice deep and crackling with emotion. “I came home, and you were gone. Do you have any idea how fucking scary that was?! No one knew where you were, and your apartment was empty. I didn’t know if you were safe, I didn’t know if you were alone…” Shoto steps closer to you, anger seeping into his expression. “For fuck’s sake, I didn’t know if you were alive!”

Your heart hammers in your chest as he grows closer, his fists clenching angrily by his side. His eyes search you desperately, searching for any sign of injury or abuse. They trace over your wrists and ankles, perhaps looking for signs that you were held here not on your own will, that you didn’t leave him just because you wanted to.

You pick your brain for the right words to say. You have thought about this day for years, and now that he’s in front of you, you don’t know what to think. Your mind is a mess of shame and joy, your heart struggling in a fight against itself. Analyzing him, your eyes rake over his body. There were a few more scars you don’t remember, some fine lines on his face that weren’t there before, but it was him.

As your brain wraps around the fact that Shoto was really there after over two years, Shoto collapses to his knees in front of you. He all but crawls over to you as he shoves his face into your thighs. Hot, stinging tears hit your skin as he cries into your lap, his hands reaching to hold you. Large, calloused fingers grasped at your thighs, pulling you closer to him.

“I was so scared,” he admits, his body shaking as he cries silently. “I thought… I thought a villain had taken you.”

Your hands hover behind you, keeping Yami hidden. His cries have thankfully subsided the second Shoto entered the room, but you weren’t sure for how long that would last. You can feel him grabbing at your shirt, trying to peek around you. Resisting the urge to wipe away Shoto’s tears, you grip onto your son tightly.

“How did you know I was here?” You lick your dry lips, wincing at how raspy your voice is. The first words spoken to this man in over two years are painted over with wariness and caution, very unlike the words of encouragement and longing you had given him your last night together. “No one knew I was here. Not even my family, so how did you…” You trail off, unsure if you want to know the answer to this question.

Shoto pulls away from your lap, looking up at you with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “I searched for you every day. I never stopped once I realized you were gone. I was in communication with every hero in this fucking country, hoping that one day one of them would spot you.” He hastily wipes his cheeks, his trembling hands remaining at your side.

“Why did you go?” he asks in a whisper. His voice, low and cracking, is broken as he speaks. “Why did you leave me? Did I do something? Was I…” Shoto swallows thickly as his insecurities taint his mind. “Was I not good to you? Did I make you leave?”

His endless questions send you for a loop. In front of you was not Pro Hero Shoto, but just Shoto. Your Shoto, the one you long for in your dreams. The one who paints your every happy memory and the one whose name you whisper into the dead of night.

And yet, as you feel Yami’s tiny hands grab your arm, you can’t answer any of his questions.

“Dada…!”

The both of you freeze, and the world stands still for a moment. Shoto’s trembling gaze slowly left yours, meeting the eyes of the toddler behind you. The first thing Shoto notices is his hair — bright red with streaks of white bleeding through. He feels his heart stop and start again, his hold on you finally slipping as his body goes somewhat limp. He falls back onto his heels, fully kneeling before you now.

Snapping out of it, you turn around and take Yami into your arms, facing away from Shoto as you shush the poor baby, calming him down quietly. Shoto can only watch as you handle him with a gentle care he isn’t privy to.

Without sparing another glance at Shoto, you start to walk away. He calls out your name hastily, and you can hear him clamber to his feet. Swallowing harshly, you look at him over your shoulder. Shoto looks out of place in your cozy living room, too large for the space. And yet, he appears small. His shoulders are hunched in as he reaches out to you with a face that begs you not to leave.

“He… needs to be put down for his nap,” you whisper, kissing Yami’s temple. “We… can talk after.”

Before you can regret your words, you head into his nursery, painted a soft yellow. You coo at your son, gently resting him in the large crib that took up most of the room’s space. You hum a lullaby to him as you stroke his hair, looking down at him with nothing but love.

Even long after he fell asleep, you don’t move. You stay there for a while, watching Yami so closely you don’t notice the presence at the door.

Shoto’s voice comes in a whisper. “He… He is mine, isn’t he?”

You can only nod, shame filling your soul as tears slip from your watery eyes. “His name is Yami,” you speak, your voice cracking.

Shoto flinches but waits patiently as he watches you come to a stand. He doesn’t rush you as you place Yami’s favourite stuffed animals by his side, leaning down and kissing his forehead before approaching Shoto.

“Let’s talk in my room,” you whisper, glancing at Yami before shutting the door behind you.

The two of you enter your room, the stifling air suffocating you as you shuffle over to your bed. Shaky hands reach for your pillows as you keep your back to the Todoroki, fluffing them to keep yourself busy. Your throat feels grating as you swallow down harshly. The room feels both hot and freezing, which you assume is his doing.

He doesn’t say anything either as he stares at the back of your head. Your hair looks different from the last time he saw you, and the clothes over your body aren’t articles he can remember you own. He thinks back to that night when quiet goodbyes were whispered between sweaty sheets. He wonders what went wrong.

His eyes wander, his frightful gaze tearing away from you only to look around your room. There are remnants of you everywhere. Family pictures hang from the walls, and old posters he vaguely remembers from your apartment are pasted against grey paint. It was you, but different. It wasn’t as colourful as your old room, and your trinkets are either out of sight or gone altogether.

When his eyes rest on you once more, a million questions run through his mind. Why did you leave him without a word? Images of your child, the very one who bore a striking resemblance to himself, flash in the forefront of his mind.

“How have you been?” you croak out after too many beats of silence. Hugging a pillow to your chest, you turn ever so slightly, only glancing at him from the corner of your eye as if it were painful to even look at him. Perhaps it is.

Shoto can only stare at you in disbelief, his brows curling upward as his heartache shines through. “How have I been?” he repeats breathily, his low voice raising half an octave. His mouth opens, but the words die on his tongue. Only after an excruciatingly long moment does he find the words again. “I’ve been miserable. You were gone.”

You wince at the strain in his voice, gripping the pillow even tighter. Your knuckles whiten under your tight hold. “I’m sorry,” you whisper pathetically, swallowing the lump in your throat painfully.

“Why?” he asks again, his voice cracking as he takes a tentative step toward you. “Why did you disappear?” Shoto reaches for you, stopping just short of grabbing you by the shoulders. He can’t tell if he wants to shake you until you see sense or hug you and never let go.

“I had to,” you urge, finally meeting his eyes. Your breath hitches, and you regret turning to him, but now you can’t look away. Those mismatched eyes that used to bore into yours with unreadable emotion as he draped his body over yours were tired, dull, and pained.

Shoto is the first to break eye contact, staring at your floorboards as he attempts to string together his thoughts. “Was it me?”

With furrowed brows, you shake your head no. “Shoto—”

“If I knew,” he rushes out, interrupting you. His gaze drops to your stomach, and he imagines what you might’ve looked like, swollen with his child. “If I knew, I would’ve come back sooner. Fuck the mission, you needed me and I…” He cuts himself off, bringing his hands up to your shoulders. His grip is tight enough to force you to look at him straight on, yet gentle. You think you can feel them trembling over your clothes, but you aren’t sure if you’re imagining it or not. “I’m so sorry,” he almost cries. The pillow in your hands falls to the carpeted floor, but neither of you cares to pay attention to it.

“Shoto, no,” you whisper, cupping his cheeks as you press your lips together. You thumb away his unshed tears. “That’s not why I left.”

“Then why?” he breathes.

You purse your lips, biting at the inside of your cheek as you reflect on those lonely nights spent under cold blankets. “You’re a hero,” you speak slowly. “I never had a place in your life, Shoto, not really. I’m a nobody. If… If I stayed, I would have been holding you back. You deserved more than that.”

Shoto narrows his eyes at you. “I deserve you,” he blurts, his tongue stained with vexation at the mere implication of your words. You watch as his lower lip wobbles momentarily before he steels his expression. “It isn’t your place to decide whether or not you should be in my life. That’s something for me to decide, but you took that away from me.”

“Took what away, Shoto?” you exclaim, raising your voice for the first time that day. “The sex? The comradery? You could have easily found that in someone else.” It hurts to admit, but you know it’s true. During those days together, you were a mere placeholder for someone better than you. Someone who could relate to him more than a nobody civilian could ever hope to.

After all, Pro Hero Shoto could have anyone he wanted.

Any anger left in his body dissipates as his body tenses. His face scrunches into something painful, mouth ajar and eyes wide as his grip on your shoulders tightens slightly. “What?” he whispers, the word dripping from his tongue like ice water. “What are you talking about?” The room feels like it’s dropped a few degrees, and if the frost that clings to his skin is any indication, it might have.

Averting your gaze, you try to wedge yourself out of his tight hold, but he doesn’t let you, taking another step forward. You’re practically chest-to-chest as he shakes your shoulders gently. “What are you talking about?” he repeats with an urgent tongue. “Someone else? What are you talking about?”

You heave a sigh. “Don’t play dumb, Shoto. You’re… you. You could easily find someone to replace me.”

“Is that what you think?” he breathes harshly, steam rolling off his skin, melting the frost. “That you’re just some replaceable body in my bed? Do you really think that lowly of me?” His expression twists as he reaches up to cup your jaw. His touch is burning, and yet you find yourself leaning into his palm.

“Isn’t it the truth?” you murmur, your voice catching. “I’m not anyone special, Shoto.”

“You’re my girlfriend,” he spits out, angry at the notion that you were a nobody. “You’re special to me. Isn’t that all that matters? I couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re not a hero. That never mattered to me, so don’t give me that bullshit.”

Your eyes snap open as you stare at Shoto in shock. You feel your body freeze over, and suddenly, your lungs are empty. “... What did you call me?” you croak.

Shoto stares deeply into your eyes, his own darting back and forth as he tries to read you. “My girlfriend.” His voice wavers as he tries to understand why you look so confused.

“We weren’t dating,” you cry incredulously. “What are you talking about?” You watch Shoto as realization washes over his distraught expression and something within you cracks. “Shoto, what are you talking about?” you ask again with a frantic pull to your voice. Shoto’s hands slip from your shoulders.

“Weren’t we?” he whispers quietly, any strength sapping from his body as he limply stands before you.

With your heart beating faster than ever, your breath leaves chapped lips in uneven puffs of strangled air. “We never talked about being anything more than just…” You trail off, the past couple of years draping over your shoulders, weighing you down heavily.

“You thought I was with you for the sex?” Shoto doesn’t know how to feel or how to act. His face twists as several emotions run through him before his mind settles on heartache. His multicoloured eyes try to meet yours, but you’ve already looked away. He moves his body, craning his neck to take a good look at you. He wants to see you. He wants you to see him. He utters your name in a broken whisper. “It was never just sex for me, baby,” he declares, his voice cracking in sorrow. “You had to have known that.”

He moves closer, cradling your face as he gently forces you to look at him. When he sees the indecisive glaze that’s taken over your eyes, he feels his heart break just a little more. “Please tell me you knew. That you know it was more than that.”

You blink away tears, your chest rising and falling quickly as you meet his intensive gaze. “You’d only come to me at night,” you mutter, caught between wanting to lean into his touch and wanting to pull his hands off of you. “You never stayed. You were always gone in the morning, Shoto. What was I supposed to believe?”

Shoto fights back a wince as he mulls over your words. He sighs, absentmindedly rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I was so busy with hero work,” he murmurs in horror-filled realization, frowning at himself. He shakes his head, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “That’s not an excuse. I should have tried harder to be around. But it was never just sex for me.”

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, his forehead coming down to rest against yours. His eyes flutter closed, wet eyelashes sticking together as he lets out a trembling breath. “Please believe me, baby,” he pleads quietly. “I’ll be better. I’ll show you I love you. I’ll make sure you know this time, so please…”

Those three words pull the air from your lungs, but when he opens his eyes, you’re left truly breathless. Love, sorrow, and regret swirl in his blue and grey hues. You don’t remember the last time you’ve looked at Shoto like this. “Please come back to me.”

“Shoto—”

“I’ll stop being a hero,” he interrupts you, a deep frown tugging at his lips. “If that’s what it takes.”

You make a face, your brows knitting together tightly. “Don’t be stupid, Shoto,” you hush. “Being a hero is your life. I’d never ask you to throw that away for me.”

“You’re my life,” he presses. One of Shoto’s hands moves to cup the back of your head, carding through your hair. “Our child will be my life. You matter more to me than anything else.”

Sighing, you close your eyes as you lean into his touch. “I’d be even more upset if you gave up,” you murmur. “I understand that being a hero leaves you with little free time. So—”

“No,” Shoto cries out. “Don’t make excuses for me. I should’ve tried harder. I should have realized things between us weren’t clear.” He pauses for a moment, his brow bone tensing as he bites at his lip. “Do you love me?”

With a softened gaze, you knock on his forehead with a weak fist. “You’ve always been it for me, Sho.”

Shoto smiles at the nickname, a slight tick of the corner of his mouth. If you hadn’t been so close and hadn’t known his expressions as well as you did, you might’ve missed it. He leans closer, his nose brushing against your cheek as he kisses your tear-stained skin sweetly. “I love you,” he hushes, tugging you closer. His fingertips trail up your spine until they’re entwined in your hair. “I love you.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the sensation as you curl into him. Your hands trail up his broad chest as you wrap your arms around his neck. Inhaling deeply, you stare at him in hesitation. “Is this real?” you murmur, your mind swirling with the vivid dreams you’ve procured over the years. “You’re really here, right? And you really…”

“I love you,” he says again. He says it one, two, three more times, whispering into the side of your neck and he nudges himself into the empty space. His lips, which are cold against your blistering heat, brush against your earlobe as he all but whimpers your name. “This is real. I’m here, baby.”

You can’t help but believe him, your eyes closing as he presses kiss after kiss on your skin, moving down your neck until he’s reached your collarbones. He nips at the spot, his tongue jutting out to soothe the darkening mark he’s left behind. “Sho,” you scold weakly, your nails scraping against his scalp gently as you brush his hair out of his face.

Shoto grins boyishly at you, his hands resting on your hips as he guides you backwards, stepping over the forgotten pillow you dropped. “Let me show you,” he breathes out, looking down at you with wide eyes until he has you sat on the edge of your unmade bed. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

Then, he pauses, a brief flash of bashfulness flickering behind his embering gaze. “Please?”

You’re reaching out for him before you can answer, tugging him down to your height. You don’t reply with words, pressing desperate lips against his as you pull him over you until he’s pinned over your trembling body. Strong forearms rest beside your head, his skillful tongue swiping along the seam of your mouth. You almost moan at his taste—a taste you never forgot.

Shoto slants himself against you, your bodies resembling a mess of limbs. He flips you over with ease, strong hands gripping your hips to seat you atop his shaking lap. The shivers that run down the expanse of his body don’t go unnoticed, and you peck his lips once, then twice, before pulling away. He’s staring up at you breathlessly, lust-blown eyes dark but widened as he takes in the sight of you.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, stroking along the edge of his scar. Shoto leans into your palm, his eyes briefly fluttering closed, relishing in your warmth that he was deprived of for so long.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs back, brushing his lips against your palm. “I’ve just missed you so much.”

Your heart aches at his soft-spoken admission, and you kiss him again to tell him I missed you, too. This kiss is sweeter than the last, softer in its closed-mouth motions. His hand reaches up to palm your jawline, his other remaining on your hip. He sighs into you, breaking the kiss to leave fleeting pecks over your cheeks. “My pretty girl,” he whispers into your skin.

His hand trails up and down your side, as he gently pushes you against his growing erection. You let out a whimper at just how hard he already is, the tent pushing against your clothed cunt teasingly. Grinding your hips down, you relish in the gasp Shoto lets out. Busying his hands with the hem of your loose tee, he pushes himself off of the bed to chase your lips.

Shoto kisses you with a fervour you damned yourself for running away from. He kisses you like he needs your taste on his tongue to live, like you’re a lifeline, and he’s teetering on the edge. Gentle teeth scrape against your bottom lip, just barely grazing your swollen skin. Pulling away to rid you of your top, Shoto bites his lips at the sight of your bare chest. He lays back, propping his head up on your pillows. Tracing a hand down his strong pecs, you tilt your head back at the sight of his complete enamour.

Red cheeks hollow as he takes in a shuddering breath, looking up at you with nothing but love and adoration. “You’re perfect,” he breathes out, his hands tracing your sides so slowly. His thumbs, calloused from years of hero work, barely graze the underside of your breasts before his hands trail back down to your thighs.

“Take these off f’me,” Shoto urges, tugging gently on the fabric of your shorts. Those dark eyes never leave your face, as though he’s committing it to memory.

You don’t hesitate to obey his request, shifting off of his lap just enough to tug off the last of your clothing, fingers dipping beneath the band of your panties to take them off as well. Shivering, you sit back down on his lap, biting down on your bottom lip as you lean back. Shoto makes it clear how much he appreciates the view you’ve given him, his lustful gaze caressing your entire self. His eyes land on the apex of your thighs, and his bitten lips part in admiration.

A wide hand rests on your tummy, just below your belly button, as he gently pushes your hips back and forth. His other hand finds its way to your ass, gripping and rubbing the skin there in tandem with your movements.

You let out shallow breaths at the feeling of his rough jeans against your bare clit. You’re sure you’re sopping wet already, soaking the front of his pants with your slick, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when he’s looking at you like he’d cry if you stopped grinding down on him.

His eyes stay glued to where your hips meet, and he whispers your name lovingly. “C’mere,” he rasps out as he sits up with haste, wrapping those big arms around your midsection and pulling you even closer to him. Shoto kisses the tops of your breasts, moving up and up until his lips meet yours again in a searing kiss.

“Missed you s’much,” he gravels out against your lips, reaching up to cup your left tit. You whimper out when his thumb brushes against the hardened bud, his tongue following shortly after. His lips curl around your nipple as he kneads into you. Breaths leave your throat in shortened huffs as he bites down gently.

Pushing you gently, you find yourself on your back again with Shoto hovering over you. He lets go of your nipple with a pop, lips shiny with saliva as he kisses down your stomach. Arching into his affections, all you can do is lay there and bask in his gentle touches and sweet kisses.

“Sho,” you whimper out when he mouths your skin lower and lower. Strong hands push your hips up until your dripping cunt is in front of his face, and your legs are dangling over his shoulders. Your back arches deeply, his fingers digging into your sides to keep your bottom half suspended in the air. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you’ve gotten—you can’t recall the last time you’ve felt this aroused. “Please…”

Shoto smiles at you softly, looking at you through his lashes as he brushes his lips against your clit, making you jolt. “Patience, baby,” he chuckled. “I haven’t tasted your sweet pussy in too long. Let me take my time with you, yeah?”

When he asks so nicely, how can you refuse?

He leaves open-mouthed kisses where your inner thigh meets your pelvis, kissing and licking just around where you need him most. Pathetic moans slip through your wobbling lips as you press them together, trying not to be too loud. Your body is goo in his hands, and he knows this well. He easily keeps your back arched up off the bed, his beefy arms not straining at all.

When his lips finally close on your weeping cunny, you cry out louder than intended. “Shh,” he whispers, sitting back just far enough to leave you whimpering for more. “Don’t wanna wake the baby, do you?” Those teasing eyes meet yours again, and his teasing expression softens ever so slightly at your already fucked out look. “Be good and quiet f’me, love.”

“Okay,” you stammer out, screwing your eyes shut when he kitten licks at your slit.

Shoto kisses your inner thigh with a grin. “Good girl.”

Without missing a beat, he attaches his lips to your pussy once more, his skilled tongue licking and prodding exactly where he knows it makes your legs shake in pleasure. He eats you out with such expertise as if it hasn’t been over two years. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had a map of your body memorized.

Long, thick fingers push at your entrance, just barely pushing in before pulling out. “More, please,” you beg under your breath, arching into his mouth. “Please, Sho. I can take it.”

Shoto hums as he sucks on your clit gently, drawing circles over the bundle of nerves immediately after. “I know you can, baby. This pussy was made just for me,” he sighs into you, the loud slurping noises coming from the point of contact making you curl in on yourself. “You were made just for me, baby.”

He finally pushes two fingers in, curling up just how you like it. He groans as his tongue moves with ardour, his eyes rolling back behind closed lids as he savours your taste. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “Missed this s’much.”

Shoto’s fingers push in and out, in and out, your slick gushing around them as the filthy sound of your clenching cunt fills the room. His lips are glued to your clit, drunk on your wetness as he fingers you deeply.

“I’m close,” you warn him, gripping the sheets tightly. Your body jerks, your thighs shaking and closing around his head as you feel the string in your tummy grow taught. “Sho—”

“I know,” he growls, kissing your clit again as he looks back up at you. He watches your face twist and scrunch in pure pleasure, moaning at the sight. Pushing a third finger in, his eyes slip closed at the feeling of you clenching tightly around him. “Come for me, baby. Need to feel you come.”

His voice drips with honey, coating your body in its warmth as your back bends. “Fuck,” you cry, slapping a hand over your mouth as your thighs tremble hard. “I—”

Before you can say anything else, you’re cumming around his fingers harder than you ever have in the time away from him. Fat tears line your lashline as he fingers you through your orgasm, lazily licking figure eights around your clit as he continues to push his fingers into you gently. He doesn’t stop, making you come again and again until you’re weakly pushing his head away.

His tongue laps your pussy clean, the lower half of his face covered in your slick when he finally sits back. You watch with lidded eyes as he wraps his lips around his fingers, his tongue jutting out to lick them until they’re no longer soaked with your essence. Moaning, you reach up for him, grasping weakly at his clothed chest. “Need you,” you plea, pushing at his clothes in a sad attempt to take them off.

Shoto only chuckles, leaning over to kiss you. He tastes of mint and musk, the taste of your come on his tongue making your eyes cross. He holds you tight, pressing you against his chest, and his hands run up and down the length of your spine. His head tilts, his mouth ajar as he licks into your wet cavern.

Leaning back, you kiss and lick at his face, cleaning him of your juices. He only sighs blissfully at your ministrations, stroking your hair out of your face as he presses his lips against your temple. “I love you,” he murmurs. “God, do I love you.”

You leave one more kiss along his jaw, settling back onto the mattress as you look up at him. His hair is messy, tousled from the many breathless kisses you’ve exchanged in the last hour. His rouge-tinted cheeks make him look younger than he is, yet you can see fine lines at the corners of his eyes and between his brows.

“I love you, Sho,” you declare softly, tucking his long bangs behind his ears. He gazes at you with more affection than you think you’ve ever seen him express, and it takes everything in you not to combust on the spot. You trail one hand down his chest, dropping down to his tented pants. Palming his clothed hardness, you glance at him pleadingly, smiling at the moan he emits the second your hand grazes his hard-on. “I need you now, please.”

Shoto nods, kissing the crown of your head before leaning back. You watch with careful eyes as he undresses, his hands moving with less grace than he’s known for. As he fumbles off his shirt, you unbuckle his belt, throwing it haphazardly across the room. You barely register the thud it makes as you tug down his pants. His hard cock slaps against his abdomen, coated with precum.

Fully nude, you sit back to admire Shoto in his entirety. There are many scars you don’t remember littered over his muscled body, and your fingers trace them gently. “I almost forgot how pretty you are,” you say, sitting up to kiss his collarbone.

“Pretty?” he repeats, laughing softly as he grips at your waist.

You hum. “Very pretty, Sho.”

Unable to wait any longer, he manoeuvres you back onto the pillows, adjusting you as he places one beneath your hips. “Gotta have you now, baby,” he groans into you, reaching down to fuck into his fist. You watch with wide eyes as he rubs himself for a moment more, pushing your thighs up against your chest.

Pushing his angry cockhead against your slit, he thrusts shallowly against your soaked pussy. A low moan rumbles out of his throat when his head catches on the hood of your clit. He uses a thumb to guide his length to your entrance, a whimper of your name tumbling from those bite-swollen lips once he finally pushes into you.

Your jaw drops as a wanton noise claws out of your throat. Shoto is sure to move slowly, only moving in an inch of his dick at a time before pulling out. You had forgotten how thick Shoto’s cock is, the stretch of your swollen pussy around his length burning through your body. “S-Sho…”

He groans at your voice, dropping his head to your shoulder as he fucks into you slowly. “I know, baby,” he lets out breathlessly. “I know. You’re doing so well f’me.”

His hips finally press against you after some time, his dick pushing against your pulsing gummy walls. He stills, letting you get used to the intrusion as he kisses you again and again. Propping himself on his elbows, he shakily brushes your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead. “You okay, baby?”

Nodding fervently, you wrap your arms around his neck, pushing his chest flush against yours. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out weakly, barely above a whisper. “You can move—” correcting yourself, you look up at him with pleading eyes. “—please move.”

Without another word, he pulls out slowly, only to thrust back into your hole nice and deep. A loud groan leaves his lips as he settles into a quick tempo, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs as he starts to really fuck into you.

Barely keeping your eyes open, you watch his expression twist with gratification, his brows tilting upwards as his lips part. With lidded eyes, he watches you, too. “You’re—fuck—so pretty,” he whimpers, pressing his forehead against yours as his thrusts become faster. “Missed you. Missed you s’much.”

Sitting up, he grabs at your waist as he fucks you zealously. His thumb flicks at your clit, rubbing tight circles that leave your legs shaking. His cockhead rubs at that spongey spot in your cunt with every thrust, making your eyes roll back. “Sho,” you cry out, the thought of keeping your voice down long gone in your pleasure. “Sho, Sho—!”

His mouth opens as he lets out a stunted shout riddled with lust and overstimulation. “You’re so fucking tight,” he grins down at you, his stomach flexing with each movement of his hips. “Fuck, baby. Can feel you clenching around me s’tight. Are you close?” His words come out harshly, exertion tugging them from his throat sluggishly.

His thumb never stops over your clit, moving in tandem with his hips as he slams into you. Unable to form coherent words, you can only cry out in vague confirmation, grabbing at his forearms. You can feel your slick dripping down the slope of your ass, soaking into your pillow and the sheets beneath you.

Shoto’s smile falters as he feels his own orgasm near, his rhythm becoming desperate as his eyes screwed shut. His head drops, his mouth opening slightly as he chases his high. When your cunt grips tightly around him, he’s sure he’s going to lose it. Harsh breaths heave out of him, his flushed skin causing his hair to stick to his forehead.

“Come for me again, baby,” he begs, barely able to pry his lids open to look down at you. “Please, come, please, please… Gotta feel you…!”

Whether it’s from his words, the whimpering tone that tugs at his voice, or the way his cock throbs inside you as he nears his own high, you feel your orgasm crash over you in waves. “Shoto,” you sob, your body jerking violently as you come hard. He lets out a high-pitched groan as he releases inside you, his thick seed filling you up in seconds. His hips tremble and twitch as he keeps shallowly thrusting, pushing both you and himself into overstimulation.

“I love you,” he mewls, pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss as he wraps his arms tightly around your middle. Without pulling out, he slumps over you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Laughing quietly, you weakly push at his shoulder. “You’re heavy,” you complain, still breathless from the countless orgasms he’s pulled you through. “Get off, Sho.”

“No,” he murmurs into the nape of your neck, cuddling into you tightly. “Don’t wanna let go.”

You roll your eyes. “You can hug me without crushing my ribs.”

Huffing, he rolls off of you, taking you with him as he lands on his back. You both groan lowly at the movement, his dick twitching inside you once you settle onto his lap again. “You’re insatiable,” you comment, feeling him thrust weakly up into your wetness.

Shoto only grins up at you, showing off that rare smile you missed so dearly. “You can’t blame me,” he tells you, wrapping his arms around you. “I have so many years of love to show you.” He kisses your shoulder. “I meant it. Before, I mean. You are everything to me, and I know our baby will be too.”

Your eyes wet again, fresh tears bubbling at the corners before dribbling down your cheeks. “Shoto…”

Looking up at you, he stares with an indescribable look in his mismatched eyes. “I wanna be in your life. I want to be in his life, too, if you’ll let me.” Leaning up, he kisses you sweetly. “So, please, come back to me.”

You only manage to nod tearfully before the shrill cry of your baby echoes throughout the house. Shoto eases you off his messy cock, watching as his release dribbles out of you. He lets out a breath, kissing you sweetly before moving you off of him gently. No words are exchanged as Shoto throws his clothes back on, wrinkled and unkempt. He pauses to wipe you clean, using your shirt, after throwing you an apologetic glance.

A smile reaches your eyes as you watch Shoto bound out of the room to get your child.

©AVATARCHIC please do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or copy any of my works.

3K notes · View notes

reidmotif · 9 months ago

Text

For the Love of Lace

Summary: Reader decides she doesn't want to pine for her best friend, Spencer, anymore, but still needs his help deciding what lingerie to wear for her upcoming date.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: breast and nipple play, fingering (r!receiving), lingerie talk, unprotected penetrative sex, no implied breast size, couch sex, best friends to lovers, possessive Spencer

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist

Pining for your best friend definitely has its lows. There’s a certain sense of pathetic-ness that comes about when your friend is simply speaking, and your mind is occupied with the yearning to bridge the gap of distance between you two, and kiss them senseless. I think perhaps the biggest low that I’d hit, however, in the two years I’d been pining for Spencer Reid was the sexual frustration that came with being unable to see myself with anyone else.

I’d never meant for it to play out like this. I thought it was an innocent crush, a byproduct of all the time we’d managed to spend with each other divulging into our personal lives and sharing the ordinary comings of the day together. However, there came a point where I looked at him and could see my future laid out so perfectly with him. A future of love, and laughter, and God, so much sex. And no matter what I’d tried, the thought was too good to let go.

It didn’t help that not only was he oblivious, he clearly didn’t return my affections. There were no signs of longing that I could deduce from his actions, and I’d decided to be reasonable about this. His actions were always remnant of a good friend, but a lover? No. There were no longing stares. No stolen brushes of fingers, or hushed whispers. It seemed that anything romantic about our relationship only emanated from my fantasies of what I wish we could be.

And so here I was, unable to get past the mental block of wanting anyone as much, and it’d resulting in a long, exasperating two-year stint of celibacy. And Jesus, did it show. The tiniest thing Spencer did would set me off in a frenzy, and it left me feeling nearly perverted at a certain point. There’d been a day that he ran his finger down a page, attempting to locate a passage to display to me and all I could think about was how badly I wanted that finger in me. My mouth. Me. Anything. And then I realized I was lusting over my best friend’s hand, and considered the possibility of this being a serious problem on my end.

My only block to getting laid was my own self. And I certainly didn’t relish in the debauchery I’d clearly stooped low enough to indulge in, and so it was decided. This Valentine’s Day? I wasn’t going to watch rom-coms and wonder if Spencer and I could ever have a happy ending like them.

I was going to man up, and go on a date. Easier said than done.

I’d found the date, that bit was easy enough. Trying to find someone to hook-up with on Valentine’s Day is like trying to find sand on a beach. Plentiful and simple.

What wasn’t easy? Feeling ready for it. I hadn’t been like that with anyone for nearly two years, and found myself worrying that my sexual skills had deteriorated with lack of practice, even though the thought was rooted in some ridiculous notions about myself. I knew that logically the sex would be fine, and hopefully, exactly what I needed to get over Spencer, but still. I wanted to ensure the best possible experience.

I found myself going through the motions of date preparation. A manicure and pedicure. A facial. I even bought a fancier perfume to wear the night of. And of course, a trip to procure some new lingerie for the night.

I’d always been indecisive, and with the choices presented in the shop, I found myself overwhelmed. I’d decided and picked up 3 possible pieces, and instead of determining between them whilst buying, I bought all of them, with the intention that I’d be able to make a choice in the comfort of my own home.

Except now, it’d been a week, my date was tomorrow, and I still couldn’t figure out what would work for me. All three were equally as appealing, but which one was the best? The question haunted me, and continued to haunt me as Spencer and I hung out. Despite my date tomorrow, I’d promised to keep up our tradition of binging episodes of Star Trek on Friday night together, except my head was clearly elsewhere, which he quickly noticed.

Damn profiler best friend.

“Alright, what’s up with you?” Spencer asks, reaching for the remote and pausing on some random frame of Spock’s face, the show taking less precedence than my lack of attention.

I sigh apologetically, quirking my mouth to the side. “I’m sorry, Spence.” I say, taking a deep breath. “Just a lot on my mind.”

Spencer tilts his head, his expression a little more worried. “Something important?”

I shake my head quickly, not wanting to disclose the reasoning for my distraction tonight. Especially to him, considering my date tonight had the sole purpose of me getting over the man currently sat to my right.

“No, no.” I say, softly. “Just.. stuff.” I voiced, quickly.

“Stuff?” Spencer inquires.

“Stuff.” I affirm.

Now it’s his turn to sigh, making a slight groaning noise whilst he did so. “Come on. I’ve known you for years. I know there’s something on your mind, and it’s clearly distracting you, so.. Please? Tell me?” He asks, giving me those eyes. A look that would make anyone weak in the knees.

I find myself hesitating, and bite my lip, and in the end, it’s the way he’s looking at me that does me in. I opt to stay vague, but give him a bit more insight into my wandering thoughts.

“My date tomorrow? I don’t know what to wear.” I say, shrugging. “It’s not very important, but I want to make it work, you know?” I continue.

“Why don’t you just show me your dress then?” Spencer inquires. “I’m not a fashion expert, but it’s not like I’m unable to have taste.”

I laugh a little self consciously, shaking my head quickly. “Oh no, no. It’s not a dress. It’s okay, Spencer. I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

“Shoes? C’mon! I’m your best friend. I’d do anything for you.” He protests, coming closer to me now.

“Not shoes.” I say, still shaking my head. “And no! I mean, seriously. There are some things you can’t do for me, and it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Jewelry? Hair? Makeup?” He implores continuously. “I’m all ears.”

I realize there’s no way in hell he’s ever going to let this go, so I blurt out with little thought, “It’s lingerie!”

He goes a bit quiet in thought, and then raises an eyebrow. “And that poses a problem?” He asks, softly.

I blink a little. Yes. Of course that’s a problem. I love you so much that it makes me feel weak, and I can’t be even more vulnerable in front of you. Not like that.

But instead I shrug, running my hands through my hair.

“I just.. Wouldn’t that be weird?” I say, hesitantly.

“Not really.” Spencer replies, nonchalantly. “You’re my best friend. And I want to help you in any way I can. Nakedness doesn’t really bother me, and if it doesn’t bother you, I’d love to help you decide.”

“Spencer..” I mumbled, still incredibly hesitant.

“I’m your best friend!” Spencer articulates. “And logically, I can provide you with insight that only another guy could give.” He points out. “In a purely platonic, and logical sense.”

I had to give him credit for that. It’s true. Spencer did have insight that none of my friends could provide, and I’d always entrusted him in helping me make decisions for myself and my life. And honestly, it was starting to get suspicious with how much I’d been objecting to this. The man had helped me decide bikinis, clubbing dresses- this couldn’t be any more different, could it?

“Okay. Okay. Fine.” I give him a resigned nod, getting off the couch. “Alright. Wait here.”

He plants himself more firmly on the couch, his eyes trained on where I’d disappeared into my room, rummaging through the shopping bag until I’d found the first lingerie piece.

It was a simple black lace bra and matching panties. The bottoms were a bit cheekier than a normal pair of underwear, and my legs were on display in full. My hair framed my pushed-up breasts, and I looked at myself in the mirror, slightly self-conscious at the fact that I was about to present myself this way to Spencer.

How did I get into this mess?

I slowly twist the doorknob, calling out to him. “Spencer! I’m coming out with the first one.”

“I’m here.” is his reply, and I know he’s waiting, and so I slowly push open the door and come out in the light, a little more in his view. I give a half-hearted 360 degree turn, and look at him.

“So?” I ask, my eyes finally meeting his, but the sight I’m met with is a lot different than the one I’m expecting. He’s slightly red in the face, his hands fidgeting in his lap- quite different from the more composed version I’d seen of him.

“Is there something wrong?” I ask, quickly, feeling even more vulnerable as I stood there, half naked in front of a blushing man.

“No, no!” He sputters. “I’m sorry. This is normal.” He gulps a bit and gives me a quick once over. “Sorry, I’ll be normal.” He clears his throat again and nods more definitively. “This one is nice. It’s simple.” He replies, as diplomatically as I’ve heard him. “Black works well with your skin and hair, and I feel like it brings out your eyes.”

I nod, biting my lip. “Anything I could do to make it.. more than nice?” I queried.

He narrows his eyes in thought. “It’s already really, really nice, but I feel like stockings, or even a garter would even the attention from your breasts, more to your legs- which already look really nice, by the way.”

It's my turn to blush and I nod quickly. “Stockings, got it.” I say. I blow out a breath of air. “One down, two to go.” I say, absentmindedly.

“Better go back and try the other two, then.” Spencer says, with a smile.

I attempt to return his smile and disappear back into my room, putting on the next piece. It was red, and a bit more showy than my previous piece. It was a criss-cross, cut-out lingerie. Lines of maroon fabric danced around my skin in a way that exposed the curve of my breasts, and connected to a simple, red thong. I walked out quicker than last time, a little less nervous now that the initial nervousness of appearing naked in front of him had faded.

Despite my nervousness fading, it seemed like his had only increased. I’d only caught a glimpse of it in my hurried departure from my room to his line of sight, but had he.. been adjusting his crotch area?

No. No. I mean, maybe he was turned on, but that was a completely normal reaction to a half-naked girl in front of a man. To my knowledge, Spencer hadn’t dated anyone in 2 years either, so it was completely possible he also had pent-up desires. This was normal. Spencer Reid did not feel the same way for me, not in the same way as I did for him.

He quickly looks up and his hands are by his side in record speed. “This one is.. Wow.” He marvels, his eyes boring into my body. “Your breasts. They look great.”

I can’t help the giggle that escapes me, a part of me secretly delighted that even if this was friendly, Spencer was enamored with my body in the way I’d always wished he would be.

“Was that too much?” Spencer questions, upon hearing my laugh. “I’m only being honest. Your breasts look nice in this one. My eyes immediately went there with this piece.”

I smile. “No, no. That’s what I need from you, anyway. That’s what I want my date to do too, anyway.” I say, dismissing his worries.

“Right. Your date.” He says, curtly.

I raise an eyebrow at the snippy reply, but don’t think much of it. “So.. the last one then?”

“Yep. The last one.”

“Right..” I mumble, going back to my room, slightly confused by the sudden change in demeanor, but ready to get this over with nonetheless.

The last piece was a lot more revealing, in the sense that my nipples were exposed from the get-go with this one. A lavender slip, with transparent lace covering the breasts, and the silky fabric stopping right below my crotch. It was a bit more daring, but I still enjoyed the way it framed my curves, my hips, and my breasts. I wondered what Spencer would think, and out of modesty, I placed both my hands over my nipples, wanting to show the lingerie without fully exposing myself to him.

I walk out, and this time, his gaze is intense. More so than I’d ever seen him in our years of friendship.

“Spence..?” I ask, when he’s silent for a beat too long.

“Turn around.” He says, firmly, and I find myself listening instantly, baring my back to him, and no doubt he’s focusing on the way the fabric wrapped around my ass, leaving me slightly flustered and more on display than I’d ever felt tonight.

“Spencer? Come on. Say something. Feeling a bit like cattle right now.” I voice, laughing a little nervously.

When I hear his voice again, I nearly jump out of my skin because he’s right behind me, his hands ghosting across my bare shoulders.

“Don’t go.” He whispers, his hot breath fanning around my neck, sending shivers up my spine.

I’m too nervous to turn around, so I keep my hands planted firmly on my breasts and murmur out my confusion.

“What?”

“Don’t go.” He repeats, more firmly this time, and I can feel his hand moving to grip my hip, orienting me to face him. “Please.”

“Why not?” I ask, softly, my eyes wide as I try to read his expression. His pupils were dilated to the size of saucers, and I could feel his hands moving to cup my face, bringing us even closer.

“I’d be an idiot to have not at least tried.” He whispers. “I’m sorry for doing this now. I’m sorry if this ruins everything. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.”

I feel my confusion bubbling up, my eyebrows furrowing a little bit. “Why.. what is this? Is this because of the lingerie?” I ask, my lips parting slightly.

“No. God no.” I can see him emphatically shaking his head at my rumination. “This has been coming for a long time.” He murmurs. “I thought I could ignore it, but I can’t. I can’t physically stand the thought of someone worshiping you the way I’d like to.” He rasps out, and I feel my heart jump, my breath coming out faster.

When I’m silent, unable to respond, his fingers run across my lips. “Can I kiss you?” He whispers.

I nod, and it’s like he’s been waiting all night, and then some. His grip on my face tightens and he brings me in for a searing, earth-shattering kiss. His lips move over mine desperately, and I feel his grip shifting to bring my hands off my breasts, and to replace them with his own, his hands now pawing and squeezing at the flesh, which draws a soft moan from me.

He throws his head back at the noise, leaning to kiss my neck. “Fuck yes.” He mumbles, seemingly goaded on by the noises slipping through my lips. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” He groans out, to no one in particular, just wanting to get the words out there somehow.

I nod rapidly, and his hands are on my hips again, guiding me to the couch and laying me down. I move easily in his grasp, a slight gasp escaping me as he climbs on top. His thumb goes to graze my jaw, leaning in for another kiss. It’s less rushed this time, slow and passionate. His tongue darts out to swipe over my bottom lip, and I open my mouth easily for him, reveling in the sweetness of how he tasted.

He breaks off the kiss and moves down, kissing my breast between the lace. His tongue goes out to wet the fabric, and I’m arching my back at the sensation of the rough lace and the warm wetness now rubbing against the sensitive skin.

“You taste so good.” He mumbles. “God. Why did I wait so long?”

“No clue.” I whimper out, desperately. “But don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping.” He says, gruffly, moving to bunch up the fabric of the slip until it pooled around my waist, exposing my dripping cunt to him.

“I can’t stand the thought of another man touching you like this.” He whispers, his finger running up and down my wet folds, causing me to moan out needily.

“Shh, shh, baby.” He murmurs. “You’ll get what you want soon enough.”

Without warning, he easily slides two fingers inside me, and I can’t help but wonder if he was made for me. Given the way he effortlessly reached that spongy spot so deep inside me, I was compelled to say yes. The action prompted me to release a string of desperate moans and whimpers, increasing in octave with every second he pumped the digits in and out of me.

“Yeah, you like that?” He mumbles, almost entranced with the way my cunt was sucking him in, tightening around his finger with each second he continued.

“Yes. Yes, oh God.” I moan out, my eyes squeezing shut.

“Open your eyes.” he demands, his thumb now darting out to rub harsh, tight circles on my clit. “I want to see your face when you come on my fingers.”

My eyes snap open, and I can’t help it when I release another moan and feel my orgasm absolutely shred through me. My hips raise in an attempt to move off Spencer’s fingers, but he manages to follow my movement, nursing me through my orgasm, and watching every second of it.

When it's over, he removes his finger and brings it up to his lips, sensually tasting my release right in front of me, never breaking eye contact- and the sight itself makes me need him all over again.

I pull him in by the collar of his shirt, and my hands move to remove his buttons, wanting to feel his skin on mine. He laughs a bit and admonishes me, removing my shaky fingers.

“Let me.” He mumbles, leaning back between my spread legs, and removing the clothing, before moving to his belt.

I bite my lip as he hovers over me, and kiss him again. I can’t get enough of him. He’s all I wanted for so long, and here he is- mirroring my desire in the way I’d always hoped he would.

“No man-” He breathes out, in between kisses, “could do this for you.”

I nod in affirmation, continuing to kiss him. No argument there.

“No man deserves to.” He adds, possessively, and it’s enough to make me clench around nothing, and I know at that point I’m more desperate for him than I had been the whole night.

“Spence, please.” I groan out. “Need you.”

He understands immediately and wastes no time, pulling himself out from his boxers, giving himself a few tugs before pushing inside of me, groaning as he feels my warm, wet walls grasp onto his cock.

He remains there for a second, allowing me to adjust to his size. When he looks at my face again, and I nod, he starts to move, pulling out until only his tip remains inside of me, before slamming in. My jaw drops in a silent scream, and my hands go to grip his shoulders, and with the confirmation I was enjoying myself, he set on a ruthless pace, snapping his hips over, and over again, until I was reduced to a babbling mess in front of the man.

He’s all I can feel at this point. His hands on my breasts, my hips, before he eventually rests both hands on either side of me and envelops me in his being. I can smell him, and the familiar scent only serves to tighten the coil in my stomach, reminding me that this was someone I’d loved so deeply for so long. Someone who was interwoven into the fiber of my being, and I know this is all I want, and all I’ll ever want.

As we both feel our releases coming on at an alarming pace, he leans up to kiss me one more time, moaning against my mouth. I feel myself whimper before I feel my walls contract around his cock, my orgasm causing my back to arch even closer to him. The clamping of my cunt seems to drive him to finish too, and a warmth fills my deepest point as he groans into my ear, pulling out and lying against me. The two of us are panting, sweat sticking to both of our bodies and hair, lost in the post-sex haze and enjoying the proximity.

He kisses my jaw and I giggle out and give a soft moan. “God.” I whisper.

“Yeah.” He murmurs against my skin, and I can feel his smile. “Are you canceling your date then?” He says, a slight bit of glee in his voice.

I giggle a little, finding his delight adorable and endearing. “Yes, Spencer. Obviously.” I murmur.

“Good.” He whispers, laying his head on my chest. There’s a lull of quiet as my hands stroke through his hair, smoothing it out from our illicit activities just a moment ago. I can hear his grin as he breaks the silence.

“Guess you could say I liked this piece the best.”

hiii!! omg. this took a while. yes this is more of a valentines day fic and its a bit late but hey!! got it out in february. this was actually written for @imagining-in-the-margins new beginnings challenge, so go ahead and check that out when you can. i hope you guys like this one. as usual, please reblog, like, comment, and show your support any way you can. thank you for reading, and i hope it was enjoyable <333 ty ty ty!!

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sserpente · 1 month ago

Text

Paid Pleasure (Kinktober #4)

Excerpt: Sylus huffed. His crimson eyes locked with yours for a moment before darting back to Yuze. “Make me a better offer.”

“Forty percent. You slap your name on the paperwork and I have your back if you need me. You’ll have free access to all of my facilities and…” – he pointed at you – “…all of my girls. In return, I have your financial support to keep this baby running. Perhaps…you’d like to sample what this partnership could offer you?”

There was more to this. More to him offering you to Sylus for free now. As disgusted as you were, that was beside the point. You were very well aware that the infamous leader of Onychinus owned armouries all over the world. Supporting this brothel was only scratching at the very tip of the iceberg.

Forcing yourself to a flirty smile, you leaned in to whisper in his ear. “What do you say, Mr. Sylus? Would you like to join me upstairs?”

A/N: Oh, I love these pleasure slave scenarios so much… *sigh* I’m going to hell, who’s with me?

Words: 4160 Warnings: smut, prostitute!reader, super slight dub-con

The N109 zone was one of the most dangerous places on Earth. You knew that better than anyone. To live simply meant to survive—only a few people had the luxury of enjoying their time and spending their money on useless things like designer watches or caviar, and you were most certainly not one of them.

When Yuze, the owner of the ‘humble’ establishment you now worked at found you, you’d had two options. Either go with him and submit to his greed and cruelty or die at the hands of vicious Wanderers eager to rip your throat out.

Back then, the choice was easy. Today, however,…today, you were second-guessing yourself. Yuze had provided you with a bedroom with an ensuite bathroom and yet, you had never felt dirtier than you did now. The dancing was bearable enough. Losing yourself in the waves of the music, your worries and sorrows ebbing away as you drifted off and simply moved, was easy enough.

But almost no night ended without you leading one of Yuze’s customers upstairs after they shoved a bundle of credits into his hands only to spread your legs for them in your bed.

The profession of a prostitute was a respectable one—but only if it was done voluntarily. You on the other hand wanted to scream and run and vomit and rip your own hair out every evening the brothel opened and the nightmare began anew.

Yuze had no mercy. In fact, he was crude and abusive. He did not hesitate to use physical punishment if the nightly quota wasn’t met, and did not shy away from withholding meals from you, especially not when the next lucrative deal was just around the corner.

Like tonight.

You had heard of him, of course. Sylus, leader of Onychinus and the most dangerous man known across Linkon City. He would visit tonight to discuss a potential partnership with Yuze. You didn’t know the details and you didn’t need to.

Your job was to make Sylus receptive and docile. To charm him and eventually, of course, to pull some extra credits out of his pocket for a night with you.

To say you’re nervous would have been an understatement. You’d never seen Sylus in action but if rumours were to be believed, his Evol was one of a kind. The man was invincible and invulnerable. You were scared. Even more so because if you failed, you did not want to face the consequences Yuze had in store for you.

The evening started innocently enough. You danced, ignored the lustful looks of your potential clients for the night, and prayed that your shift would be over fast.

Sylus arrived at midnight. He was accompanied by two men in masks, and he strutted in as if he owned the place. He soon would, partially, if the deal went well. You swallowed thickly, keeping an eye on Yuze as he ushered him to the VIP area and had a drink prepared for him, silently waiting for your cue as you kept on dancing around the pole.

The subtle movement of Yuze’s hand would have been unnoticeable to anyone else. You picked up on it quickly and hurried over to them both. At this time of the night, you had already lost your top. Your breasts were on full display as you offered Sylus a coy smile, ignoring the pounding of your heart as you straddled his lap and began to dance.

The leader of Onychinus did not say a word, though there appeared to be some sort of amusement washing over his chiselled face. God, he was handsome. Younger than you’d imagined him, mysterious, brooding, and…dangerous. It would be easier to try and seduce him compared to those disgusting old men who didn’t know that you were supposed to wash your ass crack under the shower.

“As I was saying, Mr. Sylus… sixty percent is…hefty. You must understand that in doing so you would legally own my establishment.”

He chuckled. You kept on dancing, attempting your best to distract him and draw his attention to you. Sylus, however, seemed almost completely unbothered by your antics. You bit your lower lip and rocked your hips, grinding against him.

“That is the plan, Yuze. You would still run it, of course. But on paper, this place will belong to me. I don’t accept deals where I don’t come out on the winning side. Something you should have known.”

“I cannot do that!”

“You were the one who approached me about a partnership. This is my offer. If you won’t accept my terms, I see no reason for us to continue this conversation.”

His voice was calm and smooth, like silk. Sylus took a sip of his whiskey and then placed the glass on the window sill behind him. Shit. This wasn’t going according to plan, was it? Sylus was supposed to accept Yuze’s deal, not dismiss him and leave early. Shit, shit, shit.

A mere glance from the corner of your eye was enough to see that your boss was fuming. His jaw was clenched and you could practically feel that he was ready to blame you for how this evening was about to end.

You had to up your game fast if you wanted to avoid bruises tonight.

Boldly, you snatched Sylus’ hand as he moved it back and brought it to your left breast, pressing his palm against your mount. You were still dancing, doing your best to mesmerise him enough for him to be interested in sharing the bed with you.

Sylus huffed. His crimson eyes locked with yours for a moment before darting back to Yuze. “Make me a better offer.”

Phew.

Forcing yourself to a flirty smile, you leaned in to whisper in his ear. “What do you say, Mr. Sylus? Would you like to join me upstairs?”

He smiled. It was a cold and calculated smile—one that indicated that he saw right through your strategy. “I’m not the type to pay for pleasure.”

“Consider it a gift, a sign of good faith into this partnership. Hmm, Mr. Sylus?” Yuze said, tilting his head.

“You seem tense…being the head of Onychinus must be so exhausting… I give very good massages,” you mumbled against his cheek. “And I make sure to pamper…every…single…body part…” With every word, your free hand travelled lower and lower and lower until…

Sylus snatched your wrist before you could cup him. “I’d rather have a Wanderer trample on my back, sweetie.”

Your lips parted. Ouch. Why…why did that hurt? He was just another guy. They all thought with their dicks one way or another. You should be relieved he didn’t want you. Instead…his rejection stung. It was a strange emotion even stronger than the fear of what would happen to you as soon as Sylus walked out that door.

“D-Don’t be like that. I could be yours. You can do to me whatever you like,” you choked out. Saying these things...every fibre of your being was resisting the words. It wasn’t the first time you resorted to this and it certainly also wasn’t the first time you acted on it. You could only hope that Sylus was not an evil sadist who would leave you in bed half-dead after he was done with you.

But Sylus…frowned. He frowned as if he was displeased with what you’d just said. With a start, he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His voice was so quiet only you could hear him. “Is he forcing you to say things like that, sweetie?”

“W-What?” Your eyes widened. Fuck. You were so dead. “N-no! Of course not. This is my job,” you lied, “I just want to make you feel good. Will you let me?”

You didn’t dare look at Yuze. Instead, you kept your eyes locked on Sylus, hoping that he would let you convince him. He stared at you for a long moment. Long enough for you to grow dizzy. It was almost like…his right eye began to…glow and draw you in and…

Your lips parted. You have to succeed, you heard your own voice whisper in your head. You have to seduce him. You need to survive. You have to! You can’t go without food again. Yuze will punish you if you don’t charm him. You have to make Sylus like you, he has to accept the deal…it will be your fault if he doesn’t. Seduce him…seduce him…seduce him!

Sylus blinked and you snapped yourself out of it, wondering what the hell had just happened. You were breathing heavily and had stopped dancing.

“Very well. Then how about you show me upstairs…kitten?”

Phew. You nodded—perhaps a bit too enthusiastically than intended—and climbed off of him to lead the way. You made a point to sway your hips as you walked in front of him. Anything to rile him up. It was, after all, in your best interest to do so.

Sylus was the one who locked the door once you’d shown him to your bedroom and scanned his surroundings as if to check for any imminent dangers. That was probably normal for him. In the meantime, you hooked your index finger under the hem of your knickers to pull them off. No time to waste. Let’s get this over with. He looks good, remember? It won’t be as bad as it was with the others.

“Don’t. Keep them on. And get dressed. It’s cold in here,” he said all of a sudden.

“Oh. Hmm, yeah… Yuze doesn’t like wasting too much money on heating. Sorry about that. I’ll make sure you get warm in no time. Don’t worry about me, I’m used to it.” Although you were curious as to why he even cared…

Sylus’ eyebrows furrowed—once again as if he was displeased by your answer. He moved over to the lush armchair next to your wardrobe, sat down and manspread as if he owned the place. Knowing him, he probably soon would.

You bit your lower lip as you approached him, heat flushing your veins while you pictured him as your new boss. You wouldn’t mind giving him freebies every now and then… God, what was wrong with you?

Sylus snatched your wrists before you could place your palms on his chest as you straddled him yet again. “Is he treating you well? You and the other girls?”

“W-what?”

“Yuze. How much does he pay you for your…services?”

“Uh…a-are…are you interrogating me? I…I don’t think I should be talking about these things, I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Sylus’ expression remained unreadable. His grip around your wrists tightened. “How much?”

Fuck. “T-this room. Warm meals,” you choked out.

“He’s not paying you?”

You shook your head. “He’s paying none of the girls. Yuze took me in when I was on the brink of death. A Wanderer was about to tear my head off…that was about three years ago.”

His nostrils flared. “He wanted you to make me docile, didn’t he? To seduce me so I will agree to his pathetic whims?”

“I…I didn’t have a say in the matter,” you admitted. “But…yes. That was his plan. I’m…I’m sorry.”

Sylus chuckled. “It almost worked. Two of my people, Luke and Kieran, are raiding the place as we speak.” As if on cue, commotion grew louder downstairs. People were screaming and shouting, gunshots were fired. You gasped for air.

“What…what is happening?”

“Don’t worry. The girls will be safe. I had little reason to agree to a deal with Yuze. Hardly anyone is to be trusted in the N109 zone but there was something slimy about him in particular. You changed my mind about this place, kitten. You are all the proof that I needed to take him down. Thank you.”

“But…but I thought you…”

“What?” He smirked. “That I am a merciless and evil criminal who couldn’t care less about what happens to Yuze’s ‘employees’ once I have my cut? You wound me, sweetie.”

“I…I didn’t know. Everyone’s afraid of you here. You’re…you’re a legend.”

His smirk grew a little wider. “Yeah. I am quite the legend, aren’t I?” he teased.

You swallowed thickly.

“Now put on some clothes and don’t come downstairs until I say so. This shouldn’t take long.”

Sylus never asked to sleep with you before he left. You could only imagine the horrors he’d inflicted on Yuze and his friends and allies. Dead bodies, blood…and some of his men had simply…disappeared.

Half an hour had felt like half an eternity before you were allowed back downstairs, clad in one of the few pullovers you owned. Either Luke or Kieran—you couldn’t keep them apart—shoved a hot mug of cocoa into your hands and led you to the other girls sitting in the corner, all of them as shaken and terrified as you.

Next thing you knew, Sylus appeared from behind the counter of the bar wiping his hands clean with a kitchen towel, staining it red. Fuck…

“Things are going to change around here. This establishment is now mine. I will have someone new installed as manager. Anyone who doesn’t wish to continue working as a prostitute is free to leave or will be offered either a different position along with a salary bonus equal to the years you have worked here.”

Your eyes widened. Excitement rippled through the small crowd, along with incredulous whispers. But…what did that mean for you? With all the money Sylus offered, you could start a new life somewhere else. You could…leave the N109 zone. But then what?

One by one, the girls got up and stepped forward. Most of them wanted to leave. Two asked to work here as waiters instead, one wanted to work in the kitchen and learn how to bake the desserts served in the brothel.

Eventually, there was no one left but you. Sylus’ crimson eyes locked with yours. “What about you, kitten?”

You took a deep breath. “I…I’m going to stay. I have nowhere else to go. Plus, I don’t have any talents to be working as anything else anyway.” You hated talking about yourself like that. But all those years living under Yuze’s roof had ruined your confidence. It was a fact you didn’t have any qualifications. Even waiters were doing incredible work and the other two girls had gained experience with that before they came here. You’d probably drop all your drinks on the first night and end up with an expensive cleaning bill for a customer’s shirt.

“Are you sure, kitten? What if I told you that I know that that’s not what you truly desire?” He paused. “How about you come and work for me instead?”

He stepped closer, leaned down, and ruffled your hair a bit. You blinked.

“F-For you? I…of course. I’d…rather have just one client instead of—”

“No. That is not what I meant,” he interrupted. “You say there is nothing else you know how to do but I think that’s not true. We’ll just have to find your talents, sweetie. I will hire you as a maid. You can help clean around the house and be of assistance when I need you. How does that sound?”

You should be relieved. Happy. Grateful. And you were, in a way. So why was the first thought coursing through your mind… Am I really that undesirable that he doesn’t want to sleep with me?

“I…y-yes.” You nodded. “Thank you.”

A new start. A new life. With…with the leader of Onychinus himself. God, that all sounded like a dream. Not like a nightmare…but a dream. If Sylus was truly as kind as he was today…then there was nothing to be worried about…right?

Sylus’ car was impressive. Buttery leather seats, enough space to do a workout inside, and…it was so damn clean. The drive back to his home did not take long. Perhaps that was also because of how vehemently he ignored the speed limits.

His house was…massive. Scratch that, it was a mansion. No wonder he wanted help with cleaning it. You were Luke’s and Kieran’s responsibility for now, and let them lead you to your new room. Sylus had insisted you were equipped with a new wardrobe and promised to send someone to buy you piles of clothes as soon as possible.

Your new room was practically a suite. Vast, neatly decorated, expensive. You liked his taste. It was dark, mysterious. And yet…too much had happened for you to fall asleep. You tossed and turned in your new king-size bed underneath silken sheets until you couldn’t take it anymore and threw back the covers to find Sylus.

Luckily, Luke and Kieran were still awake too.

“C-Can you tell me where Sylus is?”

“In his office. Third door on the right,” Luke said.

“He doesn’t like being disturbed so be extra nice,” Kieran added.

You almost chuckled. “I will.”

Following their instructions, you soon found yourself knocking on his door.

“Come in.”

Sylus looked up from his desk when you entered, a hint of surprise washing over his chiselled face. “Is everything alright, kitten?”

“Yeah, I just…I can’t sleep. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

He put down his pen and stood, walking around his massive mahogany desk before leaning against the edge.

“Earlier tonight…something strange happened,” you began.

Sylus raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“When…when you were looking at me…it…it seemed like one of your eyes just started…to glow. And…and when it did I suddenly heard a voice. My voice. It was like it was whispering to me. Whispering...what I would have never dared say out loud. You…you heard it too, didn’t you? That’s why you said you knew that staying in that brothel wasn’t what I really wanted. How…how did you do that?”

“That, kitten, is complicated. It has something to do with the Aethercore I carry inside of me.”

“You…carry an Aethercore inside of you?”

Sylus nodded. “But that is a story for another time. Was there anything else? It’s getting late. You should go back to bed.”

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” you ask, nodding at his desk. The table lamp was switched on, illuminating the pile of paperwork waiting to be sorted through.

“I don’t sleep during the night.”

You frowned. “I see…”

Sylus tilted his head. It was almost irksome how well he could read you. He knew exactly that there was something else on your mind.

“I also… I just… I wanted to say thank you. I was terrified when I learned you’d be visiting and that I was supposed to…well.” You took a step closer to him. Both determination and arousal rippled through you when his scent hit you. Metal, some expensive perfume, and…something else you could not place.

You hooked your fingers into his belt. “L-Let me thank you properly.”

“Properly?” He crossed his arms before his chest, his red eyes darting down to your busy fingers.

“Yes. I mean, if…if you even find me attractive,” you murmured. “I…I want to make you feel good. I wasn’t lying about that when…you know. And this…this is the only thing I can offer in return. P-please…”

You tugged at the hem of his trousers. Sylus sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Are you sure you can handle that, kitten?”

Your pussy clenched at his nickname for you. Shit, what was going on with you? You’d never been attracted to any of your clients! But…but then again, Sylus wasn’t just a regular client anymore, now was he? He’d somehow saved your life. Saved it from the horror it had become all because you hadn’t wanted to be torn apart alive by a group of Wanderers. For the first time since you had unwillingly become a prostitute…you wanted to pleasure someone. You wanted to pleasure him. There was no denying that you were attracted to him and that felt…strange. You could hardly believe that after all the disgust you were still capable of such attraction. But here you were now.

“Is this truly what you want?”

You nodded. “Let me do this for you.”

He uncrossed his arms by way of letting you undo the buttons of his trousers. He sucked in a deep breath when you knelt down before him to pull them down along with his underwear.

Your jaw almost dropped. He was…bigger than the men you’d been with. Not crazy porn star big, of course…but his length was impressive even in its semi-hard state.

“What…on Earth…made you think I do not find you attractive, kitten?”

“I…I just…you seemed almost disgusted while I was dancing. So I figured…”

“You should not define your worth over whether a man thinks you’re beautiful or not. You…” He paused and hissed when you brushed your fingertips over his velvety shaft, making him twitch.

“For so long that was all I had. Making customers want me ensured that I had something to eat and a roof over my head…” you trailed off and leaned forward, closing your lips around his tip.

Sylus suppressed a moan. You took him deeper into your mouth, covering what you couldn’t with your throat with your hand. You sucked him gently, enjoying him like a popsicle. He tasted so clean and the saltiness of his precum against the roof of your mouth made you wetter than you would have expected. Shit…was that normal?

You felt Sylus grow harder and larger in your mouth. Bopping your head back and forth, you began to pleasure him as if your life depended on it. Fuck…never before had you enjoyed yourself while doing this. When he reached out and grabbed a fistful of your hair, you did not feel fear of being choked…you felt excitement.

You could tell he was holding back, trying to restrain himself. And somehow…somehow that was so fucking hot you became a little too eager. Taking him in even deeper, you gagged.

Sylus pulled you away immediately. “Easy, kitten. Breathe. Do you wanna keep going?”

A frantic nod was all you managed. A barely visible thread of saliva still connected your lips to his cock.

“Fuck…I…shouldn’t be…allowing this…” He was panting, his crimson eyes glued on you as you licked over his length, savouring the taste. You tapped the tip of his dick against your stretched-out tongue a few times before closing your mouth around him yet again, determined to finish him off and make him feel good as you’d promised.

“Kitten…” It was a warning. One to pull away now if you didn’t want to swallow. God, you weren’t even thinking about it. You wanted to taste him.

Locking your eyes with him, you pressed one of your hands against his thigh, with the other you cupped his balls to massage him to push him over the edge.

Sylus let out a carnal groan and threw his head back, his cock pulsing and twitching against the roof of your mouth. He rocked his hips forward to thrust, his warm seed shooting down your throat. You moaned, swallowing every last drop hungrily as if your life depended on it.

Once he was spent and breathing heavily, his steel grip in your hair loosening, you released him with a soft plopping noise and smiled up at him. You knew how to read men during those moments, even Sylus. His red eyes were full of desire and lust for more, and his cheeks were flushed.

“Did…you like that?” you asked—quite redundantly so.

Sylus huffed a laugh. “I am tempted to ask you to do this every night, kitten,” he purred.

“I don’t mind.”

“No. This isn’t why I had you brought here.”

“Then why? Do you really want me to be your maid?”

“I want you to figure out what you want. And…maybe I do have a soft spot for you. I don’t accept deals where I don’t come out on the winning side, remember?”

Your smile grew a little wider. “What if this is what I want?”

You got up from your knees, watching him tuck himself back in. Sylus studied you for a moment, contemplating. “Then I suggest we get you a pretty dress to wear and I take you out tomorrow night. Properly.”

Oh my god. “O-Okay.”

“Now go back to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night…Sylus.”

“Good night…kitten.”

#sylus imagine #sylus smut #sylus x you #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus #sylus lads imagine #sylus lads x you #sylus lads x reader #sylus lads x mc #sylus lads smut #love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace imagine #lads imagine

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rebelliousstories · 3 months ago

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Magical Relationships

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader, Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Reader (Platonic)

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by @oh-prettylady

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Angst

Word Count: 1,466

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: He had spent so long looking for her, only to find that she was closer than ever suspected.

Consider Donating: Here

If there was one thing that Gambit always asked for whenever he could, it would forever be a relationship of his own. He had seen Jean and Scott fall in love, witnessed Beast try himself; hell, everyone he knew had tried. But for some reason, Jean and Scott were the only ones that made it work. But Remy wanted that. He wanted his own lady to call his, to love, and to spoil. When he came back from a mission one day, he got his wish.

A beautiful girl around his age had shown up with the Wolverine. She was shy, only sticking near the burly man, and not speaking to just about anyone. But she was gorgeous, sweet and kind. Her ability to transform into any animal she wished never ceased to amaze Remy when they were in the danger room.

Slowly but surely, she began warming up to the other, but not Gambit. She was still hesitant around him, refusing to say more than a few words to him. It threw the Cajun for a loop the first few times he tried to flirt with her.

“My, my, my, chere. Ya face would look so much prettier up close, ya know? Just close enough for a kiss perhaps.” This caused her to flush red.

“How’s about you and me go and paint the town red tonight, chere?” She turned to Logan for help who kindly told the man she was off limits.

“Oh, I’m feelin’ awfully weak, chere. I hear ya kisses are magic though. How’s about one for ya patient, yeah?” Turning to scamper off was her course of action for this.

Each time he tried to flirt with her, she refused. Maybe he was coming off too strong for her. He knew very little about her backstory when she came to the school. So, Remy decided to switch tactics. He tried to bond with her over something, anything. But they seemed to have very little in common. But he was desperate to have her talk to him in any way they could.

After a few weeks of this, Gambit made very little leeway in his attempt to talk with her. It was not until Logan decided to go off on his own again that he finally got a break. This was not how he wanted it to start, but it was how it happened. Remy had found her staring out of a window towards the road in the school on a day off for them.

“You miss da Wolverine, chere?” He asked quietly. She got a bit spooked, jumping in her seat, and went to leave.

“No, no. I didn’ mean t’ make ya scared. I can leave if ya want.” Holding his hands up, Gambit tried to make himself appear as non threatening as possible to the woman. But what she did next shocked him.

She shook her head, and patted the sot next to her in the window. Waiting, Remy tried to see what exactly she meant, which was met with her patting the spot once more. At her insistence, he made his way over, and slumped down into his seat.

“I just really miss him, you know?” She began, still staring. “He took care of me when I had no one around. It’s hard being without him, not knowing where he is or if he’s alive.”

“Oh, chere. Don’t worry ‘bout it. The Wolverine will come back soon. Besides, I’m pretty sure that man lives purely off of spite, so he be fine.” Remy tried to comfort the girl, but only felt like he was causing her more discomfort.

“You’re right,” she spoke after a brief silence, “Logan will be okay. He’ll come back.” Looking out the window, she looked towards the road once more before turning to the mutant to her right.

“I love your eyes, by the way.” This time, it was Gambit’s turn to be bashful. His face blushed something fierce as he turned away from her. He could only hope that she did not see what was happening to his face, or the smile that appeared on his face.

“You flatter Ol’ Gambit. Ain’t do nothin’ to deserve it.” He stammered out, hoping that she would let it go. But to his fortune, and mis. Fortune, she did not.

Her giggles rang out through the small nook that they were tucked away in, and Gambit turned to face her fully. Even he was not immune to her infectious laughter. Soon, he was joining her in his own deep chuckles that boomed out next to hers. After a few minutes, they began to wind down. And as he looked over at her from across the windowsill, Remy thought something to himself.

This might just work out.

After that night, it was like a flip had been switched. Instead of constantly being shy, and running away from the Cajun, she had begun to enjoy his company. She was enjoying a cup of tea with him in the morning while he made his coffee. In the evenings, she would make a bowl of ice cream for each of them to enjoy in front of the fire in the main study room.

And all through this, they grew closer. Remy’s flirting no longer made her anxious, it excited her. She still had yet to get over her blushing and shyness when he did so, but she was no longer running away which he considered a win in his books. Gambit so badly wanted to properly ask her out; it burned within him. But he had to contend with Logan coming after him.

Oh, he was well aware that the Wolverine would just give him the tough love act, but that did not make it any less intimidating to ask her pseudo-father for permission. It also did not help that the man was currently somewhere that they at the school could not reach him. So for the time being, Gambit was sticking to making her blush like a school girl at every chance he got.

Remy loved the challenge of getting her to blush harder and harder each time. Sometimes, it was the fact that it was in front of the other team members. Other times, it was because of what he had actually said. One particular instance stands out better than the rest.

“Chere, jus’ need t’ ask ya somethin’. Will you Brie mine?” Remy drawled out as he leaned against the counter. Storm, Beast, and Cyclops were sitting at the table nearby and actively listening to what was coming next.

“Don’t you ever get tired of thinking up different pickup lines to use on me?” She teased back, finishing her making of food at the stove.

“Ain’t no trouble to the Gambit if he has t’ think of you. So whatcha say?” There was quiet laughter coming from the table nearby.

“Can I at least have my breakfast first?” Her tone was teasing, even if her words were annoyed.

“Never too early to start the greatest love story ever.”

“Sometimes it is.” The laughing stopped. Gambit stopped in his tracks, and was afraid to turn and face the voice behind him.

“Logan, you’re back!” Her plate was quickly abandoned in favor for wrapping her arms around his neck. His own found a home wrapped around her back before they pulled away.

“Missed me, kid?” A smirk toyed at the edge of his lips.

“Maybe a little.” She admitted; a smile of her own forming on her lips.

“Now, what was this I hear about you wanting to ask the kid out, Cajun?” Logan near growled in his low-rumbling voice.

“Now, Mon Ami, jus’ remember is just Gambit.” He stammered out, holding his hands up defensively. The Wolverine placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to stop what he was saying immediately.

“Treat her right, or you’re turning into a kebab. I’m going to unpack and go to bed.” Passing the girl on his way back to his room, Logan gave her one last pat on the shoulder and left. There was a stunned silence that enveloped the entire room as everyone tried to process the events that had just unfolded.

“So, Remy,” she began with a teasing tone, “something you wanna ask me?”

He could not speak. The smooth talking Cajun was speechless after that interaction. But once he began to recover, a smirk overtook his rugged features. He walked up closer to the woman and placed a hand back on the counter.

“Will you go out with me, chere?” Remy finally asked her.

“Of course, Gambit. Besides, I have a man waiting to turn you into a kebab if you mess up.” She began to laugh, but the color started drawing from his face once more.

#rebelliousstories #writing #remy lebeau imagine #remy lebeau #remy lebeau x reader #gambit x reader #gambit #gambit imagine #xmen imagine #x men 97 #x men comics #x men movies #x men imagine #x men #deadpool and wolverine

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starsofang · 6 months ago

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Change of Heart

hitman!simon x f!reader / FINAL

previous part

tw: NSFW, MDNI, mentions of suicide, heavy angst, please be cautious as always! <3

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

The weight on your shoulders was heavy and exhausting. It caused your body and soul to ache with a crushing feeling of grief. Your conversation with Price played in your mind tenfold, repeating over and over until it drove you to the point of insanity. You feared if you stayed stuck in the loop for a moment longer, your brain might short circuit and you’d succumb to life’s torturous game.

How had things come to this?

Two weeks ago, you should’ve been dead. Two weeks ago, you should’ve denied Ghost’s abrupt deal, you should’ve told him the truth – that you had no intentions of living past that very Friday the two of you planned meticulously to end your life.

Two weeks ago, you should’ve never met Simon.

What was meant to be a task given to you with the purpose of self healing had erupted into an even scarier nightmare. Life would’ve never been so complicated had you denied Simon and stuck to your original plan on desired death. It would’ve never been so complicated had you just done it all yourself instead of pussying out and asking him to finish the job for you.

Now, all that remained was a heart beyond repair, fragments of its shattered pieces being taken away with Simon when he had left.

He had the entirety of your heart, and you didn’t think you’d ever get it back. You couldn’t take it back if you wanted to. It belonged to him, and your heart was loyal to its owner.

All that was left was the, what now? Price had made it clear he couldn’t promise anything. Hell, you wouldn’t blame him if he had just said that in a half-assed attempt of comfort. For all you knew, Simon hadn’t a clue what was going on in the first place, or perhaps he didn’t care. Living without closure of what could’ve been had left you scarred and untrusting, even of the very man you’d fallen in love with.

Love was what always got you into this mess, after all. You couldn’t love yourself, so God was executing punishment by making you unlovable to everyone else. If anything, you should be thanking him for steering you away from more heartache.

Maybe this was how it was meant to be. Simon giving you a taste of what life could be if you had just tried harder, before pulling the candy right out of your mouth before you could protest that you weren’t quite finished with it.

You didn’t reach out to Simon. Even though you were blocked from the moment the two of you had sex and he ran, you didn’t dare try and test out your theory to see if he had undone his action. You weren’t even sure you knew what you could say to him.

While it was clear Price played a dirty hand in creating the drift between the two of you, Simon still allowed himself to be a puppet on Price’s string. It boiled you to the core, filled you with resentful distaste that you couldn’t quite swallow.

It was hard to accept that you hated him almost as much as you loved him.

No matter how angry you were at the world for the hand it was dealing you, you still couldn’t bring yourself to leave it. Not on your own. Even through the hole of emptiness that rattled you to the bone, a spark of hope shone from deep within you, and that was what kept you going. It was the faintest of light, fighting to stay ablaze. No matter how puny and weak it was, it was still there, cheering you on in a gentle voice to keep going.

As much as you didn’t want to listen, you did.

Life’s a bitch and then you die. But maybe if you gave it one final chance at redemption, things may work out in your favor this time. And if they didn’t? The original plan was always in the cards.

Simon left Price in the dust the moment he uttered those words. Go and get your bird back, Simon.

He had never heard something so beautiful, so breathtaking. It was his call back home, and he’d be an absolute tool if he didn’t rush to return to its welcoming arms.

He didn’t care how ridiculous he looked running along the streets in the middle of the night. Hell, he didn’t even bother to put his mask on. Tonight, he was Simon, and he was wearing his identity with pride. Ghost was tucked away in the darkest depths of his mind, caged in and hidden. With you, he didn’t want to be Ghost. He didn’t want to be a man who thrived off of the stolen lives of the innocent in order to pay his bills. He didn’t want to be the broken version of himself that imprisoned his own vulnerability.

He wanted to be the man who could give you a colorful life filled with painted sunsets and warm rays. Only Simon could do that, and he’d throw Ghost away if that was what it took.

The closer Simon got to your apartment, the more the nerves wracked his body with a faint tremor. Would you even speak to him? Forgive him? He knew he didn’t deserve it. Hell, he deserved a cold fist to the jaw and a stab wound to the heart.

The least he could do was try.

He pondered if he should get you something. Flowers, maybe, but when it came down to it, flowers were a pathetic excuse for an apology. No, Simon wanted to do this right. He had spent his entire life partaking in wrongdoings. For once, just once, he wanted to be good.

The sight of your building nearly had him throwing up on the concrete beneath his boots. It turned his stomach in a sickeningly sweet way, coating his tongue with bitter cottonmouth. For the first time since he could remember, Simon was scared. Downright terrified.

While the feeling should be seen in a negative light, he saw it as the complete opposite. It meant he was alive. He was still human. He still harbored emotions that Ghost had so desperately tried to get rid of.

Even after everything, he was still Simon.

His feet grew heavier and heavier with every step he took into your building, up the raggedy stairs, and down the dim hall, just like the routine he had always fallen into when waiting for you to return from work. Things may be different now, and he may be venturing on the same path with a different ending this time, but that didn’t mean he was led astray. Different could mean better, and he could only pray to the very God putting him through hell that his outcome would be brighter than before.

Simon didn’t know how long he stood outside of your door. He willed himself to knock, but he was struggling internally. The truth was, he was scared to see you. Seeing you meant facing the result of his regretful actions, and he wasn’t sure he could handle recognizing you as broken because of him.

He dug this grave, he wallowed in it, and now it was time to crawl his way out and make things right.

His fist shook as he raised it to knock on the door. Knuckles collided with the old wood, echoing sharply in his ears. Anxiety crept into his bones, leaving him in an uncomfortable suffocation. He felt as if he wouldn’t be able to breathe until you were in front of him. The room felt small, it was closing in on him. He wondered if this was a bad idea. Maybe he should’ve just left you alone, maybe he should’ve kept you out of his mess–

“Simon?”

The air that was tightening in his lungs exhaled in a slow, trembling breath, shoulders going slack from their tightly wound stiffness. Your voice was his oxygen, and he could finally breathe again.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, and God, did it feel jubilating to say that name again.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, and the bitterness in your tone was clear. It sunk into him like a thousand knives, coursing him with relentless pain.

“I need to fix this,” he gasped out. “Please, sweetheart, let me fix this. I know I fucked up, alright? I fucked up bad.”

You stared at him in disdain, but Simon could see the glimmer of a burning ache in your eyes that matched his own. You missed him just as much as he missed you, but your hurt overruled everything else. He didn’t blame you one bit.

“You left me after you had sex with me, Simon,” you spat with dripping fire that scorched him with every word. “You left me after everything. You expect me to just let you come here and tell me you fucked up, as if I didn’t know that?”

Simon could feel his resolve slipping away. He wanted to panic, to spit out useless apologies until one of them worked and you caved, but that wasn’t how this was going to go. Simon would have to work for it, and he’d be damned if he let you slip away. He’d spend the rest of his life working for it if it meant having you in the end.

“Sweetheart–”

“Fucking– I’m not doing this in my doorway. Just… just come inside,” you sighed out, utterly defeated. You didn’t have to tell Simon twice. He stepped into your apartment cautiously, letting you know that you were in complete control. You were in charge, and Simon was here to take the beatdown, no matter how painful it may be.

Upon entering, your apartment was in havoc. It wasn’t dirty, it wasn’t disgusting or revolting, but it was clear you spent most of your days cooped up in your room. Simon felt guilt eat away at him from the mere sight alone.

“Tell me how I can fix this,” Simon pleaded. Everything about his body language was desperate, distressed. His hands spoke for him, moving animatedly, unable to control himself. He was begging. For the first time in his life, he was begging.

“I’m not telling you how to fix anything, Simon. You’re the one supposed to fix it on your own. I’m not going to do it for you,” you explained in eerie calmness, but it was unmistakingly exhaustion. He couldn’t imagine how much he had put you through.

He knew you were right. This was Simon’s responsibility, and begging you for the cure would be easy on him and harder for you. He couldn’t allow that to happen. You’d already been burdened enough.

Simon stared at you, eyes glossed over, eyebrows pulled together from his stir of emotions. The way you stared back was empty, and it broke his heart that he was the reason for the light going out so soon after gaining it back.

He contemplated what to do. There were many ways this could go sideways, and he couldn’t risk that. He had to pick what was right in his heart, even if it meant shoving away the pride he’d grown accustomed to over the years of being alone and hollow.

Simon slowly got down on his knees, hands clasped in his lap, and he gazed up at you in woe. He was baring himself to you completely, stripping himself of all defenses, and succumbing to vulnerability. Never had Simon gotten on his knees for another person. His ego was too large, and he refused to let himself express weakness.

For you, he’d hang himself dry.

“What are you–”

“Please, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice soft yet broken, brimming with anguish. “I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. Nothin’ I say will make it better. I can’t change it, no matter how much I wish I could. I fucked up, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness for leavin’ you the way I did, for hurtin’ you like everybody else has done. I gave you an empty promise, and even then, I broke it.”

You were speechless from where you stood, peering down at this burly man on his knees for you. Your eyes never strayed away from his, and you recognized the familiar spark of despair in them. They looked just like yours every time you looked in the reflection. He was a mirror of you, just as you were a mirror of him.

“I was scared of losin’ you because of my job. I didn’t think a sweet thing like you deserved to be involved with a man like me. I didn’t want you hurt,” he explained, and the faintest crack in his voice showed you just how hard this was for him as well. You weren’t the only one suffering the consequences.

“Yet you hurt me anyway,” you whispered brokenly, and Simon deflated.

“I know,” he breathed, shaking his head. “I know, sweetheart. I let my fear control me, and it caused me to make things worse. It wasn’t fair t’you. I fucked up, and I’m so sorry.”

Your own resolve was faltering. You wanted so badly to be angry, to kick him out and be done with him. Strip him from your life and return to your days of wallowing in loneliness and misery.

You couldn’t. Every word was like a small bandaid over a too-big wound, but it was an attempt. He was trying. Nobody had ever tried with you before.

“Y’know,” you began, voice as soft as a whisper. “One of your boys came by to see me. Price.”

Simon blinked, surprise morphing on to his face. He swallowed anxiously, fists squeezing in his lap before he forced them to relax.

“And?”

You stared at him for a moment, shifting through your words in your mind.

“He tried to get me to cut you off. Tell you that I was better off, that I didn’t want you around anymore. He thought it would be best,” you finished quietly, shifting your eyes away from him in a moment of guilt. You weren’t sure why you were feeling it, but you’d recognize that uncomfortable lump in your throat anywhere. “I told him no.”

Simon’s eyebrows raised, eyes darting over your face to read your expression. “You did?”

“Yeah,” you confessed, shifting uncomfortably. “Told him… told him you didn’t deserve that.”

His heart ached painfully in his chest. What a lovely woman you were, defending him even after he had wronged you. How stupid he was for letting his own past misfortunes creep into the present.

He should be mad at Price for invading in on his personal business, but if he didn’t, Simon might not be here right now, kneeling before you and pleading for forgiveness. Price gave him an in, he gave him a chance, even if he went behind his back to do so.

Go and get your bird back, Simon.

It made sense now. Simon nearly laughed in bitter humor.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he murmured gently, finally gaining your gaze back. Your eyes had softened from their hardened walls you built back up again, and he prayed he had a chance. “I know it’s not goin’ to fix anythin’. You’re still angry with me, and you have every right t’be. But if you still decide to throw me out, to never speak t’me again, then I want you t’know that I love you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, chest pulling tight. A mixture of pain and relief coursed through your veins, and you weren’t sure which emotion to listen to. You weren’t sure what was right, but there was one thing you were sure of, and it was that you loved him, too. Heartbreakingly so.

“You do?” you whispered in uncertainty.

Simon rose from his kneeled position, taking a cautious step towards you. When you didn’t back away, he seized the opportunity to cradle your hands in his, holding them to his heart. “I do,” he repeated softly. “I’m not good at this, sweetheart. I’ve done a lot of terrible things. I’ve hurt people, I’ve killed people, yet loving somebody has always been the hardest thing to do. With you, it feels easy.”

You stared up at him, searching for any signs of dishonesty. What stared back at you was pure truth, his eyes flooding with a new light that promised love and confidence.

Taking a deep breath and a leap of faith, you responded, “I love you, too. Even though I should hate you.”

For the first time since seeing him, Simon smiled. It was a boyish smile, one you’d never seen before, and it lit your entire world up. The sun was back out, the flowers were blooming, birds were chirping, and nature was at peace. It tugged on your heartstrings and pulled away all of the hurt that had resided inside.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. It brought you back to the first time the two of you shared a kiss, and the memory was fond. Despite all of the troubles and heartache, Simon was true to his word. Even if the world had failed the two of you, now was the time to change life’s course and rewrite your own future.

“Yes,” you sighed breathlessly.

Simon’s kiss was as familiar as before, but this time, it felt much more intimate. It was burning passion simmered down to tenderness, his hands cradling your face with the utmost care, treating you like frail china. He didn’t push or prod and instead moved with you rather than take control, letting you handle the reins this time.

It was a slow dance rather than a waltz, steady and unceasing.

“We’ll figure this out together, yeah?” he breathed against your lips, and you could feel the curl of his smile. You opened your eyes to peer into his own, unable to contain your own smile.

His lips returned to yours, and you melted into him. All that weight had been lifted so easily. All the rage had dissipated into nothing, being replaced with a warm, glowing light that filled your chest and threatened to burst.

This was all you wanted – to be content. To be happy.

You didn’t want to spend your days, awaiting an early death that would never come, nor did you want to waste it being burdened by the past that haunted you like a demonic spirit. This felt right.

When more and more feeling poured into the kiss, it shifted into something more starved, like two lovers who’d been separated for years. While you were falling into it, Simon was reluctant. Pulling away from you, you had a brief moment of uncertainty before he spoke.

“I don’t want to rush you like I did last time,” he explained gently. “The last thing I want is for you t’feel pressured. I’m not here for only that. M’here to fix this.”

“Simon,” you murmured, a warm smile on your face. “I know you aren’t. I want to do it. Is that okay?”

Simon stared at you for a moment, weighing out his options. While having sex was part of the reason the two of you ended up in this mess, it was the part after that really played a role. This time, things would be different.

“‘Course that’s okay, sweetheart,” he assured, returning your smile.

He was careful in guiding you to your room. While anxiety weighed heavy on his mind in messing things up further, he was determined to ensure that wouldn’t happen. The power was in his hands, and he’d use all of it in order to make you feel the love you deserve to feel.

Peeling off your clothes was a slow task. He took his time, reveling in the warmth of your skin, guiding his hands across every inch of flesh. He was worshiping you, showering you in praise and care. Sweet and reverent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured affectionately, lips pressing to your cheek, then jaw, then down your neck. You were laid out for him on the bed, looking like a goddess bathed in light. “Don’t know what I did t’deserve you.”

“Simon,” you whispered, feeling tears spring in your eyes. Noticing, he lifted himself up, brushing the pad of his thumb softly over your cheek, swiping away the stray tear. He smiled down at you, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

He didn’t leave you waiting, but he certainly didn’t rush either. He worked diligently in stretching you open on his fingers, curling into that familiar spot that had your breath catching and your back arching beautifully. Your moans were spoken sonnets that blessed his ears, and he wanted nothing more than to hear them for the rest of his life.

Simon didn’t stop his notions, working you open until you were a squirming, crying mess, kissing away your tears while drowning in bashfulness at the sight of your pleasure. You deserved to feel good, and he’d die making sure of it.

When he lined himself up with you and slowly pressed his cock inside until he was at the hilt, buried in your moist warmth, he let out a blissful sigh, knocking his forehead against yours. He didn’t tear his eyes off of you, watching every flicker of euphoria that flashed in your eyes when he moved his hips. Unlike last time, his pace was slow yet firm, allowing you to bask in the delicious feeling of his cock pressing against the gummy walls of your cervix with every thrust.

“I love you,” he breathed through a sigh, brushing away a strand of hair that stuck in a sweaty mess to your forehead. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. M’so lucky.”

You whimpered as he showered you in praise, wiggling from under him. The pleasure mixed with brimming love had you close to orgasm, clenching around him in a vice. He panted with you, breath fanning your face, only getting cut off when he’d lean down to kiss you.

It was a wonderful display of intimacy. This wasn’t just sex. He wasn’t ruining you, he wasn’t leaving you broken. He was leaving you overflowing with promises that he had every intention of keeping.

Simon swallowed up your moans with lips pressed to yours, fucking you through your orgasm, whispering sweet encouragements. He filled you, sealing those promises, his spend mixing with yours and bringing the two of you together as one.

Breathless and spent, Simon tangled you in his arms and legs, holding you close to his chest so he could feel your warmth against him. It brought him comfort and security, like a blanket being lovingly placed over him and consuming him in a snug embrace.

It was silent for a long time after, but neither of you minded it. You relished in the feeling of one another, and words weren’t needed.

“You’re not going to leave after I fall asleep, are you?” you whispered, breaking the silence with a brief moment of weakness. Simon shifted his head to look down at you, lifting a hand to cradle your head and card his fingers in your hair.

“No, sweetheart. I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he assured, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. You nodded against him, snuggling closer to him, cheek pressed against his chest.

“You weren’t here to see me make it to two weeks,” you said softly. Though the reminder hurt to hear, you held no resentment in your tone, which gave him a sense of relief.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he apologized with a frown. When you peeked your head up to look at him, his eyes softened. It was like looking at the most beautiful thing crafted on this planet, and he had the absolute honor of calling it his.

“Maybe we can have a do-over,” you suggested, smiling cheekily at him. It enticed a laugh on his end, rumbling from his chest.

“How about instead of puttin’ a deadline on it this time, we keep count of the days that you wake up and accomplish seeing all the tomorrows. Deal?”

Your smile widened, and you pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “It’s a deal.”

IT'S OFFICIALLY OVER!!!! I am so sad because I had such an amazing time writing this fic and it will truly always be one of my favorites. so many of you enjoyed it and supported me through it, and I cannot thank you enough for all the love you've given me :,) I sincerely hope this ending is what everybody wanted and more. I love you all <3

#call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod mw3 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley #hitman!simon #hitman au #ghost #ghost x reader

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jiminrings · 8 months ago

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fail-safe (3)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 14k

glimpse: you hear everything you've ever wanted, but you don't know if it's too late.

alternatively, yoongi is consumingly yours all the time.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ still angst (but u can breathe now bc it’s the finale), brother’s best friend AND single dad au, jealousy, yearning from all angles, did i say angst alr (mom-wise and brother-wise), fluff, redemption ]

notes: this is it for the chronological series of fail-safe :-) from the bottom of my heart thank you so sooooo much for reading n loving!!! sharing fs with the lot of u is an experience (and era) i'll never forget!!!

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Your trip back home isn’t as rough as you expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between coming home alone and coming home with Jungkook. There’s an irreplaceable weight in your chest that still flares even at the mention of Yoongi, the anger you have towards him mixing with the trepidation of holding everything in you, not just him, for another three days. There’s an angry rash around your fingertips just waiting for you to pick on your nails until they’re raw because atleast in that way, you get to forget the way Yoongi’s hand picked up yours in the dark.

There’s an ache in you that not even Yoongi and Hyewon could undo by never having met in the first place. It’s long been there, perhaps even older than Haneul. The ache of unfulfillment in you is bred by everything significant in your life — all from your first argument with your mom because of your lack of direction in life, to your latest heartbreak that keeps manifesting into your first ever.

You're no longer angry recounting the fact that you weren't destined for greatness. Namjoon turned out beyond great, world-renowned even, despite living in the same home that you did. Maybe it's not your environment or your lack of a passion that hindered you — maybe, it's just you alone.

Maybe, some part of you had ached too much from reaching (read: loving) too far up, you're doomed to live the rest of your life unfulfilled. Yoongi's never been yours, but the way your heart withdraws from him is as if he's always been.

You've done your share. You've completed your fill. You've worked yourself to the bone to make anything (not something, and certainly not everything) out of yourself that even if you're not decorated in sports like Namjoon nor celebrated in music like Yoongi, you have a fail-safe to fall back on.

You're earning more than the white collars you could recognize from your old yearbook and even if it's to look after someone, to look after Jungkook and his craft, and neither use your actual degree nor make a name out of yourself — a part of you feels fulfilled.

If being fulfilled meant being in the shadows as a manager; if it meant caring for someone in a professional context yet in a way you've always known with practice, with love, through the years– you'll take it.

You'll take the peace of being fulfilled without a trophy than to be listless trying to compete for first place.

You're fulfilled now to be sitting at the passenger seat of your own car because despite having never been to your place anymore, Jungkook fought with you in order to get his hands on the wheel.

You're fulfilled now, even if you only took Jungkook's silly suggestion (read: insistence) of fake-dating him just so you wouldn't have to face your family and Yoongi alone. You're fulfilled despite having no real place in neither men's lives.

Oddly enough, Jungkook wants to be both. He wants to be fulfilled and compete for first place in a position in your life that he can't even say to your face.

Jungkook holds you right in the middle of the living room, his eyes wide and grin sparkling as if the director had already said action! and the task for him was to act out what being in love looked like, right in front of his female lead's family in her childhood home. (Read: he isn't acting at all.)

“And he’s…?” your mom lets the question hang in the air, eyes trailing from Jungkook’s face, to his bicep, to how his forearm fits snugly against your back and his hand curls around your waist. Your mom visibly looks surprised, although you don’t know if it’s about the fact that you actually came back despite everything, or if it’s because her favorite actor is in her kitchen while she’s sweaty in an apron, or if it’s because said favorite actor leaves no space between the two of you.

“Jeon Jungkook, ma’am. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he greets politely, a little jittery now that he’s face-to-face with her. He’s only heard of the woman she is from you and as much as he tried to picture her from memory, your stories don’t do her much justice. Jungkook’s always loved your kind eyes and your sweet smile, but he knows now where you’ve got it from; in fact, if he turns around right now right after shaking her hand and bowing profusely, you’re showing exactly those to him — that, along with a pair of gazes he can’t place.

Those gazes aren’t kind at all. One is confused and dumbfounded, and the other harbors nothing but hostility and anger.

“Sweetheart, I know you. Who doesn’t?” your mom’s at a loss for breath, mouth still agape as she keeps flickering her eyes between the two of you. She knows that you’re his manager, but what she doesn’t know is why the Jeon Jungkook is in her humble kitchen of all places. He has the most expressive and sincere eyes ever — he can’t possibly mistake your childhood home as a filming set and your waist as a hand rest.

You finally placate her thoughts when you speak, the loaded silence between the three of you (it’s buzzing with tension if you account for the other two) breaking. You actually giggle, your laughter taking the load off her shoulders because you’re happy; you don’t feel an ounce of guilt even if you’re lying to her face.

“We’re dating, mom,” you grin. “Jungkook’s my boyfriend.”

Jungkook smiles automatically, feeling your hand snake towards his own. His palm’s much bigger than yours yet it’s warmer than you’ve ever imagined, the envelope both of your hands make putting you at ease.

Your mom’s gasp bounces across the walls. Namjoon’s head that’s only been lowered the entire time you’ve been back suddenly whips to look at you and Jungkook. The fridge even lowers its hum to make way for the theatrics aimed at you, yet your eyes are fixed on your mom’s and Jungkook’s alone.

You came home for her and with him. You’re not here for anyone nor anything else because it’s merely a play for your survival, only this time, Jungkook’s hellbent on increasing your odds.

Yoongi freezes evidently, hand tightening around Haneul’s bottle as if it would do anything to release the red from his vision. He staggers silently, breathing suddenly ragged as he stares down at the offending steel cylinder. It’s small. Compact. If anything, he figures it would hurt if he were to throw it at anything. Anyone. Someone, even.

“Wow, that’s.. that’s amazing!” she embraces the both of you, making you and Jungkook share a gaze you only laugh through because he actually looks honored.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to let you know personally,” he apologizes meekly for a mistake that isn’t even one in the first place, the humility in his tone making your ears perk. It’s Jungkook onceagain with the apologies towards you that he shouldn’t be making at all, and yet, even in front of your family, he persists.

Jungkook apologizes even for the things he hasn’t done, not because he plans on doing them, but because a large part of him wants to be in the actual situation wherein those mistakes were merely possibilities.

“It’s no problem at all. You’re busy getting all these awards, I know how that’s like,” she jokes, unable to stop smiling. “I’m just glad someone’s taking care of my baby.”

“And I don’t plan on missing a single day, ma’am.”

“Stop that,” she chides, shaking her head eagerly. “You can call me mom.”

Yoongi lets the bottle clatter to the sink.

( ♡ )

Yoongi hadn’t been able to sleep last night.

He’d woken up in a cold sweat hours before his alarm was supposed to go off to cook dinner for everyone, even if it was only yourfavorite. The anxiousness that bubbled in his veins when he was asleep was going to burst and while Yoongi thought nothing of it initially, he realizes in panic that it was actually pointing to something.

He woke up next to Haneul and he was placated momentarily, but the knot tied around his heart tightens twofold when he sees Hyewon on the same bed.

On your bed.

The guilt that filled Yoongi then was enough for the bile to creep up into his throat, making him stagger outside to find Namjoon pacing right outside of his own bedroom. His personal phone’s tucked in between his ear and his shoulder, his hands preoccupied scrolling through whatever it is on his work phone. Yoongi momentarily stops his panic to inquire why the hell Namjoon’s panicking and why did he just see a glimpse of your social media accounts pulled up to the screen, your following list staring your brother in the eyes.

“What? What happened? Is it Y/N?”

Namjoon only looked at him with nothing but pity and guilt, the resentment he had for himself bleeding through the way he shifted his gaze to him.

“She saw you and Hyewon.”

Yoongi hadn’t been able to sleep since.

He didn’t even blink when Hyewon thanked him and said her goodbyes. He wasn’t even fazed when his ex-wife kissed Haneul goodbye and his son only resumed playing with his blocks. Yoongi hadn’t even tended to himself throughout the entire night, surrendering himself to be awake in your couch in the far event that you’d come home.

Yoongi wanted to follow you home, except almost exactly similar to the past, he had chased you out of what’s supposed to be your own home in the first place. The difference now was that he didn’t mean for Hyewon to be on your bed at all, let alone your room, but in the back of Yoongi’s thick skull — he figures that it won’t be enough for you.

Yoongi waits for you all night throughout the morning like a loyal dog waiting for its master, his chest rising up and down in hope yet his chin down in despondence. You do end up coming back home though, but your presence is neither unaccompanied nor for him.

With you is Jeon Jungkook, your boyfriend.

If only Haneul hadn’t asked for his bottle to be brought upstairs because he’s watching cartoons on Yoongi’s laptop, he would’ve collapsed on the floor then and there, uncaring of the way everyone else would be looking down on him.

If only Namjoon’s gaze wasn’t flitting to him to gauge his reaction because it’s the first time he’s, or by everyone else rather, hearing that you have a boyfriend, Yoongi would put his hands on his head and curse until his piercing migraine suddenly disappears.

If only your mother wasn’t here, frozen in the kitchen mostly because of what you just revealed and who you came home with, and partly because she’s waiting for him to finish washing Haneul’s bottle, he would’ve thrown up right in the sink.

Yoongi gathers all his pain and keeps it shut within himself until he gets you alone, catching you by the staircase when everyone else has dispersed.

“I’m sorry. Namjoon told me what you saw and-…” he stops himself when you look up at him with an innocent yet empty gaze, the weight of it (or lack thereof) startling him. “Let me explain why Hyewon was there in your bed.”

“I don’t want to listen,” you enunciate clearly, keeping your voice down because both Jungkook and Haneul are a few steps away. You do it for their sake and not for Yoongi’s, the bitterness in your chest physically restricting you to think about his state.

Yoongi pushes on, breath already catching in his throat when you’re still stiff as a stone. You haven’t even made a break for it yet; he only unconsciously held onto you out of fear that you’ll be out of his sight. “She was in the area because her parents are old and they don’t know much about selling their house here a-and well, she knows that I did the same for my parents when they sold ours. Nothing happened. I just helped her with the sale! S-she was playing with Haneul in the living room while I napped a-and, I just… when I woke up, they were right next to me. Y/N, I swear, nothing-…”

You shake your head fervently, the innocence of his reason doing little to break the seal in your stomach. You feel it dropping once again and even if Yoongi’s right, even if he’s saying the truth, the sight alone of him appearing to be a part of a happy family jogs up all the pain.

“I don’t want to listen and you don’t have to explain either.”

“But I hurt you. That’s why I want to explain,” he stutters. Yoongi’s eyes are so glassy, you could see your reflection in them.

“Oh. So you know,” you whisper, teeth harshly digging into your bottom lip. “I hate Hyewon for a lot of things but not for being the mother of your child. That’s out of my reach. I get it. She’s his mom and that’s that,” you admit, the vacancy in your chest and on your ring finger reminding you what Yoongi had never given you the chance for. “What I hate is that you let her sleep in my room. Seeing Haneul in there is good. You and him? That’s okay because I let you sleep in there,” you heave, voice close to breaking because of how you force it to be tamped down. “I hate how you let her sleep in my room, Yoongi. I-I, I fucking hate it because it’s just like that time I caught you practically fucking her in my room.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-…” Yoongi sniffles, tears already pouring. The staircase in your house is far too narrow to hold the both of you, let alone your history. “I didn’t think. I didn’t notice, a-and, I didn’t think. I didn’t think at all, Y/N. I thought it was okay for a split second because we looked like-…”

“A family,” you finish for him. “I get it. I do,” you nod your head fervently, your own hand snaking to your lips to stop the sharp inhale that pains you from the inside. “Almost everyone loses their sense of reason when it comes to family.”

“I didn’t notice she already entered the room. But I-I woke up,” Yoongi still swears up and down, adamant on his truth that you aren’t open to entertaining because he’s hurt you far too many times before. “Hyewon and I… we’re not. We’re co-parenting.”

“Still a family.”

“But-…”

“What the hell do you want to hear from me, Yoongi?” you snap, voice finally toning down when you notice faint footsteps coming from the second floor. “Do you— do you want me to agree with you and say that the three of you aren’t a family? And for what, s-so that could somehow excuse you for everything you’ve done? I don’t even know what family’s supposed to mean at this point!”

From upstairs, Namjoon suppresses a sob.

“My mom doesn’t know a single thing about all of this. I-I can’t even cry to her because I’m thinking of you. I’m thinking of protecting you, your son that she looks to as a grandson, a-and even your mom who’s her best friend,” you break into tears, ignoring the baby towel that Yoongi keeps on his person all the time that he offers to you. You sound far too defeated, and maybe you actually are, that Yoongi lets you push past him. “Meanwhile, my own brother probably knows everything but his first instinct is to protect you. Not me, his actual sibling. You.”

Namjoon had been waiting for you upstairs. He’s been barricading the door to the bathroom because he knows you can’t go to bed without your nightly shower, and because he knows that out of every space in the house, it must be the only one left wherein you can be truly alone with no hint of Yoongi.

“We have to talk,” he gets out as soon as you make eye contact with him, the towel that’s slung on your shoulder almost falling at the urgency to which he pulls you aside.

“It can wait.”

“I need to apologize,” he pleads once again, gripping your wrist gently like he had always done when you were kids to get you to listen to him.

“And I said it can wait. I can’t stand you right now,” you grit, the tears on your cheeks barely being dried up when Namjoon, unsurprisingly, decides to apologize to you within the same timeframe as Yoongi. They hadn’t planned it at all — the guilt and remorse weighed far too heavy for them to actually communicate.

“Where will you sleep?” he asks instead, exhaling heavily because you’re insistent on not crying again in barely your first night back, again. “Where will Jungkook sleep?”

“We’ll sleep together in a hotel.”

“Hotel?” Namjoon asks loudly, eyes bulging in shock. His voice is far too loud that everyone in the house (and maybe even your neighbors) must have heard him. “That’s nonsense. This is home, Y/N. You don’t have to book a hotel.”

“It is?” you seethe, your closed fists tightening on themselves painfully. “Did you also say the same thing to Hyewon? To Yoongi in the first place?”

“It’s my fault for-…”

You’re unaware that you and Namjoon are neck to neck until your mom chimes in out of nowhere, her gentle eyes asking more questions than she’s actually uttering. “What’s going on?” she switches her gaze between you and him. “Are the two of you fighting?”

“No,” you answer in unison, unable to fit a relieved sigh in between the terse silence.

“It’s nothing, mom,” Namjoon puts a hand on your shoulder, his smile tight and tense. “I was just telling Y/N that she doesn’t have to book a hotel.”

“Why would you book a hotel?” she gasps incredulously, her tone being the exact copy of Namjoon’s just a second ago.

“It’s just crowded in here, mom. That’s all,” you muster a sheepish smile, your posture slouching the more you realize that there’s no way out.

“I can ask Yoongi and Haneul to transfer to Namjoon’s so you can-..”

“No-!” you interrupt her in a hurry, breath hitching at the mention of him. “No, no. That’s unnecessary. I don’t want to sleep in my room.”

There’s a loaded pause between all of you, even between the door that Yoongi has his back on as he listens in.

“You and Jungkook can take my room instead,” Namjoon insists, his offer only barely scratching the surface of the apology that you truly deserve.

“Great. Thanks,” you conclude, already halfway into the bathroom when the sudden thought strikes you, your curiosity (and limit, by extension) getting the best of you to ask Namjoon while your mom’s still here. “How… how much longer are they gonna stay here?”

“I… haven’t asked yet,” Namjoon admits, the animosity you have towards Yoongi not going unnoticed by your mother.

“You need to ask then,” you quip. “This house is too small to have everyone and anyone.”

( ♡ )

Jungkook woke up in peace from sleeping in a bed that isn’t his.

Even before you actually got to shower (and not just sit on the toilet seat whilst trying to compose yourself) since you forgot to retrieve your clothes from your suitcase, Jungkook was already starfished in the middle of Namjoon’s bed. It’s a touching sight atop your own blanket and bug spray that your brother put in for you.

The two of you are far from okay. As a matter of fact, the only people you’re truly okay with in the house is your mom and Haneul; despite knowing that fully, Jungkook still dived in head-first in the middle of your situation. You’ve tried to dissuade him all throughout the five-hour long car ride, and not once did he even budge.

He’s here for you and no one else. He’s snoring in the middle of your sibling’s bed whom you aren’t in good terms with. He’s at ease with you in a province that he’s never stepped foot in, all because he felt compelled to protect you somehow and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Jungkook cares for you, enough to write a note and place it beside him just before he went to sleep, telling you that he’s a messy sleeper and to either jolt him awake to move or just manhandle him to the side so you could also sleep on the bed.

You go for the latter, trying to pry him as gently as you could (but even if you just hauled him like a sack of potatoes, he still wouldn’t wake up because he’s at ease too much; it’s you, of course) before finally calling it a night.

You may have lied awake mulling over the perpetual ache in your chest, but you didn’t cry at all.

Eventually, you fall asleep to the sound of Jungkook snoring.

Jungkook may have slept earlier than you, but he makes sure that you stay in late. (read: he physically tucked you into bed so snugly, you probably can’t even shift your shoulders by a centimeter). He wants to pull his weight around a house he hasn’t even been in, even if you hadn’t asked him to — you’d never do, because even as a manager and not as a fake-girlfriend, you don’t let him lift a single finger. Simply put, Jungkook feels this massive pull, not to perform for you, but serve you.

He finds himself quietly going down the stairs, still in his socks because you had stolen his house slippers just last night and he doesn’t have the heart to ask you to give them back. He’s quickly figured out the kitchen, getting a soup started before he allows himself to sit on the dining table by himself.

It turns out that Jungkook’s not alone at all.

“Hi.”

His ears perk at the soft voice that comes from the side of him, eyes immediately setting on the toddler who’s still dressed in his pajamas and has a similar case of bedhead to him.

“Hey buddy. Nice bangs,” Jungkook chuckles invitingly, pulling out a chair for Haneul to which he gets up on easily by himself.

“My appa cut them for me,” he answers with a smile, shyly pointing to Jungkook’s forehead with an eager finger. “You have bangs too. Who cut yours?”

“My girlfriend. I think she can be a hairstylist one day,” he hums, not feeling guilty over lying to him when it’s only a half, easily-corrected lie. You may not be Jungkook’s actual, real girlfriend, but you did cut his bangs when he asked you to. He couldn’t be bothered going to the salon and you didn’t have the energy to argue with him otherwise, so that’s how he ended up with choppy, viral (it only became viral because he has them) bangs that gained him a few dozen articles or so.

Jungkook doesn’t have kids of his own, but what he does have are several nephews and nieces. He’s the youngest of four children, and that’s perhaps the reason why he could empathize with you. He’s never been through what you have, and although you would never wish for him to do so, a part of him wants to know what it’s like — not because he seeks the pain, but because he wants to know how he could empathize with you better

With Jungkook being Jungkook, it’s perhaps the reason why he’s one of the gifted few people who could strike up a sensible conversation with a toddler and make them laugh without doing anything at all.

Something about Jungkook makes Haneul laugh so loudly, he wakes up almost everyone in the house in peace. Even Jungkook’s attempt at lame jokes tickle Haneul more than the way Namjoon’s ever tried in earnest to make him laugh.

You’ve already slinked past the two of them on the dining table, tending to the soup and the few hundred side dishes Jungkook started on but paused just to talk to Haneul.

“Haneul, don’t believe your uncle-…” you chime over a playful dig that Jungkook makes in your expense, the giggles that had only been filling your ears just seconds ago instantly ceasing when you notice Yoongi standing near you.

“Uncle?” he raises his brow at you, turning his attention to his son. “Haneul, what did I say about talking to strangers?”

“But he’s not a stranger. I saw him in that movie!” he frowns, the immediate awe that slips out of Jungkook’s lips not helping his case in the slightest.

“Still a stranger,” Yoongi smiles tightly, his exhale dragging out as he mulls over the eerily domestic sight of the three of you.

“But he’s Uncle Kook,” Haneul reasons with him, pointing his finger at you. “He’s auntie’s boyfriend.”

Yoongi’s softened a little bit since breakfast.

He was never mad at Haneul in the first place (more like halfhearted because he still stands by his lesson of not teaching him to talk to strangers, even if they’re a worldwide-famous actor, but those are not his words at all) but what he is annoyed about is the scene that he walked into.

It looked far too natural for you to look like Haneul’s mom and for Jungkook to look like him, maybe even better as a dad despite not having children at all, that he thought he was seeing red.

Haneul’s lying on his shoulder as they rewatch Bluey for the second time in the living room, the shadow of your alleged boyfriend walking past him until he registers the accent, later doing a quick turnaround that makes Yoongi ultimately irritated and Haneul more than happy.

“Oh cool. I love Bluey!” Jungkook says sincerely, inviting himself to sit on the lone sofa chair to watch the episode.

“Wow, you’re just so… quirky,” Yoongi mutters under his breath with a roll of his eyes, his snarky remark making Jungkook’s ears tingle. The latter scoffs slyly, making him finally acknowledge Jungkook, albeit sarcastically. “So what do you do, Jungkook?”

Even before he could answer though, Haneul does it for him with an excitement that only comes out whenever he’s talking about his favorites.

“We watched his movies in the cinema, appa! Remember?”

“Did we?” Yoongi narrows his eyes, playing his huff into a cough. He repurposes the tinge of embarrassment that he feels into snark, running a hand through his hair cockily. “I’d for sure remember an actor if they were good.”

( ♡ )

“Where’s your brother? I need him to do the heavy lifting.”

Your mom asks you with an urgency that parents only past the age of forty could possess, her lips already parted awaiting your response towards a question she asked just two seconds ago.

Even if you weren’t engrossed on an episode of Bluey (Jungkook and Haneul put you into it and you get their laser focus now) just now, you still wouldn’t know about your brother’s whereabouts. Yoongi saves you this time, his response piquing both yours and Jungkook’s interest.

“He’s in practice. Joon took Haneul with him so he could learn too.”

Jungkook looks up from his phone sharply, eyes wide in eagerness. He and Yoongi haven’t even looked at each other since yesterday yet their coordination (read: competitiveness) syncs with the other at the exact second, their insistence on tagging along a menial task making you jolt.

“I’ll come with, mom!”

“I’ll come with, auntie.”

It’s not a competition, yet Jungkook jumps up to stand so quickly, his head almost brushed the ceiling. “Let’s go, babe,” he holds out a hand for you, making you clear your throat as you’re still trying to gauge the situation.

“But what about Yoongi? Poor thing, he’ll be left alone,” your mom awes, her pout only deepening when Yoongi pretends to look crestfallen at being overlooked. He doesn’t have to pretend that much because despite not being the biggest fan of grocery-shopping, especially in your area because it always smelled of eggs despite barely carrying any eggs, he’ll jump at any task to impress your mom, and you by extension.

“I don’t think you should worry-…” you start, already being interrupted in an instant.

“Oh come on, Y/N. Two pairs of hands are better than one! They really have to do some heavy lifting because I forget to tell you about that one time your aunts hounded me for-…” she trails off while telling you a story about your supposedly huge extended family, blissfully unaware that there’s two men fighting to open the door for the both of you.

Yoongi’s driving his car as the most spacious option, making Jungkook snicker under his breath as he blames himself for not bringing his SUV which is clearly more expensive than whatever Yoongi’s driving, even if you elbow him lightly by the ribs because you didn’t ask him to do that.

“Mom, what are you doing here? Go sit in the front,” you nudge her, unwilling to sit next to Yoongi in an enclosed space.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I was just used to you always taking shotgun whenever Yoongi’s driving,” she squeals, fondly clapping to herself as she revisits the memory. “Do you remember that, sweetheart? You’d always fight with Namjoon because Yoongi got his license first.”

It may only be your mom who’s leaning against the center console to look at you in the back, but it doesn’t mean that Yoongi’s ever taken off his attention from you.

“I remember,” Yoongi smiles, looking at you from the rearview mirror. “I never forget.”

The grocery store hasn’t changed one bit.

It still smelled of eggs, the lights still aren’t as bright as they should be, and there’s still trinkets that you’ve always been swayed by being displayed near the register.

You’re taking it all in after not having been back for five years, whereas Yoongi strolls right in, but never ahead of you, as if he’s visited multiple times already since he left your town.

Your mom and Jungkook are side by side as he asks her a question you can’t even discern, only getting to know his actual agenda when you hear his sneakers skidding against the floor as he runs towards the pushcarts.

Yoongi, without even knowing the full context, runs after him because he didn’t want to come in second place for whatever it is that Jungkook’s challenging him to.

“I’ll steer the cart,” Jungkook presents definitively, his hand raised mid-air as if he’s being graded for eagerness alone. He looks like he wants to prove himself even if it’s only you and your mom present; no director, no producer in sight who sizes him up.

“No. I’ll do it,” Yoongi argues out of nowhere, his bruised hands reclaiming the cart under Jungkook’s grasp. He’s not even looking at your mom because his gaze is only fixed on Jungkook who’s just two tugs away from actually spitting at him.

“I said it first,” your pretend-boyfriend forcefully pulls the hunk of metal away from Yoongi, the latter coming along with it for the briefest of seconds before he does the same, this time with Jungkook gasping.

“What, are you method-acting for your next role as a cart-steerer?”

Your mom’s a little perplexed at the scene before her, lips parting in both concern and amusement because for a pair of people who haven’t met each other before, Yoongi and Jungkook are oddly competitive. They want to provesomething, anything, and maybe everything so bad, they neglect the fact that they look ridiculous fighting over a pushcart.

“We actually need two,“ she says to no one in particular, thinking out loud as she goes through her grocery list. “I think maybe even three because-…”

“I’ll get it,” Jungkook rushes out in panic, almost bumping into you in the process. You were only gone for a minute to retrieve your phone from the car and yet he already looks breathless, the knot between his eyebrows untangling when he realizes that it’s you. “Oh. Sorry, babe.”

“I’ll get it, Koo,” you murmur, catching the tail end of what your mom said about the pushcarts. Jungkook’s cheeks are tainted pink in frustration and you can’t help but to be concerned, the back of your hand already flitting against his forehead before you know it. “Are you okay? Sorry, the AC in here is not like the AC in the city.”

“Huh, what? Oh no, it’s okay. I just got into this heated cart argument,” he waves you off, eyes rapidly moving between you, your mom, and Yoongi who’s mirroring his exact actions, except for the glaring hint of annoyance with the way he’s standing so close to you.

“Cart argument? What’s-…”

“We need meat.”

You barely even have a chance to digest what Jungkook’s saying to you before you see him glitch right in front of you in a hurry, the only words to register clearly in your mind being your mom’s. She’s absent-mindedly talking herself through her grocery list (as she always does) and yet the two men right next to her hang onto her every word, the speed they take off on giving you no clue to why they’re acting as such.

“I’ll get it, auntie!” Yoongi gets out even before the wheels of his cart could cooperate, momentarily tripping over himself. Jungkook sputters at that, the laughter that builds in his throat being interrupted because he realizes that the other guy is ahead of him and he simply cannot bear that.

“Beef. We need beef, right, mom? How many kilos. Like… ten? Okay. I’ll get it!” Jungkook dashes even if he’s never been in this grocery store before; even if your mom hasn’t said a single word to either of them.

You’re left dumbfounded in the middle of the store, your gaze unable to locate the distinct sounds of both of their sneakers skidding against the floor.

“I didn’t even say anything,” your mom mutters in confusion, eyes flitting to you with a wonder you can’t place because even if the both of you are lost, she seems to have a better idea than you do. “Are they… competing over you, sweetie?”

“Competing? Me? Why would you even say that, mom?” you huff, leaning against the cart as you snatch her list to get the things she’s actually looking for.

“I don’t know,” she lulls, shrugging carelessly before nudging you. “Jungkook’s your boyfriend and well, I assume Yoongi’s always wanted to be in his position.”

“How did you even come to that conclusion?”

“Small town. Few people. Cute girl, cute guy,” she places, the end of her hypothesis being accompanied by a chuckle. When she says it like that, it sounds far too easy — it sounds far too seamless, you almost wish it was exactly that. “I didn’t even take the news that Yoongi was going abroad seriously because I thought it was a joke. I thought he could never move on from here or Namjoon,” your mom pouts, tilting her head when you freeze. “Much more, he could never move on from you.”

“He did,” you answer through gritted teeth, the grip you have on her list making the paper crumple underneath your hold.

Your mom doesn’t know everything. In fact, you don’t even know if she knows anything at all. You don’t despise her for her lack of involvement because you want to keep her from the chaos of your burdens, and you’ve always wanted to keep it that way.

But the way she speaks now, so full of conviction and faith, you find yourself despising it. She speaks as surely as the way Yoongi speeds past the both of you, weaving through aisles to get items she didn’t ask for, competing for and against a higher power (read: you) that Jungkook himself seeks.

She says it so surely, it’s as if she knows about every waking thought that Yoongi’s ever had in your absence.

“It doesn’t look like he did.”

You ponder over your mom’s adoration for Yoongi, most of which you can’t decipher if it’s misplaced or not. You know he’ll always have a special place in her heart and in her home because she’s known him even before he was born because she’s best friends with Mrs. Min.

Yoongi has a place in your life, no matter if it’s in your own or in the lives of the people you love. He probably has a modern penthouse in Namjoon’s life, the decoration in it improving over time. On the other hand, Yoongi probably occupies an ancestral cabin in your mom’s life that’s been well-maintained for longer than he’s ever been alive, the decor in it being handmade and resilient through the years.

In your life, however, you can’t tell how and if Yoongi occupies it in the first place. For the longest time, his place in your life had come in the form of a mansion that not even a single architect nor engineer could ever think of. For a moment too, Yoongi’s place in your heart came in the form of a little house on a vast farm overlooking the mountains and the sea. Throughout all the houses that Yoongi’s shape-shifted to in your life, you doubt now if he could ever turn into them again.

When you think of Yoongi, all you see is your room.

When you see Yoongi, all you could remember is your childhood house and its shortcomings in your life, especially when you needed to come home to it— to him, the most.

“I’ll pay, mom,” Jungkook snaps you out of your reverie, his whine making your ears ring.

“What? No, Jungkook. This is all too much,” you refuse vehemently, trying to fight him from extending his black card any further.

“It’s not. This is for your family anyway. I, I might have even grabbed extra portions for myself because mom said she’ll repeat tomorrow what she did for lunch today,” he grins, momentarily losing himself to the sight of you that he doesn’t even notice he’s in the process of being one-upped by Yoongi.

“Jungkook, baby, I’ll feel-…”

“I paid for it, auntie,” Yoongi announces, making your lips part and Jungkook’s jaw drop.

“You shouldn’t have, Yoongi,” you scold him softly, a whine already building at the back of your throat but he waves you off easily. Your mom’s thanking him profusely in the background, and while Yoongi’s pleased with the attention, his gaze remains on you.

“But I wanted to,” he insists, pursing his lips. “I should.”

“You’re not family,” is what you want to say.

“But I want to be,” is what he wants to scream.

Wordlessly, Yoongi puts a plastic toy ring he bought from the register into your bag. It’s pink and it’s star-shaped, its mold still the same from all those years ago.

You barrel into your mom’s room just to see Namjoon.

You bit at the chance of giving him the stuff he’s asked for from the grocery as per your mom, taking advantage of her focus on organizing the groceries downstairs to have a one-on-one with your brother.

“You have to make Yoongi drive into the city tonight. Either that or he flies to the US. The reunion is already tomorrow,” you seethe, crossing your arms as he sighs in defeat.

“It’s already late. Yoongi’s driving with Haneul, a kid, alone,” he emphasizes, running a hand through his hair as he himself is troubled by you being in a bind over everything. “And he can’t book a flight back on such short notice.”

“Short notice? What, did he just happen to book a one-way flight and not a round trip one?” you snort in amusement, shaking your head in disbelief. The thought actually cracks you up because out of the three of you, Yoongi happened to be the one more adept to websites despite your limited materials back then. Namjoon remains silent, and with how serious he looks, your face falls.

You can’t believe Yoongi at all.

“He did? You’ve gotta be kidding me, Joon,” you groan, throwing your head back. “What, does that mean Yoongi gets to stay in our home while we’re in this godforsaken family reunion?”

Namjoon delivers yet another blow, his revelation making you more enraged than the last.

“Mom invited them.”

“What? Why?!” you exclaim, chest rising in frustration. “Yoongi’s not family, Namjoon. Atleast not for me.”

He doesn’t miss your added remark at the end of your sentence, the underhandedness of it making him look down on the floor.

Namjoon feels guilty, he really does, but he can’t seem to make it right. He couldn’t even fight you in insisting to apologize that night.

For each day that you try to delay the inevitable of confronting him and letting him taking the fall, of letting him apologize, Namjoon feels more like a big failure for an older brother than he already is.

“But he used to be,” he says under his breath, looking up at you with a stubbornness you can’t place. “Your lifetime versus those five years — which one amounts to more?”

( ♡ )

Everyone gushes over Jungkook.

In an altitude higher than the mountainside that you’re in now, the aunts, uncles, and cousins you didn’t even know you have squeal over your fake boyfriend. By the fifth relative, you’ve already got your routine down of letting them hug you and kiss your cheek before holding Jungkook’s bicep, acting as his bodyguard to make sure they don’t squeeze him too hard or not at all.

“Oh my god, Y/N. Jeon Jungkook is your boyfriend?!”

“I knew it, I knew you were gonna have a partner who’s famous! I dreamed about it when you were-…”

“If that’s your boyfriend, then who’s he?” your cousin (?) whispers to you, cutting himself off as he turns his gaze to Yoongi and Haneul. They’re most certainly not your family, meaning that they’re unrelated to everyone present, so what your relatives (some more nosy than others) can’t wrap their heads around is the fact that there are strangers in your family reunion.

It takes one, two times for your mom and Namjoon to explain who they are and what they’re doing here in the first place, the chorus of nods eventually signaling that they’ve moved on. Some of them could even recall Mr. and Mrs. Min from the neighborhood, and Yoongi could only nod.

It’s not that he doesn’t belong right now — he actually feels the opposite. Yoongi feels that he has a place amongst a barrage of relatives he’s not affiliated to by neither blood nor paper, and it pains him; not because he’s scared of belonging, but because you probably don’t think the same way.

Haneul runs to him underneath the umbrella he’s isolated himself at, his son grasping an assortment of cash, food, and juiceboxes Yoongi most certainly did not pack in Haneul’s backpack from the night before.

“Auntie’s family is really nice, appa. Look what they gave me,” he shows everything that his hands could carry, breathing heavily in excitement as he explains that your relatives told him to come back once his hands are empty.

“Oh dear. They really think you’re adorable,” he laughs, pocketing Haneul’s cash (he swears he’ll give it back) and hiding some of the snacks he’s been given so he wouldn’t give himself heartburn eating too many at once.

Yoongi’s smiling from ear to ear, sitting Haneul in his lap as he overlooks the view of your town from above. Everything looks so small and delicate, you’d almost think none of what laid downhill ever even mattered. He didn’t get views like these in New York.

Yoongi didn’t get people like you in New York.

“Mama’s family isn’t this nice,” Haneul speaks out of nowhere, his thoughts uttered out loud directed more-on to himself than it is for his dad. Yoongi stops in his tracks in trepidation, shoulders tensing over what his son just said. “They never play with me like this. Not like auntie.”

He knows Hyewon’s relatives, albeit not that well. Her family members in the US were not this kind, not this warm, even to a child who’s actually related to them.

Yoongi’s stuck in his thoughts the whole time Haneul sips on his juice, finally being snapped into his reality nowwhen you approach their direction. His son waves at you excitedly even if you’ve just crossed paths minutes ago.

“Here, Haneul,” you hold out a container to him, the gentle smile on your face limited to only him yet Yoongi, for a lack of grace, pretends it’s also for him. “I tried my best to make it look like Bluey,” you chuckle, pointing to the mini sculpture made out of the marshmallows and blueberries that your relatives set aside for him.

Haneul beams at you, thanking you profusely. If only he wasn’t sat on Yoongi’s lap and therefore grounded, he would’ve launched himself at you to hug your legs.

Yoongi takes the hat right off his head, putting it on you while you’re crouched next to his son.

“It’s hot,” he explains, his heart continuously speaking beats the longer that you linger beside Haneul and the longer that he giggles in excitement. “I know you get headaches easily.”

( ♡ )

Despite being reachable, Yoongi still yearns for you.

He yearns for you even if you’re only within arm’s reach, sitting near you but never close enough at the long table because with you, he feels safe. He laughs in the background like it’s a sitcom to every joke and every episode of banter thrown around him. He doesn’t feel out of place with your family — he feels out of place with you.

He’s never been a wickedly jealous type. Even when he and Hyewon were still together and she cheated on him, Yoongi felt more resentful than he was jealous. He didn’t feel this type of way; he didn’t feel inferior. He didn’t feel like he was nursing a loss in his life because he has no choice but to. Yoongi had managed to divorce Hyewon because it didn’t work out between them, and that was that.

Yoongi can neither divorce you nor pull away from you because you’ve never been with each other. He harbors no resentment for you and that scares him, not because he wants to hate you so badly, but because he feels as if everything you’ll do to him, he’ll take it.

Yoongi will take it even if you set a plate for Jungkook despite unconsciously forgetting what he’s always disliked eating when you were still kids. He’ll take the serving tray from your hands still, uncaring if eating the tiniest bite of the food you’ve passed gives him an allergic reaction because you were the one who offered.

He’ll take it even if you hold Jungkook’s bicep in a hurry when there’s a bug that’s getting awfully close to your drink. Yoongi would walk to where you sit and dispose of it wordlessly because even Jungkook himself is scared of bugs. He doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him, because atleast now when he looks at you from a distance, you’re sitting in relaxation and you no longer have to hold your boyfriend.

He’ll endure the jealousy that burns through his throat more than the poorly-made, highly-alcoholic vodka your uncle made himself. He’ll hold onto the poison that is yearning and how he’ll feel like his throat would close up because if you were still young, in this setting of free rein, except you were still in love him like you used to be and he’s in love with you like he is now, neither you and Yoongi would be hurting.

Yoongi will take it. He’ll take the nothing that you give him and give you the everything that you don’t ask for anymore.

Five years versus the rest of your lifetime that you spent being in love with him is only miniscule. The suffering that he’s going through now is only a speck of the years you’ve spent in an unrequited love.

Unlike you, Yoongi’s weak. If he were to say it outloud to you, you’ll never agree because you’ve never regarded yourself otherwise. You’ll go on this tangent that you’ve always been weak, influenced by the times that Yoongi had chastised you for your lack of a passion.

To you, Yoongi had been right in a way.

To Yoongi, he’s always been in the wrong.

He’s crying to you now that the both of you are alone, overlooking the small town he used to be keen on getting out of. Now, more than ever, Yoongi wants to stay in it. He wants to stay with you.

“Why is everything with you so hard?” Yoongi whispers, his tears stinging badly from the corner of his eyes to the point that he can only make out shapes. He’s unkempt and frantic as if his life flashed before his eyes and there’s nothing he could do about it, voice strained like much of the times he’s drank himself to sleep.

He resembles Haneul at the moment. He’s always had because there’s not one bit of Hyewon in his son’s features or personality, but he looks especially like him now that he’s crying. The back of his hands harshly dig into his face, sobs bursting right from his throat. “Why do I make everything so hard for us? Why can’t I— w-why can’t I make it right for once?”

There’s a tremble to your chest that you ignore earnestly, the presence of it enough to scare you because it’s familiar; too familiar. Seeing your past play out in front of you in the form of a seemingly content family sleeping on your bed is one thing, but it’s another to see its patriarch crumble in front of you. It’s different to see your past pleading in front of you for just the slightest bit of your attention.

As a matter of fact, it’s different now because you resemble Yoongi the most.

“You never tried,” you seethe, jumping the gun before you even try to decipher what’s in the barrel. It’s a bullet you fire haphazardly that comes from your pocket that you’ve always held onto. It’s a misplaced, misshapen, old bullet that you force into a gun that Yoongi passed onto you.

Right now, Yoongi doesn’t resemble Haneul, and neither does he resemble his ex-wife.

He resembles you with the way his eyes are clearly swimming in hurt while you avoid looking at his, just to relieve the painstaking feeling of guilt and longing compacted into a sob.

“I never tried?” Yoongi exhales shakily, his quivering hands running through his hair to tug on them.“I never tried?”

You hear yourself clearly even if it’s his voice. The tremble and the anger, even all the way to the blind hope.

“I kept trying to reach out to you every single time. Every single birthday, every single Christmas, every insignificant holiday I could search up!” Yoongi cries — he actually thrashes with the way he sobs, shoulders shaking violently. “I didn’t try? If I didn’t try, try looking at every page of my passport to see all the stamps there are whenever fucking Jungkook was reported to be in another country,” he spits his name like poison, the vitriol behind it, however, never catching up to what he feels about himself.

You resemble Yoongi the most because you stand untethered, eyes blurring and lips quivering, yet you only watch him lose himself before thinking of uttering a single word.

“I’m selfish, I’m an asshole, and I’m fucking insufferable. I can’t even apologize to you correctly,” Yoongi lists, chest rising up and down too heavily, he feels like it’ll give out. “But I love you, Y/N. I-I might be every bad thing in your life right now and I own up to that. I’m still trying to be the best for you.”

Not only does Yoongi resemble you — he’s actually become you.

“You can call me the vilest names ever but you can’t say that,” he grits, teeth chattering not from the cold he’s put himself in, but because he can’t stop mentioning your name in between. “You can’t say I never tried because I always have. I’ll never stop becausethat’s what it takes,” Yoongi mutters; because, he says, not if.

“I love you,” he says it far too clearly for someone who’s drunk; far too sincerely for someone who had spent the better part of his life putting it through your head that he can’t return your affection. “I’ve always loved you.”

( ♡ )

You don’t feel good.

There’s a fever that’s starting to bloom from the base of your skull all the way to your toes, the abnormal warmth you feel in your chest making you unable to interact with everyone else outside of your room. Jungkook had left with your uncles before dawn to go fishing in the nearby lake and never would you think to inconvenience him; to tend to someone like you for something as minor as a fever, or for anything at all.

You already have a system down for taking care of yourself when you’re ill. It started when neither your mom nor your brother were home with you, and it was finally perfected when you had to live completely alone in the big city. All you had to do was gather all the energy you have, spend it at the start to get everything you could possibly need and put them all at the side of your bed, and rest until everything no longer hurts.

The major flaw with your system now is that you don’t have the energy at all. You can’t build up the strength to get up, walk across the hall and interact with your relatives, and rummage through groceries to get what you need without being questioned; you can’t build up the sense of importance you have for yourself to ask for help.

Namjoon comes into your room before you could dance around the idea of asking him to get you water, all because he has this innate sense of guilt in him and you could utilize it to your advantage. Your brother gets ahead of you before you could even register that he’s here with you, his eyes sullen and pleading.

“Can we talk?”

“I can’t exactly storm off right now,” you rasp, your voice fading out into a low chuckle.

“Do you want to talk when you’re able to storm off?” he asks sincerely with a small smile, his hand fixing your hair as gently as he could without making your migraine ring further. “If you do though, then you probably might never hear me out again.”

You stay silent because he is right, but Namjoon feels otherwise. He feels as if he hasn’t been doing anything right at all and you existing separate from him is a constant reminder. His career is at its peak but he thinks he could go higher; his relationship with you is deteriorating and he doesn’t think it could possibly be worse.

“I’m sorry for being a shitty brother,” he apologizes, the first thing out of his mouth being the last thing that floods his mind before he goes to sleep at night. “I should’ve never defended Yoongi, even Hyewon by extension.”

The heat behind your eyes isn’t all from your fever. The tears that prick your eyes aren’t because of the pressure in your head, but because of the fact that you haven’t heard Namjoon apologize to you in a long time; you haven’t talked this sincerely for even longer

“I should’ve put you first,” he sniffles, muttering apologies in between his pauses for finding the right words that would make it okay; that would somehow undo all that he’s been an accomplice to. “I should’ve been this reliable, sturdy man of the house. I-I should’ve been more of a father figure to you-…”

“Don’t,” you interject sternly. “You never filled in his shoes and you should never will. You’re only mom’s son and my brother, Namjoon. It’s never been your job to raise me.”

Even after everything, there’s a gentleness to you that Namjoon’s always loved but hate the most now. He hates that even if he’s the one who’s apologizing, you’re the one who’s saying sorry for the things you didn’t even inflict on him. Neither of you wanted to be raised by only a single parent, yet you absolve him of the guilt he’s always felt.

“But I could’ve been better. I wish I was already better from the start.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think how hard life was for you growing up. I-I would’ve given up football if only-…” he trembles, unable to get the last of his sentence out because you shake your head in earnest.

“Stop.”

“But I mean it. If only I-I didn’t get into football, I could’ve been there for you and mom much often. I could’ve been better and-...”

“But I grew up to be okay, didn’t I? You’re the best at what you do. We’ve managed to retire mom early because we put in the work,” you whisper, the shrug of your shoulders feeling more heavy that it should feel because the words don’t come out easily from you.

“But okay shouldn’t have been enough for you,” Namjoon tears up, bottom lip trembling as you try to take in his words that you’ve always wanted to hear at the back of your mind; you hear them now when you’ve already grown up. You hear them now after you’ve already endured the grief. “I— we should’ve given you the fighting chance to grow up more than okay.”

It’s not Jungkook who comes to visit you while you’re nursing a fever, because you’ve temporarily banned him from the bedroom. He only pouted in complaint when you called him, but he didn’t fight you that much either because you’ve called him out for the excitement in his voice to go hiking for the first time.

It’s not Yoongi who comes to visit you while you’re nursing a fever, because Haneul asked him to teach him Go (he’s not even that good at it and being the ever unable to show incompetence and have pride especially when Jungkook’s watching father, he discreetly asked lessons from your mom) so he’ll be able to play with your cousins.

Instead, it’s your mom who visits you. Even if Namjoon hadn’t tipped her off that you were feeling under the weather, she’s already had a feeling this morning.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” she asks, her hands full of everything you could possibly need and more before plopping them at your side. She makes you sit up even before you could complain, handing you a drink with some medicine you didn’t even know she carried

“Just a little fever,” you answer, getting back into your cocoon.

You don’t even attempt to make conversation because you fear that you don’t have it in you to have a heart-to-heart talk with your mom just minutes after you’ve had one with Namjoon.

You don’t even say anything to her except your thanks. Namjoon didn’t even tell her about your conversation, even if he approached her with tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes while saying that it was just allergies.

Your mom feels the guilt spring to her chest even if you don’t utter a single word. She feels the remorse in her eyes when you don’t ask her for anything more. She feels the guilt the most in her hands when you don’t ask her to stay.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like there wasn’t enough space for your burdens growing up.”

“What?”you scramble to get up in a seated position, eyes hazy from how quick you do it. “Mom, you scared me. Where’s this coming from?”

She shakes her head at your cluelessness, eyes stinging when you genuinely look at her innocently. You don’t know what she’s talking about, even if the thought has plagued her for so long.

“You’re not really okay, are you?”

“It’s… just a fever,” you mumble, your breathing already trembling at the way she looks at you.

She’s looking at you like you’re still a kid; ever so fragile and innocent, it’s as if she wouldn’t let a single thing in this world harm you. She doesn’t know a single thing about your feud with Namjoon and your long drawn-out conflict with Yoongi. What your mom does know is that she doesn’t know a single thing about the heartbreak you suppress, and that thought alone makes her hiccup in tears.

“You’re right, you know? Our house is small,” she says, distinctly recalling the tensioned conversation you had with Namjoon back at home. “It’s tiny but it was far too big for you growing up alone,” she inhales sharply, trying not to sob in front of you. “He wasn’t in the picture. I was working a hundred jobs left and right. Namjoon was trying to make a name for himself,” she shakes her head, so much so that the necklace she’s had since you were children, the same one with yours and Namjoon’s birthstones on it, rattles. “I’m sorry for making you feel that you can’t come to me.”

In just a full day, you’ve heard everything that you’ve ever wanted. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted during the school plays where you had no one from your family, except Yoongi, to watch you become an extra up on stage. He’d always deny that he did show up for you and just say that it’s because he was genuinely interested in a play about a poet he didn’t care about in reality, but you take it nonetheless.

It’s everything you’ve ever prayed for watching Yoongi live a life far too advanced for you as he held Hyewon’s hand after school. It’s what you wanted to hear when you begged him not to leave you behind.

“I-I’m okay. I’m really-…” you stutter, looking away before your tears fall in the fear that they’ll never stop.

Your mom only hugs you tighter.

“I’m here if you want someone else to carry your burdens,” she whispers. “I’m here now.”

( ♡ )

It’s the last day of the reunion when you fully recover, and it’s hours ahead of everyone when Jungkook has to leave by himself.

Without even asking for it, Jungkook grants you another week’s worth of break. You didn’t even plan on asking, yet Jungkook’s willing to give you a month if only you do.

You’ve already arranged for his personal driver to pick him up and take him back to the city. You’ve already packed his bags, along with the multiple containers of food that your relatives (and especially your mom) insisted for him to take. You’ve arranged for your substitute to take care of him for his schedules throughout the week, along with the insistent reminder to call you whenever Jungkook needs you. (Read: he does, with or without a schedule.)

Everything is set for Jungkook to leave except for his driver who’d been roped by your mom to be filled with breakfast first, yet with the remaining minutes left, Jungkook’s still with you on your bed.

He lies on your lap even if there’s plenty of space for him to lie parallel to you on a pillow — and you let him.

“Have you ever thought about kissing me?” he asks in the middle of you texting your substitute, the randomness of his thought already being familiar to you. This time, unlike the few thousand times he’s ever asked you something straight off his mind without refining them, is different.

It’s different now because your pretend-boyfriend asks you if you’ve ever thought about kissing him, while looking like he really wants to kiss you.

“Where’d that come from?” you giggle, looking down on him on your lap.

Not once does Jungkook ever look away from you.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, pointing up at you. “Your lips are close to bleeding and it’s bothering me.”

“Sorry for turning you off,” you snort in laughter, wiping at the tiny specks of blood. Jungkook tuts when you rub at them, feeling for his lip balm out of his pocket.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he stresses, going a little cross-eyes when he applies them for you. His eyes keep goading you, the smile he has on his face widening the more that you look at him incredulously. “Sooo… have you?”

You don’t want to lie to him at all.

“If I answer yes, Jungkook,” you toy around with his hair, setting your phone face-down because you can’t focus on anything else now. “We can never come back from that.”

Jungkook laughs in glee so loudly, Yoongi (who was only passing by; he really, really swears he didn’t just happen to eavesdrop in your room because Jungkook’s driver is all done eating and wants to beat traffic) actually flinches.

Jungkook strains to be closer to you, unconsciously training you to lean down. His lips are far too soft — far too close to you, you could see every line and every nuance in them. He whispers, eyes practically crossing at your proximity.

“And is that such a bad thing?”

( ♡ )

You’re back at home when Jungkook texts you that he’s made it back safe, and that he wants to kiss you again.

You’re back at home when Yoongi asks you if he could use the bathroom first because Haneul spilled milk on him during the drive. You’re in your childhood bedroom when you let him clean up first, and you’re sitting on your childhood bed when you volunteer to put Haneul down because he’s cranky and for some reason, wants to be held by you.

You’re back at home too when Yoongi and Haneul are knocked out for the night, and your mom calls you and Namjoon down for all three of you to talk at the dining table.

You’re back at the home you were raised in, sitting on the dining table that’s creaky when more than two people lean their weight into it, in the space you’ve roamed around alone waiting for them to come home, when your mom talks about wanting to sell it.

“You want to sell?” Namjoon’s eyes widen, exchanging a glance with you who’s as equally surprised as he is.

“Yes. It’s under my name, y’know? Not that… man’s,” she snorts, the off-hand mention of your father making you and Namjoon laugh unexpectedly. Your mom looks at ease as she talks about selling your house, the smile she has one her face being shaped with experience and grace. “I doubt the both of you would want to keep this, and besides, the offers I’ve kept for years now are high. You already know that big-shot companies have been buying out houses here for years now because of the growth potential and whatnot. Who knows, maybe our block will be turned into a mall!” she shrugs, the happiness in her tone infectious.

For someone who’s decided on letting go the house she’s both struggled and strived in, your mom’s beyond excited.

For two adults, who were once kids, who’ve seen the amount of sacrifices your mother’s put into the place by herself, you and Namjoon don’t have any objections.

“Also, consider this as me asking for permission to go on a vacation, even if I’m grown, because some people get so paranoid when I don’t answer calls,” she digs at you and your brother, immediately inciting coughs because you two, in fact, are guilty of worrying over your mom too much. “I’m going on this worldwide trip with Yoongi’s mom,” she grins, pulling out one last surprise. “We’ve talked about it since we were young. She’s earned her stripes working abroad, I managed to raise two amazing children as a single mom. We’ve earned it, I think.”

You and Namjoon share a glance once again, this time more definite than the last. You’ve made up already as far as your mom could tell, and that confirmation is what she needs before finally selling the house you all grew up in.

“You’ve earned it more than anyone.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s packing up for their flight tonight when you go into your room to pack up the life you’ve lived there.

“You’re coming with me and Haneul?” Yoongi jokes when he sees you pulling out your own luggage, the tone of his voice highly suggesting for you to become serious. He gets you to smile and that’s big enough of a win as is, the remainder of it more than substantial to hold onto when he’s away from you. Again.

“No, unfortunately. I’m packing up the room and eventually… the whole house,” you answer with a chuckle, voice trailing off when you see the crestfallen look on Yoongi’s face. He looks like someone who’s just absorbed the largest pain to man as he’s trying not to make it obvious. “We’re posting it for sale two weeks from now.”

Yoongi nods tightly, inhaling sharply as he tries to maintain his steady tone. “Then why are you packing up already?”

You could do this tomorrow. As a matter of fact, you could do it tonight because you don’t have to drive them to the airport. You have all the time in the world within two weeks to do this, yet you go into your room now when Yoongi’s still in it.

When Yoongi still hasn’t left, and neither of you know when you’re gonna see each other next.

“I have to get a move on. If I don’t move now,” you trail, voice close to trembling as you open cabinets you’ve never even given the time of day before. “I’m scared that I’ll keep holding onto this house.

Yoongi nods, even if he fully understands — even if he doesn’t want to swallow what you’re saying.

“You want out?”

“We want out — me, mom, Namjoon,” you explain, looking at him properly for the first time since he told you that he loved you. “For the longest time, we’ve held onto this place because we became this house at one point. Namjoon’s this world star, my mom’s traveling the world with your mom-…”

“Oh, they’re finally doing it?” Yoongi interrupts, a smile finally coming to his face at the news. He hasn’t talked to his mom in a month from how busy he’s been, and although he’s always missed her (even if they’re on much better terms than he and his dad could be), he’s happy knowing that your moms have each other atleast. “How about you? What will you be doing?”

“I’ll just be… living day-to-day. I’m not doing anything extremely special, but I’m happy and busy doing it,” you laugh, looking around your room that hasn’t appeared this clean, this warm, since you last stayed in it. “No one’s going to be around here anymore.”

As if on cue, Haneul runs to Yoongi’s arms to be picked up. He knows what the luggages mean and because he’s largely in denial that they have to leave later (as referenced by him crying to your mom and Namjoon), Haneul keeps pretending to sleep so that their trip gets delayed.

Yoongi’s about to put him on your bed even if he knows his son’s antics already, but in the fear that he’ll actually get to sleep and they don’t get to leave (which he isn’t opposed to at all), he keeps him in his arms.

You, on the other hand, take Haneul from him when his arms outstretch for you.

There’s the sentiment of you not having to do it that’s resting at the tip of Yoongi’s tongue but he holds himself back, the image of you and Haneul completely fitting one another, he wants to burn a copy of it to his retinas and designate it to be the last thing he’ll see if he ever goes blind.

Without putting Haneul to sleep on your bed, he goes to sleep in peace in your arms.

“Do you regret it?” Yoongi asks throughout the silence between you, sitting next to you at the edge of your bed. “Do you regret ever liking me?”

“I do,” you answer truthfully, rubbing circles at the Haneul’s back. “I regret knowing you.”

Yoongi takes the responsibility fully, even fuller than the way both your hurt and happiness could make or break him.

“I can’t take back all the hurt I’ve caused you,” he admits just as honestly, turning to look at you. He becomes surprised to learn that you’ve been looking at him the whole time. “But what I can promise you is that I’ll never do anything to hurt you again.”

“I have my share of faults too.”

“Eh. Mostly mine.”

“Mostly yours, yeah,” you laugh easily, nodding to yourself as you continue. “But I held onto you as much as you didn’t hold onto me. That’s my mistake.”

Yoongi stays silent at that, not because he agrees, but because the bias that you’ll never be wrong in his eyes overtakes your humbleness.

“Do you think he’ll remember the entirety of the trip?” you ask, gesturing to Haneul who’s already sleeping like a hibernating bear in your hold. “Or will Haneul just remember that time the power went out because he cried a lot?”

“Oh, he’ll remember everything alright. He’s good with retention and people in general,” Yoongi waves you off. “Even if he didn’t come along the trip— even if we didn’t crash the whole thing, Haneul would remember you.”

“Who am I to him?” you ask in curiosity, lips turning into a straight line before they curve in the slightest. “Appa’s friend, I bet.”

“Not really. You’re a lot of things to me,” Yoongi chuckles, looking at the way Haneul grips you as if you’ll float away if he lets go; he’d do the same too. “More like my first love.”

Yoongi loves you quietly.

He loves you quietly with the way he draws the curtains downstairs when you sleep on the couch, tired and stressed over a solution you couldn’t understand. He loves you with the way he’ll scoop the warmest, freshest, least-burnt portion of rice to your bowl without you even asking for it. He loves you with the way he’s willing to let you walk all over him.

He loves you quietly in the way that not even distance nor time could disrupt him.

Yoongi loves you quietly, it might have been too much.

“Is that a lottery ticket?” he asks suddenly as he spots the familiar face of it inside your luggage, tucked into the discreet pocket where your mother’s letters of encouragement when you went to the big city were also kept

“Oh, it’s still there,” you answer, in surprise yourself because even if this is the same luggage you use whenever you go out of the country with Jungkook, you’ve never noticed that it was still there. “I bought it when you left for the US.”

Yoongi stops in his tracks in retrieving the scratch ticket from the pocket, looking up at you in curiosity. “Why did you buy one that day?”

Haneul stirs in his sleep in your arms, waking up right at the middle of you and Yoongi being lost in each other. He mistakes the silence as a signal that they’ll be leaving already, making a mess of himself as he quickly goes down the stairs to look for your family there and cling to them instead.

You and Yoongi are alone again.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, grasping the scratch ticket you used to spend hours looking. “I guess I just needed some proof that fate was against me that day.”

“But how would you even know that?” Yoongi asks, pointing to the card that’s still covered. “You didn’t even scratch it.”

You answer honestly, the reason burnt to the back of his mind.

“Because I knew I would lose my mind if I actually lost.”

“Try,” Yoongi swallows, nudging the ticket closer to you with a gaze that mirrored yours when he left. “Try again. Please.”

You have nothing else to lose.

Yoongi isn’t yours to lose.

You retrieve the same old coin Yoongi gave to you on the same day that he bought you your first scratch ticket, the appearance of it from your luggage making his heart skip a beat.

He doesn’t speak and neither do you, gaze only fixed on the way you scratch the card almost hesitantly, as if you’re still scared of the results of something that you should’ve known five years ago. (Read: you still are.)

When you get to the last digit, you freeze. You comb through the pattern over and over again, yet you still can’t believe it.

You’ve won the highest possible prize.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” you parrot Yoongi, looking up at him as he can’t believe it either.

“You won.”

“I won,” you repeat, running a hand through your hair. You actually laugh, the lump in your throat subsiding. It’s a welcome, albeit loaded, feeling of happiness that comes in between the two of you. “I thought I would lose,” you mutter bitterly, shaking your head.

You didn’t lose. Fate wasn’t against you that day, and yet you still lost yourself thinking subconsciously what the proof of it would’ve been.

“Who would’ve thought, right?” you sigh, eyes drifting to Yoongi. “If only I took that chance years ago, I would’ve won.”

Yoongi smiles tightly, breath faltering in recollection.

“I’m familiar with the feeling,”

Yoongi doesn’t get to finish packing for him and Haneul and neither do you with your whole room, the shift in the atmosphere suddenly making him stand.

He’s breathless and he doesn’t know what for, the rapid beating of his chest making his voice louder than necessary. “Hey, what do you say you take a break? I’ll pack up your room. I have to stay alert anyway for Haneul."

You thank him before leaving him alone in your room.

Yoongi can’t find the strength in him to pack. The only power he has left in him is for him to think of taking everything out from his luggages, the thought of leaving again, this time worlds different than the last when you were begging him not to — he feels like throwing up.

Yoongi’s merely an amalgamation of you. He’s only a compilation of your every word, every feeling you’ve implanted in his heart. He’s filled with nothing but your every triumph and shortcoming; every late night hanging out with you as you attempt to study while he keeps you company, every minute he spent going out of his mind trying to look for you when you ran away from home.

Yoongi loves you silently to the point that he gets out of your room without accomplishing a single thing he said he’ll do just awhile ago.

In the grand scheme of things, Yoongi realizes that he was wrong. He was as wrong as you were right that the moment he leaves home, he’ll spend the rest of his life looking for it.

Even if you left your home like he did, even if neither of you could come home anymore the moment your childhood house gets sold, Yoongi would still search for it. He’ll still search for you. You’re no longer where you were, but you are everywhere that Yoongi is.

He looks for you in Namjoon’s room, to the dining table, and all the way outside, just to ask if he and Haneul could stay for dinner.

Yoongi finds you and Haneul eating sundaes on the pavement outside, with you on the ground and a scrap cardboard underneath Haneul so it wouldn’t be hot for him.

Fate hadn’t been against you five years ago. And even if he’s much too late, Yoongi could only pray that fate isn’t against him now.

He walks over to where you and Haneul are, grabbing another scrap of cardboard to put underneath you.

Yoongi is consumingly yours all the time.

#WHEWWWWWW HOW R WE FEELING!!!!#yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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stvrnzcherries · 9 months ago

Text

RIDE ME

c.sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: who could’ve thought that a cowboy hat could turn your night with Chris into something more fun.

warnings: sub!chris, smut, praise kink, p in v, pet names, breeding kink, use of y/n, swearing, creampie, masturbating, unprotected sex, (please, don’t!).

Based on this request.

not proofread!

౨ৎ

You and Chris have been dating for five months and made it public to the fans a week before their first tour.

You went on tour with him and his brothers. Chris was doing a live on Instagram in the hotel room that you guys got together in on the last day of the tour.

You were wearing a pink cowboy hat that a fan had given to you earlier, “We are so grateful for all the support that you guys have been giving to us since day one.” Chris says to his phone screen as thousands of comments pop up on the chat.

Everyone was complimenting the both of you, how cute you guys looked. It made Chris smile more than anything else in the world, he never thought that he would get this much support from the fans about his relationship. “And…yeah I guess that’s pretty much what I wanted to say in tonight’s live!” He chuckles a little as he turns to look at you. You were fidgeting with the knot that connected both strings of the cowboy hat, you looked back at him and smiled, Chris giving a reassuring smile in response.

“Here!” You took off the hat and placed it on top of Chris’ head and giggled at how it looked for a few seconds, “This is going to mess my hair so bad, y/n.” He laughs as he fixes the way the hat is on him. “It doesn't matter, you look so cute!” You kept giggling at the sight of Chris with a pink cowboy hat.

Chris chuckles as he returns the hat to you cluelessly, causing the comments on his live to go wild, thousands of comments popping up per minute. "Oh my-" Chris says in complete shock, tapping on his phone desperately.

“What’s wrong?” You ask turning your sight to peek at his phone.

“I don’t have any clue.” He replies, his lips forming into a thin line, turning off his phone and tossing it somewhere in the bed.

“Well, I guess that was it…” You patted his shoulder as you stood up from the bed and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

Chris POV

As you were in the bathroom taking a long and relaxing bath, Chris on the other side was lying down on the bed that you both will be sharing, scrolling down through his phone to check if there were any comments about how his instagram live unexpectedly ended.

But he didn't see any complaints, mentions about that. Only thousands of videos about a specific part, to be more detailed the part where you gave him your hat. It seemed that everyone was freaking out about it.

Why would they freak out about a meaningless action?

It didn't mean anything.

Right?

Chris couldn't help but check the comment section. "What the fuck-" he murmured to himself as he read each one of the comments.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

"What the fuck is the cowboy hat rule?" Chris murmurs to himself.

He kept lurking about it, and the more he found out the more he realized that it was just some stupid booktok thing.

It was an invitation to fuck.

He left his phone on the bedside table and lay flat on his back looking at the room ceiling.

As long as you didn't know about it, the less he had to worry about it.

Right?

Perhaps, the idea sounded...a little tempting for Chris, maybe too much for him to admit. The image of you riding him was traveling through his mind, making his cock twitch a little.

Shit.

He looked up checking if the bathroom door was still closed, the one room that you were in.

More thoughts crossing his mind about you.

How your naked body probably looked, how your boobs would bounce each time you would bury his dick deep inside you.

You guys never had sex before but that didn’t meant that you both talked about your past experiences before you even started dating.

But he never felt this needy for someone ever.

He needed you, he was craving to get a taste of you.

And that's when he felt the bulge on his pajamas grow even more, the throbbing sensation being painful to resist.

He had to do it.

As he snaked down his hand, getting it under his pajamas and underwear, feeling his precum leaking slightly, and using it as a lube to satisfy himself, the friction of his palm against his tip made him throw his head back. He then wrapped his hand around his base.

Chris began to motion his hand up and down at a frantic pace, whimpers coming out from his mouth.

Closing his eyes, the image was back again. You are on top of him moaning his name out loud.

“Oh f-fuck! C-Chris”

At this point, his hand was working at an ungodly pace, each time the dirty thoughts were building even more on his head.

“f-fuck…y-y/n” he groaned, feeling his high getting closer and closer, whispering your name as if were his daily mantra.

The ecstasy was too much for him, too much that he didn't even notice that you were now there. Looking at him pleasure himself.

“Chris!!” You snap him back to reality, the wave of ecstasy washing off of his body.

Y/N’s POV

After what seemed like twenty minutes of relaxation for you in the bathtub you felt more than ready to finally get out and dress up. You were exhausted and all you needed was to head to bed and cuddle with your boyfriend.

As you get out of the bathtub you pick up your towel and dry yourself off, feeling the warming sensation hug your skin for a while before the bathroom starts to cool off.

You toss on an oversized shirt and some white-laced panties, looking yourself in the mirror before heading out of the bathroom. You heard noises coming out from the other side of the door.

It was Chris’ voice, you could recognize that voice miles away from you. You opened the door and got out of the bathroom to only be met with the sight of your boyfriend jerking off.

Moaning your name.

The scenario made you wet, clenching your thighs. The sight of Chris arching his back every time he felt his high getting closer was just hypnotizing for you. The way his shoulders tensed at the contact of his hand wrapping his dick. The way his jaw clenched every time he added more speed to his hand.

You couldn't bear the need to fuck this man anymore, it was something you'd been craving since the day that you lay down your eyes on him.

“Chris!” You brought his attention by calling out his name. Making him look up in panic, like when a little kid breaks something up and feels guilty about it.

“Shit, y/n, I’m so sorry!” He sits up, removing his hand, and his face getting flustered with each passing second.

You could barely talk, speechless thinking about the way he was moaning your name as if you were the air that he needed.

Yet, he looked so embarrassed about he fact that you saw him.

Little did he know that you needed that too.

You stepped closer to the bed where he was lying, looking blankly at his lap fidgeting with his fingers as guilt washed over him.

You grabbed his chin in your hand, “Look at me.” You taunt him.

Those puppy eyes, begging for your forgiveness made you wetter within seconds. “What are you sorry for, hm?” You asked, gripping your hand around his jaw a little harder. “I-I don't know…” He answers hesitantly.

You caressed your thumb against his lower lip, “Seems like you still have a problem to fix down there, don’t you?” You tease, your free hand traveling down his bulge, squeezing it making Chris gasp. Taking it as an opportunity, you smash your lips against his, swirling each other’s tongues in each other's mouths.

He didn't hesitate to wrap his arm around your waist and sat you on his lap, both of your legs now resting on each side of him, grinding your wetness against his crotch. A few whimpers escaped out of Chris’ mouth between kisses as his hands roamed all over your body and were now situated under your shirt, massaging your nipples with his thumbs.

He then lowered his hands helping to take off your shirt “Can I?” He mumbled.

You nodded in approval as you lifted your arms and he finally tossed your shirt somewhere in the room, looking down at your breasts he grinned “God, ma.” Shaking his head he looked back at you and smashed his lips back into yours. His hands stroking your tits delicately.

He then proceeded to lower his kisses down to your jaw then your neck and stopped at your collarbone, nipping at the skin and leaving a few hickeys before he moved down to your boobs, sucking the left one while he rubbed his thumb on circles on the right one.

Your head rolled back at the sensation of his tongue swirling around, your eyes squeezing shut at the sensation. “F-fuck.” you breathed out.

Chris kept working with his mouth, changing momentarily to do the same thing with your right tit, your back arching, “G-god Chris.”

His lips traveled now over your collarbone to be met with your lips, crashing his into yours.

His lips connected to mine into a sloppy kiss, “Ride me.” Chris mumbles between kisses.

“What was that?” you tease, making him sigh in frustration.

“Ride me, please.” He pleaded pulling away from your lips, caressing the sides of your inner thigh. “I need you so bad, ma. It’s killing me.”

You bit your lower lip, as you lowered your hands to guide Chris’ hands to the waistband of your panties, whispering at him “Take off your pants, now.” You demanded him.

He bucked his hips off to pull his pants alongside his boxers, his cock hitting his happy trail. He then moves one of his hands to pull your panties to the side, teasing his tip against your wet folds, groaning at the friction of your wetness against his tip. With no hesitation, he buries deep inside you as you moan out loud, bucking your hips back and forth. “F-fuck! Chris!”

You thrust slowly, feeling the stretching sensation inside you. He was big, more than you could ever imagine. Or even more than your previous boyfriends.

His eyes darted where the both of you were connected, “Ma…” he let out in a husky tone, groaning at the sensation of your walls clenching slightly around him. His eyes are squeezed shut and his head rolls back, resting it against the headboard, his fingers burying into the sides of your hips.

The pace was increasing each time, his hips bucking up as you felt his tip kissing the right spot every time he did. “Y-you’re doing s-so good…” The words escape from your mouth with difficulty. Feeling the wave of ecstasy wash over your body, your senses get numb until all you feel is pure satisfaction. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you felt the well-known knot building up in your stomach.

Chris whimpering and calling out your name countless times. “I-I’m s-so fucking close, m-ma.”

“Cum inside me.” You command him, as you kept pumping his dick in and out of you, each time hitting the right spots. “Don’t fucking hold it back.” You breathed out as you felt your walls clenching around him, your moans getting louder and louder as your release was getting closer and closer.

Your climax reached, feeling slightly sensitive as Chris kept moving your hips until he could reach his release. Tears slowly formed in your eyes as he kept thrusting inside you.

Painting your insides white, he released, whining as he did so, the both of you panting heavily “That was amazing.” You mumbled, resting your head on his chest, kissing it intently.

He kisses the top of your head, “I guess, after all, we used the cowboy hat rule.” He muttered chuckling. As a response, you furrowed your brows, “What do you mean?” you ask confused.

“I’ll explain it to you in the morning.” He looks down at you and smiles.

౨ৎ

a/n: there you go! I feel like this sucks 😭 Also, thank you so much for the HUGEEE support that you guys have been giving to Brutal, it’s insane that it already has like 600 likes 🫶🏻🥹

Tag list: @sturniolossss @tillies33ssss @chrisloyalgf @alorsxsturn @sturnioloslurps @cindylcuwhoknows @3mm4yung @mattsfavwh3re @blahbel668 @lov3bug @ilovethesturniolotriplets

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d-targaryenshoe · 9 months ago

Text

Eternal Hope - Anthony Bridgerton

Word Count: 2053

Summary: When one's best friend tells you a rather complex secret about your husband, doubts start to take over your mind, am I right?

You and Anthony Bridgerton were the perfection of an ideal couple, your marriage a testament to the power of love and commitment.

You were a vision of innocence and purity, your heart as untainted as the snow that covered the ground on your wedding day.

He was the embodiment of devotion, his every action a reflection of his deep affection for you. To the outside world, you were the picture-perfect duo, your lives a fairytale come true.

But your best friend, Philipa Featherington, knew better. Her family had seen Anthony Bridgerton in his younger days before he had met you and settled down.

Back then, he had been known as quite the rake, a man who was more interested in the pleasures of the flesh than in finding true love.

Despite his charming exterior, there was something dark and dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

It was this knowledge that made Philipa feel a mixture of awe, envy, and a tiny thread of worry for you, her friend.

One afternoon, as the two of you sat in the parlor, sipping tea and enjoying the warmth of the sun, Philipa decided to share the past with you.

"You know, y/n," she began, her voice low and conspiratorial, "I sometimes wonder how you ever managed to tame that wild beast of a man."

Philipa nodded towards the golden ring on your finger. "Before you came along, Anthony was quite the scoundrel."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Philipa, I cannot believe that you would say such a thing about my husband!" you exclaimed. "Anthony is the most loving, attentive man I could ever hope for!"

Philipa smiled sympathetically, knowing that you meant every word you said. But she also knew that there was more to the story than you realized.

"Yes, yes," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

"Of course, he is different now. But you must remember that everyone here has known him for years, and some saw firsthand the things he used to do. He could be quite ruthless, y/n. He never cared about anyone's feelings but his own."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you sure you're not overstating?" you asked hesitantly. "Anthony has always been so kind to me."

Philipa looked you in the eye. "I wish I were," she said simply.

"But the truth is, Anthony Bridgerton was once a very different man. And while I'm glad that he's changed, and that you're so happy together, I can't help but wonder if you know who he is."

Your heart sank at your friend's words. You wanted to believe that Philipa was wrong, that Anthony could never have been anything but the devoted husband you knew now.

But a tiny seed of doubt began to take root in your mind. Perhaps there was more to Anthony's past than you had realized.

"I-I don't know what to say," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I love Anthony with all my heart, and he loves me just as much. He's been nothing but faithful and kind since the day we met."

Philipa reached over and took your hand in hers. "I'm not saying that he isn't faithful to you now," she said gently.

"But you must understand that the man you married is not the same man who was running through the streets of London, chasing after any skirt that crossed his path."

You bit your lip, trying to process everything your friend was saying.

You wanted to believe that Anthony was as innocent and pure as you were, but the memories of Philipa's stories kept creeping into your thoughts.

Could it be possible that there was more to Anthony than you knew?

As you sat alone in the carriage, making your way home from your visit to Philipa, your heart felt heavy with doubt.

The wind howled outside, and the horses' hooves clattered against the cobblestone streets, but you could barely hear any of it over the voice in your head.

What if Philipa was right? What if Anthony had been dissatisfied with you in some way?

You tried to convince yourself that it was ridiculous, that Anthony was the most loving husband a woman could ask for.

But the thought lingered, refusing to be shaken off.

Your mind drifted back to the beginning of your courtship, when Anthony had been so attentive, always showering you with compliments and affection.

He had made you feel beautiful and desirable in a way that no one else ever had. But then, as time went on, you began to wonder if perhaps he was growing bored with you.

He had started spending more time at his club, and when he was home, he seemed distracted.

You tried to talk to him about it, but he always brushed your concerns aside, insisting that everything was fine.

You closed your eyes, the tears beginning to well up in their corners. It hurt you to think that Anthony might not find you beautiful anymore, that he might be seeking pleasure elsewhere.

The thought made you feel so insecure, so unworthy of his love. As the carriage pulled up in front of your home, you forced a smile onto your face, trying to convince yourself that everything was going to be all right.

But deep down, you couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right between you.

You climbed out of the carriage and hurried up the steps to your front door, your heart racing with anticipation and fear.

Anthony was supposed to have returned home hours ago, but he hadn't come back yet.

You knocked on the door, your knuckles white from gripping the handle.

When the butler answered, you forced a bright smile, trying to hide the turmoil within her.

"Hello, Thomas," you said, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. "Is Lord Bridgerton inside?"

Thomas, ever the attentive servant, noticed something amiss in your expression. "I believe Lord Bridgerton is still at the club, Lady Bridgerton," he said gently. "Shall I send up a tray for him?"

You hesitated for a moment, your brow furrowing in confusion.

"Yes," you managed to say, "that would be lovely. Thank you, Thomas." You turned and made your way upstairs to your bed chamber, your steps heavy with unease.

You couldn't help but wonder what Anthony was doing at the club for so long, and why he hadn't come home yet.

The thought of him with another woman, enjoying himself in ways he never seemed to enjoy with you, made your stomach churn.

You busied yourself with straightening the bedclothes and rearranging the pillows, trying to distract yourself from the growing ache in your heart.

But as the minutes ticked by and Anthony still hadn't returned, your anxiety only grew worse.

You couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that perhaps Philipa had been right all along.

Maybe Anthony's past truly was catching up with you, and your marriage wasn't as strong as you had once believed it to be.

Finally, you heard the familiar sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs.

Your heart leaped into your throat as you hurried over to the window, peeking out through the curtains.

There he was, striding up the walkway, his shoulders squared and his head held high. He looked every bit the gentleman you had fallen in love with all those years ago.

But as he ascended the stairs and disappeared from your view.

Your stomach was knotted with fear. You waited until you heard the butler announce his arrival before you made your way down the hallway, trying to compose yourself.

When you finally stepped into the entryway, Anthony turned toward you, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "There you are, dearest," he said, his voice warm and affectionate. "I was beginning to wonder where you'd gotten off to."

Your heart sank even further. You forced a smile and walked toward him, trying to ignore the voice in your head that kept saying that this wasn't real, that he wasn't truly happy to see you.

As you moved toward each other, you let yourself be enveloped in his embrace, breathing in his familiar cologne, feeling the strength of his arms around you.

For a moment, you let yourself believe that everything was going to be all right.

"I was just waiting in the parlor, my lady," Thomas interjected, clearing his throat. "Shall I bring up the tray for Lord Bridgerton now?"

"Yes, please," Anthony said, stepping away from you. "That would be lovely, Thomas. Thank you."

He turned back to you, reaching out to take your hand. "Come, my dear. Let's go eat in the privacy of our chamber. I have something I'd like to discuss with you."

Your heart skipped a beat. What could he possibly need to discuss? You forced another smile and allowed him to lead you up the stairs and into your bed chamber, following him like a nervous child as he took a seat at the table.

He poured you each a glass of wine before sitting back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you.

"Y/n," he began, his voice gentle but firm, "I need to talk to you about something."

Your stomach twisted into knots. "Okay," you managed to say, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "What is it?"

Anthony took a deep breath before continuing. "I love you, y/n. More than anything in this world. You are my wife, my partner, my best friend. But I've been feeling...disconnected from you lately. Like something is missing between us."

He paused, searching your eyes for some sign of understanding. "I want us to be closer. More intimate. I want to feel the way I used to feel when I looked at you, the way I felt when we first met."

Your heart ached as you listened to his words.

A part of you wanted to believe him, to believe that you could find your way back to the love you once shared.

But another part of you couldn't help but wonder if it was all just an act if he was only trying to save face.

You took a sip of your wine, trying to steady your nerves. "I...I want that too," you said, your voice trembling. "I want us to be closer, to feel connected again. But...I don't know how."

Anthony studied your face, his expression softening.

"I think we need to be honest with each other," he said. "To share our fears and our desires. To...explore each other." He took a deep breath, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed.

"I want to make love to you, y/n. Not just tonight, but every night. I want to show you how much you mean to me, how much I desire you."

Your cheeks flushed at his words, your heart racing. A part of you wanted to believe that he meant it, that he wanted you the way he used to.

But another part of you couldn't help but wonder if it was all just a ploy to ease his conscience, to make himself feel better about whatever it was he had been doing.

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for some sign of truth.

"I'm...I'm not sure," you said finally, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I want to try, Anthony. I want us to try. But I need you to promise me that...that you'll always be honest with me. That you'll never keep anything from me."

He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "I promise you, my love," he said solemnly.

"I will always be honest with you. And I swear I will never keep anything from you. Not again." His grip on your hand tightened, and you could feel the warmth of his palm through your gloves. "I want this to work between us, y/n. More than anything."

You closed your eyes, trying to decide what to believe. Part of you wanted to believe him, to trust that he could change, that you could find your way back to the love you once shared.

But another part of you was still so insecure, still so hurt by the betrayal. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever might come.

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mydearestbeloved · 2 months ago

Text

#0.2 [Chapter]

CW: Implied Yandere, Angst

⚠️SPOILER ALERT to my "Trial Player"-AU (Imagine 1#).

Note:

I have too many ideas but too little time, so I'll just post them as drafts here until I have the time to edit them thoroughly.

_____

Draft I:

As you sat alone in a rare moment of peace, your thoughts wandered, weighed down by the inevitable future. You watched Jinwoo across the room, his back turned as he spoke quietly with a few of his shadows, too preoccupied to notice the turmoil churning inside you. You wondered if he could sense it—the quiet resignation you’d tried so hard to bury beneath the surface.

For a long time, you had wondered which of the tropes would define Sung Jinwoo. The question had plagued your mind ever since you were brought into this world, even before you officially met him. Back then, you had always believed he was the type to sacrifice himself for the world. After all, in the original story, he had gone back in time, facing the Monarchs alone. He shouldered the burden, unflinching, and in doing so, sealed his fate. It was the path of a man who believed no one else could bear the weight of the world.

And you? You always saw yourself as someone who would burn the world for the ones you loved. Before getting isekai’d, that had been your mindset—I’ll burn the world for you. If you had someone like Jinwoo, someone precious, you’d scorch the earth before letting them be taken.

But now, everything had changed. You weren’t just a bystander. You were a part of his story, no matter how much you had tried not to meddle. You were in too deep, and every day you spent by his side made it harder to imagine a future where you weren’t there. But you knew what was coming. Jinwoo’s path would lead him to turn back time, and when that happened—when he used the Cup of Reincarnation to stop the Monarchs—you would be erased.

The system’s melancholic silence when you’d asked it about your fate had only confirmed your worst fears. There was no need for a trial player when the world was safe from the Monarchs. You would disappear from this reality, perhaps return to your own. Or maybe you would simply cease to exist.

You had already accepted it, in a way. If Jinwoo chose the world over himself, then I would choose to sacrifice myself for him. You would give him the chance to live in the world he chose to protect. You would disappear quietly, like a glitch in the system, repaired and erased without a trace.

But he must never know.

If Jinwoo knew... if he found out what you planned to do, it could change everything. You weren’t blind to how it might affect him. He had changed from the man you once read about. This Jinwoo was not the same as the one in the original story. He was growing more possessive, more attached to you. It was subtle at first—the way he watched you avoid the spotlight, how he seemed to enjoy it when you recoiled from fame—but now, it was undeniable. He wanted you by his side, always. His actions, his words, even his touch—everything told you that he wouldn’t let you go easily.

And if he knew your fate? If he discovered that by turning back time and saving the world, he would lose you... What would he do?

Your heart clenched at the thought. He might choose you over the world. He might become the man who would burn everything to keep you by his side. And that scared you more than anything.

Jinwoo was always kind. That was a fact you couldn’t deny. Even with his immense power, even with his ruthlessness on the battlefield, there was a kindness in him that remained untouched. You didn’t want to take that from him. You didn’t want to become the reason he veered off his path, the reason he sacrificed the world for something as selfish as... a love for the you who weren't meant to be.

So, he must not know.

You would carry the weight of your secret, and when the time came, you would disappear. You would become nothing more than a fading memory, like a glitch once fixed, leaving no trace behind.

You looked at Jinwoo again, your heart heavy with the knowledge that you were running out of time. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, his expression softened, as if sensing the depth of your thoughts. He crossed the room, sitting beside you with a quiet, almost casual presence that belied the intensity of his emotions. His hand brushed yours, and you felt the familiar warmth of his touch.

“You’re thinking too much again,” he said softly, his voice low and comforting.

You forced a smile, trying to mask the storm inside you. “Maybe.”

Jinwoo didn’t press further, but his eyes lingered on your face, searching. He always knew when something was off, but for now, he seemed willing to let it slide. You leaned into his side, resting your head against his shoulder, wondering how long you had left before everything changed.

Because no matter how much you tried to keep your cards close, the end was inevitable. And when it came... you would disappear, leaving Jinwoo to walk the path alone once again.

_____

Draft II:

You stared out the window, your thoughts swirling in a labyrinth of uncertainty. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of life outside, but inside, your mind was far too loud. The weight of everything—your existence here, Jinwoo’s fate, the inevitable outcome of this world—all pressed down on you like a suffocating blanket. You thought about Jinwoo, about his burdens, his strength, and the path he was destined to walk.

He must not know.

That thought repeated itself like a mantra in your head. If Jinwoo knew what you were willing to do, if he knew you were planning to sacrifice yourself for him, everything could change. And that change could unravel the story you knew—the story you had come to love, the one you were never meant to alter.

In the original story, Jinwoo was the kind of man who would sacrifice himself for the world, or for his loved ones. You had always admired that about him—the quiet strength, the resolve to protect even if it meant carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. But now, as you sat here in his world, things had shifted. You were in too deep. And if things continued down this path, it would be you who would disappear once Jinwoo reversed time to stop the Monarchs.

You had asked the system once, in private, what would happen to you after Jinwoo used the Cup of Reincarnation. Its silence had told you everything. You would cease to exist. You wouldn’t be needed anymore because the trial—the system—would be over. You would either return to your world or vanish entirely, leaving no trace. And Jinwoo... Jinwoo would never remember you. Once the timeline reset, his memories of you would be erased, as though you were nothing more than a glitch.

Perhaps that was for the best.

You didn’t mind sacrificing yourself for him. If you disappeared, at least you would know you had done something meaningful. Jinwoo would live on, and he wouldn’t be burdened by your memory. He would believe, as always, that he had faced it all alone.

But the thought of how your disappearance might affect him—it gnawed at you. Jinwoo had already lost so much. What would he feel if he knew you were gone, even if he couldn’t remember why? How would it change him if he somehow, deep down, sensed the absence of something—someone—important?

Where you 'important' enough?

“You’re thinking too much again,” came Jinwoo’s voice, low and smooth, as if he had been reading your mind. He was suddenly beside you, his presence steady and overwhelming, as it always was.

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts, and turned to face him. He looked at you with those deep, intense eyes that seemed to see right through you, his gaze unwavering as if he could sense your inner turmoil. He stepped closer, his thumb brushed your cheek, his touch grounding you. “You’re always overthinking.”

You laughed softly, a sound tinged with both amusement and sadness. “I can’t help it. It’s in my nature.”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Then let me help you. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

The irony of his words wasn’t lost on you. He, who had always been alone, who had carried the weight of the world by himself, was now offering to share your burden. It was almost poetic.

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I’m fine, Jinwoo.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “You’ve been distant lately.” His thumb continue to brush against your skin, sending a wave of warmth through you. “What are you thinking about?”

You. That was the truth, wasn’t it? You were always thinking about him, about the burden he carried, and what it meant for both of you. But you couldn’t tell him that. You couldn’t tell him you were planning to disappear, or that you were ready to sacrifice yourself for him. He’d never let you.

So instead, you asked, “What would you sacrifice for the world, Jinwoo? Or for someone you care about?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to understand where the question was coming from. He was silent for a moment, considering his answer. “I’d sacrifice myself if it meant saving the people I love,” he said finally. “I’d protect them at any cost.”

Of course he would. That was the Jinwoo you knew. The Jinwoo the world knew.

Please, never change.

But what about you? Would he ever put you in that equation, or were you just another person in the background—someone to protect from afar, someone he couldn’t afford to get too close to?

“What about me?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jinwoo’s gaze darkened, and for a moment, you saw something flash in his eyes. Something possessive. Something that made your heart race. He stepped even closer, his hand now cradling your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

“I’d burn the world for you,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you know that by now?”

Your breath hitched at the intensity in his words. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his voice. He meant it. He would destroy everything if it meant keeping you by his side. And that terrified you.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You had always thought Jinwoo was the kind of person who would sacrifice himself for the world, and maybe he still was—but when it came to you, something had changed. His focus had shifted. You weren’t just someone he protected. You were his. And he wasn’t going to let you go.

You tried to keep your voice steady as you said, “You can’t—”

“I can,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And I will.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of fear and something else—something you didn’t want to name. “Jinwoo...”

He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. “You’re mine, (Name). And I won’t let you go. Not for the world, not for anyone. I’ll keep you by my side, no matter what.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. You had always known he was possessive, but this... this was something else. It was dangerous, all-consuming. And the worst part? You weren’t sure if you wanted to resist it anymore.

But even so, you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t tell him about the future you knew, about the Cup of Reincarnation, about your eventual disappearance. Because if you did, you knew he would do everything in his power to stop it—even if it meant burning the world to the ground.

So, instead, you leaned into him, letting his warmth envelop you, even as your heart ached with the knowledge of what was to come.

“I won’t let you face it alone,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

And for now, that was enough.

End Note:

It's popular to say, get yourself a partner who'll burn the world for you.

I still love that trope the most, but I also want to try new flavors without forgetting the others I've tasted. So, I improvised, and this is how my "Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader"-fanfic Imagine came to be.

In a nutshell: Jinwoo is intense, but (Name) is also intense in her own way~

#Rough Draft #solo leveling #solo leveling imagine #solo leveling x reader #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo #sung jinwoo x reader #yandere sung jinwoo #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #fanfiction #fanfic #solo leveling fanfic

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 30 days ago

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On Galadriel’s Whitewashing by the Fandom

Allow me to rant. Because at this point I really have to ask this: what show have you all been watching? Many say that Sauron deceives the audience, but it was actually Galadriel who deceived you all, really.

In Season 1 and Season 2, we saw Galadriel using others left and right, for her own ends (including Halbrand, Míriel, Adar, etc.). Her character introduction in Season 1, was her beating the sh*t out of some kids over a paper boat. Then, we saw her treating her companions’ lives as if they meant nothing to her. This alone should tell you something, but no, you wanted to see the “feminist hero” that never was. She was acting like... Sauron, when he ditched the humans on the raft.

Nah, you think?

Throughout Season 1, she was arrogant, high on herself and downright offensive to pretty much every character she came across. She was constantly acting as if she was better than everyone else, and others were beneath her, because of her delusions of grandeur. She disobeys Gil-galad over and over again because she doesn’t truly recognize his authority. He’s younger than her, and in her mind she’s the one who should be High Queen of the Noldor, because she’s the only surviving child of High King Finarfin. She lied and manipulated others to her own ends... like Sauron.

When your ways of manipulation are more radical than Sauron’s.

Allow me to say this once more: “Rings of Power” has Tolkien experts to assist with the writings of the scripts. Christian doctrine and preaching is a huge deal on Tolkien’s work, and even if the show producers don’t see it or don’t recognize it, it’s still there because it’s inevitable, you can't work Tolkien without it.

What does this mean? Galadriel is not a hero. Pride and greed are not good traits in Tolkien lore. She’s not one of the “good guys”. Not yet, and she’ll only get worse before she gets better. She’s not a villain, either; she’s an anti-hero like Adar. Why do you all think Satan’s little helper Sauron got so interested in her, in the first place?

When Sauron of all characters gives you the side-eye and tells you to chill and tone down your antagonistic behavior.

And was she deceived by Sauron or did she deceive herself? Because Elrond, as usual, is right, and that’s why he calls her out on her bullsh*t in Season 2: Galadriel wanted the lost king who could ride her to victory, to destroy Sauron and cover herself in glory, being worshipped by everyone on Middle-earth as its savior. She wanted to use Halbrand as a pawn in her big plan, and it’s mind blowing she actually fell in love with him. Does this ring any bells? It’s because it’s Sauron’s plan, too. They are alike. Everyone agrees, but doesn’t realize just how much.

You think they showed us these glorious shots of them for “good” reasons? This is the first of Mairon’s deceptions on Season 1, another step closer to evil and his old ways. This is them high on power and on themselves.

Gil-galad foresaw that Galadriel would bring back Sauron if her pursuit for him would to continue. That’s why he sent her back to Valinor, in the first place. Guess what? He was right. It was Galadriel’s actions that condemned Middle-earth to Sauron’s tyranny. In the legendarium, the Elves are also the ones to blame. And what consequences did she faced for this? Enduring Elrond in charge for two episodes until she went rogue? Or perhaps the Valar have already banished her, and the show failed to mention this.

Preach it, brother!

Elrond was also the only character who could see through Sauron’s “rings of power” masterplan (must be that Melian’s Maia blood kicking in), until he was deceived himself, as well, and now he also thinks the rings are a good thing. Because these rings allowed the Elves to “cheat death” and stay where they don’t belong. “Rings of Power” made this point very clear in Season 1: the Southlanders don’t want the Elves on their lands, they are invaders.

In truth, all of these characters are not only Sauron’s accomplices, but are feeding off his power, but they are acting as if they are the “good guys” here, and they need to save Middle-earth from the new Dark Lord. No wonder the Valar told them to f*ck off, and only sent a few helpers who didn’t even dealt with Sauron directly, even though they (being Maiar themselves) had the power to do that.

Long story, short: for the love of Eru, stop whitewashing Galadriel’s character, or believing her to be some sort of “Virgin Mary” nonsense type of character. Or if you actually think her behavior is somehow heroic I don’t even know what to tell you, honestly. Because it’s not suppose to be. And if you were upset with her “toning down” in Season 2, oh boy, I might have bad news for you.

We should appreciate Galadriel’s character for what it is; an anti-hero seeking redemption. She f*cks up a lot, is flawed, and makes huge mistakes, and that’s what will make her character arc feel earned and compelling. In that way, she’s the opposite of Sauron; as he falls into evil, she raises up to good; the Lady of Light and the Dark Lord. This is actually refreshing in the midst of so many boring-ass one-dimensional female characters we see nowadays, an ideal of perfection no one can relate to.

#saurondriel #haladriel #sauron x galadriel #galadriel x sauron #galadriel x halbrand #rop galadriel #galadriel rop

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sinkovia · 10 months ago

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Coffee Shop: IX

Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

You work at a small cafe that Simon starts visiting when he’s not deployed.

Coffee shop Masterlist

As Simon walked through the door of his house, a heavy wave of agonizing guilt crashed over him, consuming him entirely. His body moved on autopilot while his mind was in turmoil, torn between regret and longing.

All he wanted in that moment was to be with you, to hold you close and make things right. He couldn't bear the thought of hurting you, of seeing the pain he had caused reflected in your eyes.

Sitting on his couch, Riley curled up beside him, Simon ran a hand over his face, the weight of his actions bearing down on him like a crushing weight.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, a flood of remorse flooding his thoughts. Never had he imagined that he would be capable of hurting you to the point of making your eyes water. He wanted to punch himself for being so foolish, for letting fear cloud his judgment.

But perhaps there was still hope. Maybe if he explained himself, you would understand. You were always so kind and forgiving, and he hoped you would extend that kindness to him too.

He knew he needed to be honest with you, to tell you how he truly felt. His heart felt lighter whenever he was around you, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you. He needed to explain that he had frozen and pulled away because he was terrified of letting himself be vulnerable again. But he was willing to risk it all if it meant he could spend a lifetime by your side.

If there was one thing he was certain of, it was his unwavering desire to be with you, to cherish and protect you for as long as he lived.

Simon sat on his couch, staring at the picture of you and Riley on his phone, feeling a mix of longing and uncertainty. He wanted to reach out to you, to explain himself and make things right, but he couldn't shake the doubt gnawing at him. Would you even want to hear from him right now? Would it be fair to intrude on your space when he had hurt you so deeply?

He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the screen as he debated whether to send a text or not. He knew that explaining himself over text wouldn't do justice to the depth of his feelings, but he also wanted to let you know that he cared about what had happened between you two.

Finally, he typed out a message, his heart pounding in his chest as he hit send.

Simon: Can we talk about what happened?

He held his breath, checking his phone every few seconds, his nerves getting the better of him as he waited for your reply. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, his mind racing with thoughts of what your response might be.

Meanwhile, on your side of things, you saw the text the instant it arrived, but you couldn't bring yourself to respond. Tossing your phone to the other side of your bed, you buried your face in your hands, the pain of rejection still fresh in your mind.

You were lying on your bed with missy sitting next to you, “Missy, I don't know what to do. I'm so embarrassed…”

She purrs softly, rubbing against your hand.

“I thought Simon and I had a moment, you know? But then when I tried to kiss him, he pulled away… He doesn't feel the same way about me, Missy. And now I feel like I could never show my face around him again. I feel like such a fool.”

She nudges your hand affectionately, licking it before lying beside you.

“I know, I know… Maybe I misread the situation. Maybe I shouldn't have tried to kiss him. But it felt right in that moment, you know? And now… now I just feel so rejected and embarrassed. I don't know how I'll face him again… Ive completely ruined our friendship.” Missy continues to purr, offering silent comfort.

“Thanks, Missy. I guess I'll just have to figure out how to move forward from this… But for now, I'm glad I have you here with me. You always know how to make me feel better.”

Simon couldn't shake the feeling of unease that kept him awake throughout the night. He wanted to reach out to you, to make sure you were okay, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew you probably didn't want to see him, let alone talk to him, especially after he hadn't received a reply to his text.

The next morning, Simon walked to the café, rehearsing in his mind what he wanted to say to you. But when he entered, his brows furrowed in confusion as he saw a man behind the counter.

"Is y/n here?" Simon asked, his brow furrowing in disappointment when the man shook his head. "Took the week off, I'm filling in for her," the man replied.

Sighing heavily, Simon walked out of the cafe, his mind racing with thoughts of what to do next. Eventually, he decided to go to the store and pick up a few things for you.

As Simon walked into the store, he pulled up a recipe for banana nut muffins on his phone, remembering that they were your favorite. With determination, he grabbed a cart and began weaving through the aisles, picking up each ingredient listed on the recipe.

"Baking powder, baking soda, eggs, butter," he muttered to himself as he scanned the list, double-checking his cart to ensure he had everything he needed. But then, his eyes widened as he reached the next step in the instructions.

"What in the bloody fuck is a stand mixer?" He quickly scrolled through the recipe, realizing that he lacked many of the essential tools for baking.

Determined not to let this setback deter him, Simon made his way to the kitchenware aisle and began grabbing a stand mixer, measuring cups, bowls, and a muffin tray – everything necessary to complete the recipe. As he scanned the shelves, his eyes landed on a floral tray that reminded him of you.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he imagined presenting the freshly baked muffins to you on the elegant tray.

As Simon made his way through the store, he couldn't resist stopping by the pet aisle. Remembering Missy, he turned into the cat section and picked out a few toys, treats, and some catnip, wanting to spoil her a little.

Continuing through the aisles, Simon suddenly remembered you mentioning something about "The Hungry Games." He furrowed his brows, trying to recall exactly what you had said.

Approaching a store clerk, Simon asked, "Do you have 'The Hungry Games' on DVD?"

The man looked puzzled for a moment before correcting him, "You mean 'The Hunger Games,' bro?"

"Yeah." Simon replied, following the clerk to the DVD section. He was handed a collector's set that included all the movies, but he noticed that 'The Ballad of Snakes and Birds' was missing.

"The Ballad of Snakes and Birds isn't in here,"

The clerk laughed. "You buying this for your girlfriend?"

Simon scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Yeah, something like that."

The clerk explained that 'The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes' had recently been released in theaters, so it wasn't available on DVD yet. However, he offered to provide Simon with a bootleg website where he could watch it online.

"Okay," Simon agreed, taking the sticky note with the website address. He added the DVD collection to his cart before continuing his shopping for you, determined to make it a special gesture.

"Muffins, movies, Missy… hmm…" he muttered to himself as he strolled down an aisle filled with wooden baskets. Inspiration struck him as he realized that making you a basket filled with things you liked would be perfect. It would be easier for him to carry and he could would be able to add more thoughtful items.

He got a throw blanket adorned with cats, reminiscent of Missy, along with a selection of candles, strawberry seeds, a flower pot with a design he thought you would adore, a flower Lego set you had mentioned once, and a Ross gift card.

Stopping at the floral shop on his way home, Simon picked out a beautiful bouquet of your favorite flowers and a plant to put in the flower pot.

Back at home, Simon spent the entire afternoon making the muffins. He struggled with assembling the stand mixer, nearly breaking it in the process, and cursed himself when he accidentally dropped an eggshell into the batter. Despite his mishaps, he persevered, spending five painstaking minutes trying to retrieve the stubborn piece of shell.

When the muffins finally emerged from the oven, they looked picture-perfect, as if straight out of a baking catalog.

Simon surveyed the kitchen, which was now a chaotic mess from his baking endeavors, but he couldn't help but smile at the sight of the muffins.

Simon worked diligently, loading all the dishes into the dishwasher before turning his attention to putting together your basket. Carefully, he rolled the throw blanket and positioned it on the side, arranging the candles and movie set in the front. He placed the flower Legos on the other side, ensuring everything was balanced, before nestling your bouquet of flowers in the middle.

With precision, he placed the plant from the florist into the pot and positioned it neatly beside the flowers. The strawberry packet and gift card found their place near the pot, completing the ensemble. Stepping back, Simon admired his handiwork, a satisfied smile spreading across his face as he imagined your reaction.

After washing and drying the floral tray, he carefully arranged the cooled-down muffins on it. With Riley on a leash and in the car, Simon carried your basket and the tray of muffins to the car.

As he pulled into your driveway, Simon took a deep breath, his nerves tingling. He glanced at Riley in the passenger seat and felt a sense of reassurance. "I just gotta be honest with her," he murmured, running his hand over Riley's head. Riley responded with a lick and Simon smiled.

You heard the doorbell ring, and your heart skipped a beat as you peered through the peephole, your pulse quickening at the sight of Simon standing outside with something large in his hands. With a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, you unlocked the door and opened it slowly.

Simon stood before you with an apologetic smile, Riley wagging his tail by his feet. "I'm so sorry, love. Can we talk?" he asked softly, his gaze pleading. You felt a rush of emotions as you looked from him to the items in his hands, and a smile tugged at your lips. Stepping aside, you welcomed him in.

He set the basket and tray down on the coffee table in front of you, and you took a seat beside him on the couch as Riley explored the living room. It was time to have that conversation you had been dreading, but somehow, with Simon beside you and his heartfelt gesture before you, it felt a little less daunting.

Simon took a deep breath, his nerves practically humming with anticipation as he tapped his finger against his thigh. Never before had he felt so jittery, so utterly consumed by the weight of his emotions.

For a man who had faced countless missions and life-threatening situations, confessing his feelings to the woman he loved was the ultimate test of his courage.

You noticed his restless tapping and glanced down at his finger rhythmically drumming against his jeans. When his gaze met yours, you looked up at him, waiting expectantly for him to speak. As you both held your breath, awaiting the words that hung heavy in the air.

Simon takes a deep breath, his gaze locking with yours, and he begins to speak, his words heavy with sincerity. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry for pulling away like that. It wasn't because I didn't want to kiss you… It's just… I got scared."

Your body is turned toward him, your full attention on his words as he continues. "I've never really been good with words, but I want you to know that… I've always been afraid of letting myself be vulnerable, especially when it comes to people I care about… people I love…"

Your breath catches slightly in your throat, your mind reeling with the weight of his admission. Love? Did he truly feel that way about you?

"I care about you a lot. Maybe even more than I should admit. I was afraid that if you came to know the real me… the things I've done, you might… you might turn away."

Simon's eyes search yours for understanding. "I realize now that pushing you away was the worst thing I could've done. You're… you're perfect, and I felt like I wasn't good enough for someone like you."

"But that's not fair to you. You deserve honesty. And the truth is, I care about you more than I've cared about anyone. I can't bear the thought of losing you. I just needed to explain, to let you know how I feel. And… I'm sorry for hurting you."

He pauses, gathering his thoughts before adding softly, "And… and I want you to know… I wanted to kiss you just as much as you wanted to kiss me." you softly smiled before glancing down at your hands, taking a deep breath. Your soft gaze met his warm brown eyes.

"Simon… thank you for being honest with me. I know it couldn't have been easy for you to open up like this."

Your thumb rolled over his knuckles, "Every time you walked into the cafe, my heart skipped a beat. It was like the world paused for a moment, and all I could focus on was you."

"And whenever you looked at me, or called me 'love,' it made me feel… special," you confessed, your voice softening with emotion. "Like I was the only one in the room that mattered to you."

"All those moments we spent together, even if it was just a simple conversation or a quick smile exchanged across the room, meant everything to me," you continued, your voice filled with sincerity. "It was like… the highlight of my day, every single time."

"I always found a reason to try and talk to you because… because being around you made me happy," you admitted, your heart laid bare. "And even if I couldn't find the right words to say, just being near you made everything feel right somehow."

"I understand that we all have parts of ourselves that we're afraid to reveal, but you don't have to face those fears alone," you assured him, your gaze unwavering. "I'm here for you, Simon, always."

"And as for stepping away… well, we all make mistakes," you offered, your tone gentle but firm. "What matters is that we learn from them and try to make things right. And trust me, I'm not as perfect as you think. But together, maybe we can be perfect for each other."

Leaning in closer, your heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and anticipation, you glanced down at your hand over his and met Simon's gaze again.

"And as for the kiss… well, I wouldn't mind trying that again" you murmured, your voice laced with a hint of playfulness, yet brimming with longing.

As you leaned in closer, your heart pounding with anticipation, Simon's hand softly found its place on your cheek. You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand comforting and familiar.

Your eyes locked, and in that moment, all doubts and fears melted away. Slowly, hesitantly, Simon inched closer, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, silently seeking reassurance that you wanted this. With a soft smile, you closed the gap between you, both of you closing your eyes as your lips met in a soft kiss.

Simon's heart raced in his chest as he felt the soft press of your lips against his, a rush of warmth flooding through him as he moved his lips in sync with yours. In that moment, everything felt right, as if the pieces of a puzzle were finally falling into place. As you both pulled away, you both smiled and glanced at eachother before glancing away, smiles lingering on both of your faces.

Simon remembered the basket and brought it onto his lap, his expression softening as he said, “I got you a little something, a few things I thought you would like.” You were finally able to take everything in, and you gasped when you saw the Lego flower set.

“Stop! You remembered!” you exclaimed, feeling like a kid on Christmas as you looked through the basket, making appreciative little comments about everything. Simon just smiled, his heart swelling with happiness at the sight of your joy.

“You got the collector's set! We need to watch this right now!” Simon laughed and grabbed the muffins off the table. “Works out, we got snacks for the movie night.”

You gasped, grabbing the cute floral tray. “Did you make these, Si? They smell so good! You really did all of this for me? This is so sweet, Si, thank you so much.”

“Of course, sweetheart, you're worth all the time and effort,” Simon replied, a new endearment slipping from his lips.

“Can you put the movie in the DVD player? I want to light this candle and roll out this blanket. I can make us some tea?” you asked, and Simon smiled and nodded. “I’ll get on it, and some tea would be bloody nice right now.”

You smiled and nodded, and as Simon got up to put the DVD in the player, you cut the tags off the blanket and put some tea to brew while you lit a candle, setting it on the coffee table.

You sat next to Simon, both of you under the throw blanket, and you took a bite of the muffin, you realized this was better than any muffin you had ever made.

Simon took a sip of his tea as he fed Missy the treats he bought her, the cat purring contentedly on his lap. Simon looked down at Missy and then at Riley, nestled between the two of you sleeping peacefully. His gaze then lingered on you as you took another bite of the muffin while your eyes were glued to the TV. He smiled, turning to the screen, his smile lingering.

In that moment, as love swelled in his heart, Simon was truly happy, and content with life as he sat next to you.

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if-loves · 4 months ago

Text

BORN TO LOVE YOU

// Michael Kaiser

sum: it’s been a month since kaiser let you slip away from him. he thinks he knows what it feels like to lose everything.

wc: 1080

warnings: probably OOC kaiser idk it’s my first time writing him, kaiser backstory & manga spoilers

a/n: sorry if this is a mess i just had to get exes to lovers with kaiser out of my head xd

likes & reblogs are appreciated :)

When Michael Kaiser was born, he had nothing. Not a family, not care, and most certainly not love. Michael Kaiser was born a mistake, and lived most of his life that way.

Everything changed when he was fifteen, when his life turned around and all of a sudden he meant something. All of a sudden he had a reason to care, a reason to continue living. No longer was he the mistake of a child that neither of his parents wanted, no longer was he a thief that had to steal to survive; he is Michael Kaiser, a member of the New Generation World XI, signed to Bastard Munchen with millions to his name.

He met you at twenty-one, a university student studying in one of the universities in the city, at some coffee shop he can’t seem to remember. He remembers the bored look on your face as you took his order at the register, and the way you didn’t even react when he said his name. If Kaiser was being honest, he was a little offended - but he also thought you were pretty even with your bored appearance.

He didn’t know that that fateful encounter would lead to perhaps the most meaningful years of his life.

Kaiser is not good with love. He was never given even a sliver of it, and he has never been in a relationship long enough to know what it feels like beyond the shallow like. Models and actresses alike all flock to him no doubt as a means of increasing their fame, and he could care less. It was fun to toy with them, and throw them aside when he got tired of them. They were all the same.

You, however, brought him down to earth; you showed him what it was like to be human. You showed him what it meant to enjoy the little things in life, to take a step back and relax for a moment, to enjoy the silence. If he knows how to appreciate the simple pleasures of life, it’s because of you.

Two years with you was more than enough time to get him addicted to the drug that is you. He’s not a passive person by any means, and he’s the kind of person to speak freely of his thoughts no matter the opinions of the people around him - yet he finds himself unsure of what to say when he’s with you. He finds himself wondering if he should say something, if he’ll offend you with his blunt words. So he softens himself the best he can, he tries to be gentler and kinder in his words and actions, all in an effort to keep you.

Yet, you still manage to slip through his fingers, until all he's left with are the bittersweet memories of you.

Kaiser doesn’t enjoy admitting he’s miserable. All that runs through his head are thoughts of you, how you’re doing, what you’re doing, where you could be. He yearns to feel your skin against his again, to hold you at night and let your breathing lull him to sleep, he yearns to hold your hand as you walk down the street, he yearns for you. You, who is just barely within reach, but the one thing he’ll never be able to reach.

Kaiser doesn’t cry. Kaiser gets angry, he gets frustrated, but he doesn’t cry. But when he thinks about you, and what was and what could’ve been, he can’t help when his face grows wet and the cascade of tears don’t stop. He waits for a moment, before he laughs bitterly, remembering that you’re not there anymore, and he’s back to wiping his own tears like all those years ago.

A month passes by, and you’ve never contacted him. His heart hurts in a way he’s never felt before. Maybe it’s an act of desperation, or maybe he’s drowning in his sorrows, but he finds himself at your apartment in the middle of the day looking and feeling like a wreck.

“I’m sorry.” The words slip out of his mouth on instinct. He’s not the kind of person to apologize, but if it’s for you, he’ll do it without hesitation.

You let him in and he almost feels like he’s breathing fresh air again. Your apartment is a familiar sight, and he remembers every inch of it like the back of his hand. The only things missing are the frames of you and him.

“I’m sorry.” He all but whispers when you sit down on your couch, his voice rough and raw. “I love you.”

“Michael…” Your voice, liquid gold to his ears, calls his name so tenderly he might just break down on the spot.

“I can’t live without you. I don’t know how to anymore. I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you, and I’ll never stop loving you. You… You’re my life. You taught me how to live, you taught me how to be human. If I know love, it’s because of you. How can I love another person while knowing you’re the only one for me?” Michael Kaiser has never begged. But for you, he’ll grovel a thousand times over and then some. His voice cracks and he wants nothing more than for you to love him again. “I… I know it’s selfish that I need you. You deserve better. I’m sorry that this is all I am, but I can’t let go of you.”

“Michael, please don’t say that.” Your voice is firm as you take his hands in yours and he swears he feels electricity shoot down his spine. “You are more than enough the way that you are, please never think otherwise. You’re the Michael Kaiser, any person would be lucky to have such a wonderful man by their side.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying, not until you wipe away his tears with your thumb.

When you embrace him gently, lovingly, he completely breaks. The tears don’t stop and he can’t help his sniffling. He’s afraid to speak, to hear what may leave his fragile heart, but he’s never felt so warm, so loved. Is this what home feels like?

“I was born to love you.” He finally manages to whisper, buried in the comfort of your neck with your arms wrapped around him, his wrapped around you. Your hands tenderly stroke his hair, and he feels himself being lulled to sleep.

“We were born for each other, my love.”

#michael kaiser #blue lock #michael kaiser x reader #x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk

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hirukochan · 1 year ago

Text

Stood-up

A Severus Snape x fem!reader Oneshot

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Severus Snape x former student reader

Summary: Your former professor saves you from embarrassment when your blind date doesn't show up to the fancy restaurant you were meant to meet at.

Warnings: Smut, Loss of virginity, virgin reader

Wordcount: 5007

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

You did not expect life after Hogwarts to be…this. Whatever this is. Boring. That much is certain. You finished school five years ago with good grades and that was it. You celebrated your graduation with your friends who were already gushing about their future careers and their dream jobs, and you had nothing to offer to the conversation. You didn’t know what you wanted to do after school. And five years later you still don’t know.

You wanted to move out of your parents’ house and so you went to interviews for any job you thought yourself decently qualified for. You ended up working in a depressing little second hand bookshop in Diagon Alley. The owner, some rich fuck that doesn’t even live in London, pays you well to take care of anything that needs taking care of because the shop belonged to his wife’s grandfather, and she can’t bear separating with it.

You also get to live rent-free in the one-room flat above the store. You have a kitchen, a bed and a bathroom and no controlling boss looming over your every move. Life is…good. It’s ok, nothing groundbreaking, but how many people get that? How realistic is an action filled, thrilling life actually?

Your friends seem content with life as it is and so you try to be content as well.

In reality you feel lost.

You have looked into universities, but you aren’t sure if you’d be good enough and the fear of failing holds you back. Besides, what would you even study? In school charms had been your favourite, but was that because of the subject or your teacher? Professor Flitwick had made each class a delight to be in.

You shove the thoughts away, focusing on finishing up closing the store. A friend has set up a blind-date for you. Some guy she works with at the Ministry. She has gushed about him endlessly and you are sure were she not in a relationship herself - she would totally try to date him.

That is a recipe for disaster, but you want to indulge your friend or perhaps just make her shut up and so you go along.

You lock up the shop and hurry upstairs to shower, change and put on some makeup. An hour later you are standing outside the shop, mentally preparing for the apparition. You are certain you’ll never get used to it.

Pleasant, classical music floods the street as you open the door to the wizarding restaurant and bar in central London. This is already outside your comfort zone. Too fancy and too full. Are you underdressed? Are you overdressed? Shit, what if he isn’t here yet?

“Reservation for Everett.” You say to the hostess who swishes her wand and looks through the list of reservations.

“This way, madam. Your partner is not here yet.” Shit. Of course, he wouldn’t be. You are early. Way too early. Pathetic, desperate early.

The hostess shows you to your table and you smile kindly as you sit down. A waiter hurries over to you and asks for your drink order.

“Wine. Red, please.” The waiter is gone before you can finish your sentence. A glass of wine floats to your table shortly after. You let your eyes wander over the room as you take small sips. A few couples sit at the tables, some more stand at the bar, chatting with each other.

You wait.

And wait.

Three glasses later you know you got stood up. You try to fight the tears stinging in your eyes and dig through your purse for some money to pay for the drinks and scurry out of the restaurant as fast as possible.

How pathetic! Hot shame spreads through your chest, your guts twist at the mere thought of getting up and leaving. Your feet don’t work. They simply won’t respond to your command. With all your willpower you stifle a sob in your throat. This is your last straw.

All the disappointment over life after Hogwarts, the loneliness, being lost and left behind by the golden opportunities your future had promised you - and now not even your date could bother to show up! You didn’t even want to meet him. Prick!

“Ms. (L/N)?” You flinch. That voice. You are sure that voice would give you war-like flashbacks for the rest of your life. Running through corridors at night, blood pounding in your ears, already feeling safe as the entrance to your common room approaches just to be violently stopped by those words.

You turn and meet the dark eyes of your former professor for potions.

Severus Snape has not changed in the five years since you last saw him. The same hooked nose, same pale skin. Black greasy hair falling into his face. The long black robes hiding every inch of his skin.

“P-professor Snape.” You reply, because you have to say something. His eyes wander over you, clearly made up for a date and then twitch to the empty seat across from you. They narrow as they see the three empty glasses and the slight redness of your eyes. Without saying anything he slips into the seat across from you.

“Two glasses of whatever the lady has been drinking.” He says as he grabs a waiter by the arm. He gestures towards the glasses. “And get rid of these. What kind of service is this?” The waiter apologises profusely and hurries away quickly.

You stare at Snape in bewilderment. He is sitting across from you. He saw you got stood up and sat down. And he ordered drinks.

He is looking at you. Say something. Anything. Shit shit shit.

“I was supposed to meet someone.” You say, cursing how meek you sound. You look away and try to subtly wipe the corner of your eye where a stubborn little tear tries very hard to run down your cheek. You know if you allow that one to pass your lashes, there is no holding back the rest.

“I gathered.” He leans back in his chair, his eyes still roaming over you. Instantly you feel like you are back in the dungeons of Hogwarts, trying your best to brew a potion while he stares at you, waiting for the moment you fail. You swallow hard as the familiar nervousness of being around Snape takes over.

“A boyfriend?”

“N-no. A friend set it up- never met him.”

“What do you do these days?” You blush. You were afraid he might ask that.

“I-I run a little b-bookshop in Diagon Alley…sir.” The ‘sir’ slips out before you can stop it. A smirk tucks at the corners of his mouth at the sound of it but dies instantly.

“A bookshop? And you’re happy with that?” You shrug. You aren’t, but you wouldn’t tell him that. You cling to your glass. This is worse than getting stood up and humiliated. Infinitely worse. Snape leans over the table, his dark eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

“I am not going to bite you. Unless-” You tense. Is he flirting? Merlin’s beard- You feel heat rise to your face and stare down at the wine in your hands. “I apologise. This is inappropriate and you clearly wish to be as far away from me as possible. I’ll leave you to it.” Snape says, an edge of self-loathing sneaking into his voice. He digs through his pocket and puts down a few coins on the table.

“Stay-” You have no idea how you manage to force the word out of your constricting throat but there it is. Out in the open.

Snape stares at you in disbelief. You take a shaky, deep breath and look up to meet his intense gaze.

“Stay.” You repeat, firmer this time. That expression flashes through his eyes again and after a moment of hesitation he settles down.

“U-unless I am keeping you from meeting someone. I-” You hadn’t considered why he might be here. Shit, is he on a date? And instead of that he took pity on you? Does Snape date?

He chuckles. The sound as foreign to your ears as kindness or praise from him. It goes straight to your core, and you gulp as you are violently tossed back into your old crush. That is the last thing you need now!

Imagining him doing all sorts of things to you during class was bad enough already - mainly because it really messed with your grade - but imagining them now that you are no longer his student, no longer sixteen- You blush even more as you realise that - in theory - you could do these things now.

It has been five years since you graduated, sure it is a bit weird maybe, but entirely allowed. You have not been in contact with him since graduation. He has made no inappropriate comment to you while you were his student ever- in fact he barely ever talked to you.

You feel Snape’s hot gaze burn through your skull. It’s almost like he knows. Which is entirely impossible. Or is it? He has the uncanny ability to know when students are planning mischief behind his back and such things as reading minds isn’t at all a ridiculous idea to wizards- shit.

Snape’s lips curl as you stare at him.

“Oh, yes.” His smooth voice says in your head. “I know. I know all the little fantasies you have been coming up with for years.” The colour vanishes from your face. You take a big gulp of your wine, downing the entire thing in one go to aid your suddenly parched throat. Snape swirls the wine in his glass, never taking his eyes off you.

“A-and is that some-something you’d…you’d want?” You ask. Your heart twists and turns in your chest, your insides clench almost uncomfortably. You have no idea where you take the bravery from to say it out loud.

His grin grows, his eyes darken, snapping down to the neckline of your dress. In one smooth movement he gets up and holds his hand out to you.

This is it.

The one opportunity you’d get.

You take his hand.

Your skin tingles where it touches him and a giddy feeling spreads through you.

You are going to sleep with your Potions professor. Former professor. Dark, unapproachable, cruel Snape. The man you have been fantasising about since 6th grade. The man that terrifies you as much as he intrigues you.

Together you leave the restaurant. He guides you towards an abandoned alley and lets go of your hand to snake his arm around your waist.

“Hold on tight.” He whispers in his ear. You can feel his breath on your neck and a shudder runs down your spine. You take a shaky breath and put your arms around his waist. You are swept up in his scent, musky and herbal. It clouds your mind instantly and you bite your tongue so you don’t inhale deeper just so it can flood your senses more. His magic wraps around you and you squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the apparition to pass. You can feel the chuckle rumble through Snape’s chest before you hear it.

“Still no fan?”

“No.” You reply breathless and separate from him. He holds onto your waist, eyeing you as though he expects you to collapse. Right- You did. During Apparition training in your 7th year, you lost consciousness after your first successful attempt. He was one of the teachers overseeing the training.

You blush as the memory of how embarrassed you felt waking up in his arms, your whole year watching, resurfaces in your mind. You clear your throat and look around. You’re in Diagon Alley, not far away from the bookshop. You dig through your pocket and get out the key as you walk towards it.

You are going to have sex.

You are going to have sex with Snape. He’s walking right behind you. Nervous doesn’t even begin to cover how you feel.

“This is it.” You say and close the door behind you. Your flat looks terribly small with Snape standing in it.

“Do you still want me to stay?”

“Yes. I’m just-”

“Yes?” He steps closer.

“You intimidate me.”

“Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?”

“Good.” You reply breathlessly. Your mind is already foggy just from him standing so close to you. His eyes roam over your face, as though he is determined to enter all its details to his memory. Your heart beats impossibly fast in your chest, smashing against your ribcage so hard you wonder whether Snape can hear it. He leans down, inky hair falling into his face, stealing your view of the room around you.

Your insides clench and scream for him to kiss you. Finally kiss you. You bite your bottom lip to stop its pathetic quivering. His scent floods your senses and briefly renders your mind nonexistent.

Snape runs his fingertips over your arm, starting at your wrist and drawing goosebumps across your naked skin, all the way up to your shoulder. Your breath hitches and you barely manage to withstand the urge to hold onto him.

“You’d have to take this off first.” He says, quiet, calm. His voice sends a shiver through your body. He drags his fingers over your shoulder to your neck. He takes the zipper and slowly pulls it down, the sound resounds in your room loud like thunder.

He barely touches your skin when he peels the straps off your shoulder and gently tugs the dress down and over your hips. It pools around your feet on the ground.

Snape takes a step back and takes in your body. You aren’t wearing a bra, you own none that would have looked good with the dress and stand in front of him only in a pair of black lace knickers.

His eyes remain as unreadable as they always are. He seems to assess your body with the same impartiality as he used to look at your potions. You shiver, cold air swirling around your heated skin, goosebumps spread across your skin and your nipples harden. Your face is burning hot though, and you barely resist the impulse of covering yourself with your arms.

Just when you begin to think this is some cruel joke, he is playing on you to embarrass you, he closes the distance between you two - too fast for your mind to catch up. He grabs your waist and smashes your body against his. His lips crash against your collarbone, his teeth graze your skin.

You gasp and sink your hands into his hair, marvelling at how soft it feels. He kisses your skin, sucks and nibbles. White hot lust seeps into your skin from the saliva he spreads across it.

He holds your waist in his surprisingly strong arms and attacks your chest, worshipping every inch of you as though you are some ancient artefact promising prosperity and luck to loyal devotees. He groans against you, and you join with a moan of yourself, arching your back, offering your chest up to him. He accepts without hesitation, with enthusiasm even. Snape licks broad, firm strokes over your exposed breast, roughly kneading the other with his hand.

His thorough attention is dizzying. Blood pounds in your ears and waves upon waves of merciless pleasure course through you, twisting your vocal cords into the strangest of sounds you have never heard yourself make.

“Are you a virgin?” He groans against your skin.

“Y-yes-” He stops, dead in his tracks. Slowly his head tilts back, his gaze snapping in on yours.

“Yes?” Hunger flashes through his eyes and he licks his lips. “How the fuck are you still a virgin?” You blush more fiercely if that is even possible. Your shrug and drops your hands to his shoulders.

“Um- nobody was ever interested in me like that.”

“You’re what? Twenty-one?”

“Twenty-two.”

“And nobody ever touched your gorgeous fucking body?” He sounds baffled, like your words are the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard.

“Touched, yes…snogging at parties in the common room and such, but-” Your voice trails off.

“You are telling me.” He says, his voice growing to untamed deep turmoil of unabashed desire and feral lust. “Nobody ever sucked on these dainty, splendid nipples?” As if to emphasise his words he closes his lips around one, holding it between his teeth and flicking his tongue over it. You whimper. Your legs shake under the weight of your own body, and you cling to his shoulders. His eyes never leave you, the weight of them heavy on you, buzzing on your skin. You throw your head back, moaning like you’ve never moaned before.

He chuckles, the vibration of it ripples through the tissue of your breast and sinks deep into your body, melting into your bones. He kisses his way back up to your collarbone and neck.

“Fools. Every single one of them that did not realise what they are missing out on.” He gently sucks on the sensitive skin in the crook of your neck. He steers you backwards until your calves meet the frame of your bed and you allow your body to fall back.

Snape kicks his shoes off and slips out of his cloak before he follows you, crawling over the bed, up your body like a predator about to devour his prey. A shiver rushes through you at that thought. Yes- you want him to devour you, to worship you, to ruin you and build you back up. He braces his arms against the mattress on either side of your head.

“And you still want me to stay?” The words fall into the space between your bodies, filled with heat and want, desire and fear, buzzing with anticipation. His eyes are softer somehow, less intense, but not less hungry. They tell you how much he wants you, craves you but also tell you he’d stop. You just need to say the word and he will leave. Without shaming you, without a cruel word or ounce of disappointment.

“Yes.”

“You want to give this first experience to me? Of all people?”

“I’ve always wanted it to be you.” Snape groans and closes his eyes. His head drops, coming to rest against your shoulder, nestling to the crook of your neck.

“Do you have any idea-” He is breathing heavy, clenching his fists in your sheets, his body one large, tensed muscle. “-what you do to me?” Before you can answer he grabs one of your hands and brings it down. He presses it against his upper thigh where his cock is very hard, straining against its confines. You gasp at which Snape smirks. He rolls his hips against your hand.

“It’s big…” You whisper, more fear mixing in with your burning arousal.

“You can take it.” He leans down. His lips brush over your cheek. “I’ll make sure of it.” His breath dances over the shell of your ear, prickling. As soon as it passes your skin feels terribly cold, like it’s never going to be warm ever again just to be replaced by burning heat. Snape drags the tip of his tongue across the shell of your ear and back down to close his lips around your earlobe.

The whimper that falls from your lips at that is more of a high pitched squeak and finally, finally he kisses you. His lips are soft like silk and warm, reminding you of a mug of butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks in winter.

You sigh and move your lips with his, threading your fingers through his hair. Despite the way he has been acting so far, he kisses you passionately, almost slow, but no less thorough.

Severus Snape is nothing if not thorough.

And he intends to savour you.

You part your lips for him, eager to move this along, eager to feel him and the pleasure he can bring you, but when it comes to actually deepening the kiss you hesitate. Snape senses your nervousness and takes over the decision making from you. The tip of his tongue meets yours and he slides it slowly over your own, easing you into the kiss and coaxing a small moan from you.

You relax against him and surrender yourself to his touch once more. You have never been kissed like this. With want and need, with passion and hunger. He maps out your mouth as though he is trying to dissect a potion he has never seen into its separate components.

His hands run over your body, your sides and stomach to your thighs. You whine at his touch and muscles twitch under your skin as if to reach out to his calloused fingers. The wool of his frock rubs against your skin when he moves. You reach out to work on the endless row of buttons but are rather abruptly interrupted by his fingers against your cunt.

A surprised, shuddering gasp escapes you and your fingers tense against his chest. Snape chuckles into the kiss, never once stopping his assault on your mouth. Playful he circles your entrance, gathering you slick and spreading it to your clit. You cling to his shoulders and push your head back into the pillows. Pressure builds deep in your cunt, and you need him to ease it- need him to- to-

“Ahh-” You cry out and dig your nails into Snape’s shoulders. Your own fingers never felt that fucking good.

“Are we enjoying ourself?” Snape teases, watching the pleasure drunk expression on your face.

“Mhh…Snape-” You buck your hips into his hand. “Please- fuck me-”

“Patience, dear. I told you I would make sure you can take me.” He teases your entrance with a finger, coating it in your slick and then gently pushes inside you. “I will fuck you. I will fuck you so well nobody will ever compare to me, but first I’ll stretch this virgin cunt because as you so eloquently put it - It’s big.”

“There was this rumour back in school-” You murmur, blissful pleasure clouding your mind and rendering it utterly useless. “-that- that….oohhh-”

“That I’m a virgin?” He smirks. He pumps his finger inside you, curling it and pressing upwards slightly and a flash of searing pleasure explodes inside your cunt, and you squirm under him, rolling your hips into his touch to get more more more. “Does it feel like I am? Like I’ve never touched a woman?”

“Snape-”

“Dear, believe me, I know your body better than you.” You want to get offended by that statement. What a man thing to say but then Snape does something with his finger, twisting and curling at the same time or something else, interrupting your thoughts harshly with another mind-blowing ripple of pleasure.

Snape adds a second finger, stretching you carefully and kissing you the entire time, then a third. You are hot all over. Sweat clings to you like a second layer of skin. You are shivering from unfulfilled need and the steadily building pressure deep in your cunt just outside of Snape’s reach.

It builds and builds, beyond anything you were ever able to do to yourself and you have no idea how it keeps building and where all this pressure goes because the thought of it all staying confined in you is absurd!

You whine at the loss of his touch and buck your hips in a futile attempt of stopping his fingers from leaving you. Snape looks very fucking smug, but you are to wound up and needy to even care.

He watches you squirm, your slickness dripping off his fingers. He traces your lips with his ring finger, spreading your own arousal over them. You are too far gone to really care. Your tongue darts out and licks your lips clean, accepting his finger into your mouth. You suck his fingers clean, one after another, Snape’s dark eyes never leaving you.

“What a good girl.” He coos. His voice rolls over your skin and sinks into your body, causing your insides to clench.

You watch Snape undo the rest of the buttons and toss the black frock away. He opens his belt, the quiet clink of the buckle echoes in your mind. You’re about to see Snape’s prick. Snape just fingered you. You’ve been kissing Snape!

Your heart beats faster, like a hummingbird forced to forever fly on the spot in a too small cage. Anticipation takes your breath away and impossibly so, more slickness rushes to your entrance. Every second he takes to open his trousers feels like another fire being lit on your skin.

He slides a hand in his pants and now you are sure he is doing it to see you squirm because who moves that slow?

You let out an impatient whine and squirm, bucking your hips to grind against him.

“So impatient.” He chuckles and finally, finally frees his prick.

It’s big is a pretty accurate description, you don't know what Snape has against your eloquence. Jesus fuck, is another option but you doubt Snape would find that more eloquent.

His plush, purple cockhead is already leaking pre-cum. Snape mutters an incantation, you recognise as a contraception spell, before aligning himself with you.

“Don’t worry, dear.” He coos. “I’ll be gentle. Just relax.” You try. You really try, but Snape has your nerve endings running in circles, screaming, while on fire. Stop, drop and roll is not an option that they can think of, mainly because thinking is quite difficult when on fire.

He pushes against you, and you tense further. Snape rubs your thigh, and you take a deep breath and try to relax your muscles. Slowly, inch after thick inch Snape enters you. Beads of sweat collect on his forehead from the strain of going slow. Inch after inch of your tight channel is mercilessly forced to yield to his girth, stretching you open with a small sting.

Snape grunts and sinks into you to the hilt, sacking above you to give you time to adjust and also catch his breath.

You are so bloody full. How he isn’t ripping you open is a miracle to you. Your knuckles are white from holding onto his arms. The muscles in your thighs quiver. You give tentatively rolls of your hips, earning a low groan from Snape another wave of deep pleasure.

“You’re breathing really hard.” He mutters into your ear. “I like that - keep working so hard for me, dear.” Snape’s thrusts are long and controlled, massaging your inner walls and hitting just the right spots. You are reduced to a pathetic, needy moaning puddle of bliss and want.

Snape isn’t doing too much better. His breathing is heavy and loud right next to your ear which drives you deeper and deeper into your trance-like state of ecstatic bliss. His rhythm falters more than once and his groans take on an animalistic edge.

“So tight.” He grunts and drives back into you. “Just for me-”

“Snape!”

“That’s right. Saved yourself for me, didn’t you, dear?”

“Idiot.” You laugh against his jaw.

“No need to play shy - you can tell me.” Snape smirks and leans his forehead against yours. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear.” He snaps his hips forward, hitting that spot with more force than before and your breath gets stuck in your throat. You tense and convulse, somehow simultaneously. Snape grunts when you clench around him and your inner walls spasm.

“Keep coming- keep fucking coming for me!” He reaches between your bodies and rubs your clit. A violent wave of pleasure smacks you right in the face and you scream in pleasure. Snape whispers reverent praise and fucks you through your release, coming shortly after with a long groan inside you.

Sweaty, sticky and spent you collapse on the bed, both trying to catch your breath. Snape runs his hand over your thigh absentmindedly. His cum slowly leaks out of you. Your eyelids are heavy. A heavy blanket of bliss and contentment settles over you.

“Thank you.” You whisper into the silence of your flat.

“Whatever for?” He chuckles next to you.

“It was nice.” You shrug.

“Well, I should be thanking you for even letting me touch you.”

“Let’s thank each other.”

“Fine.” You stay there a while longer, but eventually Snape disentangles himself from you and gets up to get dressed.

Lying on your side with your sheets pulled up to cover your still shaking body you watch him.

“You know-” He says but stops himself, a frown appearing on his face. “A career isn’t the only thing to measure how accomplished or fulfilled one’s life is. Your friends might think their jobs are great now, but in ten, twenty years they’ll realise they have never lived a day in their life. This job…” He looks around the flat. “It seems pretty comfortable to me. It seems to give you the freedom to do whatever you want. Create art or music, write, research or go to university. You can do whatever you want - fuck what other people think. Not everybody dreams of labour.”

“What if I’m not good enough?” Snape fastens his cloak. He looks up. His eyes seem heavy with a burden you can’t quite understand. The corner of his mouth twitches and perhaps for the first time in the years you have known him you see him smile.

“I think you can achieve anything you put your mind to. And either way. How will you know if you never try? The day will come you’ll regret having allowed your fear to hold you back.” His cloak billows behind him when he turns to leave. His hand already on the doorknob he stops.

“I hope you find happiness.”

“I hope you find happiness too, Professor.”

“For some of us it’s too late.” And with those words he disappears into the darkness of the night.

Three weeks later Albus Dumbledore is murdered by Severus Snape.

| Part 2 |

#snape x reader #snape x you #snape x y/n #severus snape smut #snapedom #pro snape #dividers by cafekitsune

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maladaptiveobsession · 24 days ago

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“Too Little, Too late”

Synopsis: How the DOL LIs react to the player’s suicide

pt. 2

Contains: gn!reader, male!love interests, suicide by pill overdose, death, necrophilia, alcoholism, self-deprecation, dissociation, depression

Words: 1163

A/N: Do not take the content warnings above lightly. The character’s sentiments and the player’s death is described in detail. If you are sensitive to any of these topics, please take care. I had intended to write for some other NPCs as well, but quickly realized I was not in the mental space to continue. I was using my personal experiences as reference, so my personal feelings and the feelings of the characters blended together and I just got overwhelmed.

Alex:

He’s confused and distraught. Why didn’t you confide in him? Was he not enough? He thought you were doing better. What did he miss? What could he have done differently? There’s nothing he wouldn’t have done if it meant keeping you.

He’ll never recover. The farm is neglected, unable to handle the grief. Everything reminds him of you. He blames himself and spends every moment missing you. Alcohol is his only solace and perhaps his demise as well.

Avery:

He’s initially enraged. You repay him by attaching a tragedy to his public image? Above all, he feels betrayed. Anger eventually morphs into bitter acceptance. He tries to pretend otherwise, but he’s affected deeply. He’s not sure how to feel, but it’s wrong all the same. Never before had he grown so fond of any of his arm candy. It was too little, too late by the time he realized he wanted more than a transactional relationship. He continues to attend functions, but his smile is tighter and his eyes are weary. Any attempts to replace you fail miserably. Nobody smiles like you or laughs like you. Nobody is talented enough, smart enough, or obedient enough.

He won’t forget you, but he can’t afford to lose his image, so he grieves in silence. He wonders if things might have been different had he realized how he felt sooner. What might things have been like had he put a ring on your finger? It’s only now in your absence that he understands the joy you brought him. He should have paid better attention to his plaything.

Eden:

Inconsolable is the only way to describe him. Little has brought this man to his knees or made him tear up, but discovering your cold, lifeless body broke him. He’s pissed at you for leaving him. He’s pissed at himself for not noticing the signs; he should have known better than any other. Among the anger, he’s confused. Why didn't you ask for help? There’s nothing he wouldn’t have done for you. What could have been so bad that you would want to kill yourself? Was he so awful? He begins to reflect on his behavior towards you. He knew your initial meeting was unsavory at best, but he had changed since and thought you were healing. He spends every waking moment criticizing his past actions, wondering what might have been had he treated you better.

He considers taking his own life but chooses to live through the anguish as punishment. He tries his best to overcome, but nothing is the same without you. He misses you deeply; the comfort you brought him left so easily. If only he had cherished you more and taken better care of you. If only he had just listened. You should still be cozying up against him on the loveseat, but you’re not and never will be.

Kylar:

Kylar initially denies your death. You’re not dead. You’re just sleeping. As time goes on, he becomes hysterical. You must be ignoring him to get his attention! You’re okay! You’re fine! Nothing is wrong! He’ll defile your body, having convinced himself you’ve entered a deep sleep. The smell will force him into clarity. He knows that smell well; he would recognize the stench of rotting flesh anywhere. He’ll fly into hysteria, falling to his knees and wailing. His darling is gone forever. Why did you do it? Was he not good enough? He must have neglected you or upset you somehow! He should have paid attention. You would be here otherwise. You were unhappy, but he was too selfish to notice! This is all his fault!

Unlike all the rest, Kylar cannot live without you. He takes his own life shortly after, collapsing over your decomposing corpse. If you squint, it’s nearly a romantic sight.

Robin:

Finding you in your bed, cold and stiff with pills spilled haphazardly across your desk, was the worst moment of his life. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t break down and cry. There’s no confusion. There’s no need to ask why; he knows. He’d spent ages wondering how you managed to keep yourself together. How you smiled so brightly in such disturbing circumstances escaped him. It’s only now that he realizes just how much you were suffering, quietly enduring for his sake. He should have seen the signs—the smile that never reached your eyes, the flinching, the lethargy. Things you couldn’t hide that he should have seen but simply didn’t want to acknowledge. It wasn’t a conscious decision by any means, but rather a subconscious attempt to avoid uncomfortable truths in hopes they’d resolve on their own. Had he reached out to you and comforted you, he’s pretty sure you’d still be here. Your blood is on his hands.

Robin will never be the same, and there’s a chance he’ll follow your example. In another timeline, he decides to keep fighting, leaves town, and never looks back. Another version is swallowed up by grief and grows darker and vengeful. Regardless of his path going forward, he lives in your memory. Time heals, but the scar won’t fade.

Sydney:

He is beyond distraught. Why did you do it? Why did you leave him? Was he not enough? He misses you severely. Every waking moment is torment without you. Your loss sends him plunging deeper into the church’s grasp, regardless of purity. If the church is responsible for your passing by any measure, Sydney severes ties completely. Unlike all the rest, Sydney has a loving parent to comfort and guide him through the grief.

Ultimately, Sydney will move on. He carries your memories with him. Your death still haunts him, but he’ll eventually find somebody to start a family with. He’ll convince himself he’s happy, but he can’t help but wonder how things might have been if you were by his side instead.

Whitney:

Numbness engulfs Whitney. Nothing feels real anymore. Is he even real? How can you be gone? He still has the bruises you gave him from your last encounter, so how can you be gone? Anger bites at his mind, but the static sorrow washes it away. Without you, nothing matters. He blames himself. He was a terrible person to you. Of course you would choose death over somebody like him. Even if he was changing for the better, that doesn’t take away what he did to you.

He washes down the grief with liquor. He doesn’t live; he drifts, too tired to even take his own life. He’d spend the rest of his life punishing himself for failing you. With enough time, he might snap out of that fog. Of all the rest, he is the most likely to use this trauma to make much-needed changes around town. He’ll stay single, too afraid of failing yet another person, of being hurt, or of betraying you. Whitney will ultimately be okay, even if every day is a challenge and every memory is overwritten with regret.

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wonusite · 1 year ago

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Sweet Dreams

❝ You dream about a beautiful man nearly every time you fall asleep. After getting to know him and everything about him, you see him outside of your dreams—in a museum painting. ❞

PAIRING: joshua hong x female reader

GENRE: vampire au, reincarnation au, angst, smut

WORD COUNT: 10.1k

WARNINGS: vampire!joshua, human!reader, lucid dreaming, reincarnation, so much yearning, mentions of death, joshua is a brooding mess, protective!minghao, unprotected sex, blood play, biting, creampies

A/N: this has been long overdue, and i hope you guys like it! loosely based off this ask. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Fate.

A simple word that holds more power and venerability than any ruler of the middle kingdom. It’s a mystifying concept that follows no rules and simply is; something that can actively be changed but not avoided. Joshua learns this late in his long life—a derailment of his own making. The lesson comes to him in the form of a fiery witch running from her death.

As a creature that’s lived in solitude since he became immortal, it’s not in his nature to be helpful. It’s why he has no interest in saving the witch from the demons that are hunting her. This, however, doesn’t stop the insolent little witch from forcing herself into his sanctuary. He fights her on it, baring his fangs while saying the most despicable and bone chilling threats to her. The young witch isn’t fazed and makes it clear that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

In the end, he concedes. Not because she’s powerful enough to make him obey her, but because she reminds Joshua of himself when he was desperately clinging to his own survival. Perhaps that’s the reason he becomes inexplicably drawn to her. Josh almost feels like she’s bewitched him, and the most unusual part of it all is that he doesn’t care even if that is the case.

He seeks her out after he helps her despite knowing that it can’t possibly end well. Their kinds don’t mix, and it’s doubtful that two abominations can share something as sacred and beautiful as love. Fate has never allowed it before, but Joshua is foolish enough to try to defy destiny.

Courting the witch isn’t easy. Then again, anything that involves her never is. The witch is a firm believer in being reverent to the same fates that gave her the powers she wields while Joshua couldn’t care less about the fates that turned him into a monstrosity. This creates a disconnect between them because the witch is firm that she could never love such an irreverent creature.

This hardly deters him. Joshua is relentless in his chase, and after the longest decade of his life he’s finally able to win the witch’s thorn-covered heart.

And so, even just for the briefest moments, they’re allowed to create their own destiny with each other.

Loving someone, loving her, is the most addicting feeling he’s ever felt. The love he feels for the witch surpasses even that of his first love who he was convinced he’d never forget. Being with her is the happiest Joshua has ever felt, and he naively thinks it’ll last forever.

This all comes to an abrupt end when the witch finds out that it’s his fault the demons eradicated her coven. Yes, it was before Josh had met and fell in love with her, but that doesn’t change anything. It was still him who had put her on the brink of death and gotten her family and friends killed. Twisted as it is, he doesn’t regret his actions nor would he change them if he had an opportunity to do so.

And so, the love of his life becomes his most dangerous enemy.

It hurts. More so because she discards him and his love like they never meant anything in the first place.

The witch is cutthroat in her hatred. It’s not long before the children of the moon find his sanctuary and nearly send him to meet his maker. Her hexes nearly incapacitate him, but even all her acts of revenge aren’t enough to satiate the vengeance she seeks.

Slowly, the love they grew to feel for each other becomes wilted and corroded beyond repair.

Years pass, yet the feud never dies. Joshua is almost impressed by her determination to destroy him the same way he almost destroyed her.

Hatred has replaced love by now, and it’s almost impossible for him to believe he ever loved the witch in the first place. A decade passes, then two and three until eventually an entire century goes by with the two of them feeling this burning loathing. Their detrimental feelings and behavior push both Joshua and the witch to make a vow never to love again.

But fate has other plans for them.

As time goes on, they find themselves backed into a corner—together this time. Death has returned for them in the form of faes. Neither one of them is willing to relent and give up their land to the insignificant creatures who claimed to have it first. And so, they help each other one last time.

Fighting against inferior creatures together has always been like dancing for them, and it’s easy to fall back into a love language they created. By the end of their battle, they come out victorious. The two are grateful to each other even if neither of them say it outright.

Joshua feels a familiar ache in his chest the longer he stares at the witch who was once his. Feelings he thought were long gone rush back to the surface as if they’d never left in the first place. Perhaps they never really had. He’s never been one to go against his own desires, and so he reaches out for her, craving her skin against his if even for the last time.

Their embrace is sweet, but the kiss that follows is full of passion, longing, and ardent love that seems to have been buried deep within them the entire time. It’s almost like a dream to have her like this again, and now Joshua doesn’t plan on letting her go.

But once again, fate doesn’t leave him with a choice.

Humans grow more wary of the creatures they share the world with. Many go into hiding, but Joshua makes the mistake of thinking he can blend in with his prey. A hunter of his kind has found him, and as a vampire with no coven, he’s left vulnerable. It’s even worse when the hunter and his clan discover his lover and what she is.

It was a peaceful night when they’re attacked. Escaping death doesn’t seem possible, but as always the witch assured him that she has a solution. His love makes him a promise as she casts a spell that will hide his presence. A promise that she’ll find him and reunite with him in every lifetime. He’s confused by her words, but has no time to question her as the spell takes over and dulls his senses until he’s unconscious.

If he’d known his love was going to sacrifice herself for him, he would’ve taken a million wooden stakes to the heart rather than continue existing in a world without her.

Centuries later, he’s never been able to forget her or what her presence had done to his life. Joshua is left alone in a world that now seems intolerable without his witch in it. Cruel irony reminds him that the solitude he once basked in feels suffocating now. All he’s left with is a gaping hole that constantly reminds him of how he lost his one true love.

Joshua eventually joins a coven, but they offer little comfort. At this point in his immortality, he only sticks around them out of habit. It’s not that he isn’t fond of them—he is, most of the time—but it’s not the same as having his lover by his side.

After going through the eternal test of time, Joshua still yearns for her; craves her as much as the blood that he feeds on. It’s the reason he’s spent the last two centuries looking for the one person who filled his heart with so much love.

And he’ll stop at nothing until he finds her.

The first time it happened, you thought it was nothing more than a dream.

Which it was, but it felt different—it was different. Never in your life had you dreamt such a beautiful dream that felt so real and almost indistinguishable from reality. The most memorable part was the euphoric feeling it evoked from you.

Well, that’s not exactly right. There was one single element that had left you unable to forget the lucid dream. One that you believed was responsible for your subconscious forcing you into those dreams every time you fell asleep.

Unhealthy as it is, you chase the lucid dreams. Every night, you look forward to your sleep with the hope of once again being wrapped up in one of those lovely dreams. Any free time you’re left with is used to sleep just so you can escape to the ethereal dreamland your mind has created.

The dreams have ensnared you and make you crave and long for them as if you’re under some sort of spell. It’s become a bit of an obsession because even when you’re with other people it’s all you can think about. And yet you’re unable to let go of your obsession in spite of how unhealthy and irrational it is.

The scene in front of you is familiar, but you can’t place where you’ve seen the old castle that looks like it’s straight out of the medieval times. You step forward, feet moving on their own as you walk past the large doors. Servants run along with their head down, and you’re not sure why it makes you feel satisfied that they seem to be terrified of you.

“Y/N.”

You turn at the sound of a mellifluous voice. Once again, it’s the beautiful man who’d been visiting you in your dreams.

“Shua.” You call affectionately, running to him as he opens his arms for you.

As always, he catches you easily. You wrap your arms around his neck, softly giggling into his hair as he spins you around. “Where have you brought me this time?”

“This is where I live.” He tells you as you pull back to look at his face. “Do you like it?”

You look around again. The feeling of familiarity doesn’t go away as you inspect your surroundings. Joshua gently puts you down, but doesn’t release you from his embrace. His stare is gentle and observant, curious on how you’re going to react to what he’s showing you.

“This is really where you live?” You wonder in awe. “Are you a king or something?”

His pretty laugh makes you look back at him. Your heart leaps up into your throat when you see the fond look he’s giving you. It’s been months of being on the receiving end of his affectionate stare, but you’re not sure you’ll stop feeling bashful when you catch it.

“I am not. Does that disappoint you?”

You shake your head. “No, but it does make me wonder how old you actually are. Older than Dracula?”

All Josh can do is laugh and laugh. You’re not sure what he finds so funny, but as usual you do not get the chance to ask. The familiar pressure on your bones gets more intense with every passing moment. It’s how you know you’re on the verge of being pulled out of your blissful dream. You can’t even open your mouth to say goodbye because you’re abruptly yanked out of your subconscious before you can.

It’s always hard to keep going on with your day normally after you dream about Josh. You can never really function afterwards, not how you usually would.

“—even listening to me?”

You snap back into reality, realizing that Jeonghan has been talking to you this entire time. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes and gives you an accusatory look that confuses you. His eyebrows are raised as he leans forward. “I was saying that Soonyoung thinks you’re fucking someone.”

“What?” You splutter, suddenly feeling extremely flustered.

“I told him there’s no way that’s true because lately you’ve been holed up in your room sleeping every chance you get!”

You manage to not choke on your spit and give your friend an indignant glare. “Both you and Soonyoung need to worry about your own sex lives.”

The gleam in his eye changes, and you realize too late that you’ve made a mistake. “Wait. Are you actually fucking someone?”

“You know I’m not!” You hiss, starting to feel embarrassed.

Clearly, Jeonghan doesn’t believe you. He stares at you before something seems to click in his head. Your nervous stare and angry pout are telltale signs of deceit. His jaw drops a bit as he lets out an affronted squeak.

“No way. That’s why you’ve been in such a good mood lately!” He says with a conniving laugh. “And here I thought that night cream I recommended is the reason you’ve been glowing lately.”

Maybe the most embarrassing part about this is not that he’s trying to discuss your sex life (or lack thereof) at the local cafe and not wine night, but the fact that this alleged glow has nothing to do with a man—not a real one, anyway. But Jeonghan doesn’t need to know that.

“You would’ve heard me if that was true.”

Jeonghan’s ears slowly turn red as he pouts in disappointment. He really hoped you’d managed to break your three month long dry spell, and he also wanted to be right. It’s almost suspicious that he isn’t because he usually is. You’ve been a little too smiley lately like you have some hidden lover.

“If you say so.” He mutters bitterly.

This would be the point where you’d usually panic since Yoon Jeonghan can never be one to let anything go if he feels like he’s right. You feel at ease though because there’s no way he could ever find out about Josh.

“By the way… you’re definitely going to be gone this weekend, right?” Jeonghan suddenly asks in a tone you recognize all too well.

You try not to gag as you nod. “Yes. I already bought the tickets and Hao is in the city setting up his apartment so I have a place to stay while I’m up there.”

Jeonghan smirks victoriously. He nods, not even trying to hide how pleased he is as he pulls out his phone. Suddenly, he’s very grateful that you and Minghao have such an interest in history. When he’s done sending a message you would definitely call sleazy, he just laughs at your disgusted expression.

“Don’t give me that look. Not all of us have to practice celibacy like you.”

“Whatever.” You scoff with a roll of your eyes. “Just keep it in your room this time. I better not find any stains on the couch when I get back.”

He only laughs at you with a promise that you can’t think of as sincere.

“Are you playing with your food again?”

The voice sounds distant as Joshua is gently pulled out of the trance he’s used to being in now. He slow blinks, remnants of the beautiful vision still clear in his mind. Junhui’s words don’t bother him like they usually would’ve. Not when he finally feels alive for the first time in centuries. Still, he can’t control the annoyance he feels that his brother thinks this subject is something that can be joked and talked about lightly.

“You and Soonyoung are the only heathens who play with food.” Joshua’s tone is clipped, bordering on that murderous one that pops up any time someone mentions his latest obsession.

Junhui only laughs, head cocking to the side in interest. “I’m curious. Did you really find the grand love of your life, or is it just some girl who happens to look like her?”

“His obsession wouldn’t be so profound if it was a girl who merely looks like her.” Comes a voice from the top of the grand stairs.

They look up to see the oldest and the youngest of the coven coming down the stairs. Soonyoung doesn’t bother to hide his amused smirk while Minghao wears the same impassive expression he had when Joshua met him. His lack of reaction is the reason why he’s often the voice of reason in the coven, but his callous way of speaking never offers any comfort.

“Our brother is looking for the soul of his beloved—a soul that cannot be replicated nor imitated. Even if he’s to find her doppelgänger, he will not love her completely or sincerely.” Minghao says he takes a seat near the burning fireplace.

Soonyoung sits on the other end of the couch before he raises an eyebrow at Josh. He lets out a mocking snicker. “It’s giving stalker.”

As the most recently turned, their youngest has developed a proclivity for imitating the current slang. Joshua understands it (to an extent), but finds it folly. Then again, he doesn’t think its ridiculous when that person uses it.

But of course, that’s different.

Josh doesn’t bother to sneer at him for his snide remark. As a creature who hasn’t found a mate in the entire century he’s been alive, Soonyoung couldn’t possibly understand the ardent need to be close to the person chosen to be your mate.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Junhui points out, sounding almost bored now. “Have you found her? Your one true love?”

When Joshua smiles, it’s so pretty that even Minghao can’t help but stare. “I have.”

“Are you going to turn her?”

Soonyoung’s question hangs in the air, and as much as Josh wants to hiss at him to mind his own business, he sees how Junhui and Minghao are also looking at him. Turning someone isn’t as simple as it used to be—if it could ever be considered simple. Now there were too many factors and too many risks involved.

“I have to find her physically before I can think of anything else.” Josh sighs deeply.

“Brother.” Minghao says in his serious tone. “Think of your next moves carefully. You’ve found her reincarnation, but she doesn’t remember you, and there’s no guarantee that she ever will.”

For once, the younger ones don’t say anything teasing or goading. They look at him just as solemnly as Minghao is. It’s a harsh truth that Joshua had acknowledged long ago but not fully accepted.

His love doesn’t remember him. This is a fact.

But even if she never does, he doesn’t plan on letting her go. Not again.

“You’re unhappy.”

The observation is astute, and even though it’s been months, you can’t get used to how easily Josh can see through you. It shouldn’t have the affect on you that it does, but there’s just something about having someone know you so well that makes your heart jerk with emotion. Part of you feels insane for feeling this way because this man is just a figment of your imagination created by your subconscious.

Josh smiles placatingly when he sees your pout. He’s sure that you’re not aware that you do it, which makes it all the more cute in his eyes.

“Work hasn’t been great lately.” You say honestly, only hesitating a moment before telling him the rest. “Also... Jeonghan set me up on this blind date. Which wouldn’t be a big deal, but I haven’t been on a date in forever.”

You’re not sure why it feels like you’re saying something absolutely heart wrenching. If you had to describe it, it’s almost like you’re admitting to cheating or something similar which is fucking insane since Josh isn’t your boyfriend—or real, for that matter.

There’s a shift in his kind eyes. A cold rage settles in the depths of his dark irises that makes you feel like you’re staring an evil creature in the face. Before you can ponder it, the expression is is gone so fast that you almost think you imagined it.

“You don’t have to go.” He finally says, and you wonder if he actually sounds like he’s pleading or if it’s just something your subconscious is hoping for.

A teasing smile stretches your lips. “Yeah? Should I just stay here with you, instead?”

Joshua wishes he could say yes. Stay with me and never leave my side again. The words are on the tip of his tongue, and even though he’s dying to say them, he knows he shouldn’t. In this lifetime and your previous one, he had to be patient when courting you. Clearly some things never changed.

“Don’t look so excited.” You joke when you see him hesitate.

His laugh is pretty and soft. You’re not sure why the sound comforts you in a way that almost feels familiar. As if that’s the one sound that could take away any horrible feeling you’ve ever experienced. The longer you listen to the dulcet sound, the more it makes your heart ache for a reason you can’t understand. It’s a type of yearning that feels deeper than the normalcy of seeing him every day.

“I wish you weren’t a dream.”

Joshua’s laughter dies down and the smile slips off his face at hearing your words. You almost regret saying them, but it’s too late to take them back. Not that you would since they’re the absolute truth. He knows you better than most of your friends do, and it’s hard not to feel this intense affection for him. The crazy part of it all is that you can literally feel how much he adores you too.

“Maybe you’re my dream.” Josh’s smile is full of longing and sadness.

Before you can respond, you’re abruptly pulled out of the dream by the blaring sound of a car horn. You startle awake, bleary vision belatedly registering that you’re now in the city. Minghao looks at you with wide eyes, a startled laugh slipping past his lips. “Are you okay?”

You nod wearily, taking a moment to shake of the intense emotions your dream had left you with. It’s clear that Minghao doesn’t fully believe you, but he doesn’t press the subject and keeps driving toward museum.

Being at the museum doesn’t help you as much as you hope. The artifacts and paintings are intriguing, but your irritating mind only keeps associating everything with Josh. He’s always talked like someone from another time so looking at ancient items and old paintings naturally makes you keep picturing his face.

“For someone who kept begging me to clear my schedule so we could come here, you don’t look very excited.”

You give Minghao a guilty look because you know how busy he is. “Sorry. I’m just kind of distracted.”

“And why is that?”

It’s not that you don’t trust Minghao. You do, but you can’t tell him that you’re infatuated with a man who shows up in your dreams.

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Your friend raises an eyebrow at you. As usual Minghao sees right through your half-truth. “You’ve been having nightmares?”

“Not exactly.” You say. The resolve to keep your secret quickly dissolved when Minghao gives you a look that somehow always compels you to do what he wants. “I can’t sleep because I keep dreaming of a guy.”

“A guy?” Minghao raises his eyebrows in a way that reminds you of Jeonghan.

“It’s not like that.” You say, skin heating up in embarrassment. “I don’t even think he’s real. He just keeps appearing in my dreams, and I feel crazy every time I think about him.”

Minghao doesn’t laugh or tell you you’re crazy. Instead he looks at you with a sharpened gaze that looks like it holds a certain amount of concern and something else you can’t discern. If his heart was capable of beating, his heart rate would’ve spiked at the information you told him.

You’re vague in your description (which was impressive because his gift is powerful enough to get people to admit to murder), but it’s enough to have his mind reeling. Is it possible that you’d fallen into the clutches of an incubus? Minghao isn’t overly fond of humans, but you’re different. He can’t let you become the prey of such a lascivious creature.

“I have some tea that’s good for sleeping." He says as normally as he can as you two walk along the museum. “When we get back to my place, I’ll give you some.”

You nod silently, not entirely sure if his teas will help with your lucid dreaming. Even if they did, it’s not like you want to stop seeing this imaginary man that makes you feel more loved than you ever had. But there’s a part of you that knows you can’t keep sleeping with the hopes of seeing Josh again.

The inner turmoil you’re feeling is interrupted when Minghao pulls you to the section he’d been dying to see from the beginning. His laughter immediately makes you come back down to earth. It’s not like your friend never laughs, but this one is full and louder than you’ve ever heard it. You’re not sure why he finds the painting of a duke so funny. Just as you’re about to question him, you see the painting and feel the world around you come to a stop.

It feels like your heart stopped beating and dropped down to your stomach. Your usually quiet mind is reeling, trying to fathom what you’re seeing. There’s no way.

The painting is of a man, but not just any man.

It’s Josh.

Your Josh.

You keep blinking as if another face will appear in the very old painting. If you felt crazy before, the feeling worsens the longer you stare at the oils that form the face you’ve come to memorize and love. The description of the painting says the man born in 1714 was a famous duke notorious for starting a rebellion against the crown.

“So this is the only painting of the Hong Jisoo?” Your friend cackles, but you’re not sure what’s so funny.

It’s good that he’s so distracted by whatever it is he finds so funny because you’re about two seconds away from breaking down. How is it possible that some duke from centuries ago was appearing in your dreams? Is it possible that you’d somehow seen his image before and projected it into your dreams? You don’t remember even reading about him, and it only makes you feel more crazy.

Back at Minghao’s luxury apartment, you can’t stop thinking about that stupid painting of Hong Jisoo. How is it possible for you to dream about a person that was alive centuries ago? It doesn’t make sense, and the more you think about it, the more freaked out you feel.

“Here.” Hao says as he hands you a warm mug of tea. “Drink it to see if it helps. I’ll give you some to take home if you like it.”

You thank him, really hoping this puts an end to your unhealthy dreams.

“It’s not working!” Josh growls angrily. “There’s something blocking me from seeing her. I’m sure of it.”

Soonyoung and Junhui roll their eyes. Josh has been complaining about not being able to transcend into his true love’s subconscious for the last three hours, and it’s starting to drive them insane. It’s not that they’re not sympathetic, but it was quite literally the only thing the older vampire could talk about. Not to mention the fact that after months of visiting his mate every day, he did nothing to figure out where she was—a total waste in their opinion.

Before Josh can keep repeating the same frustrated things he’s been griping about all morning, they hear the door open and the familiar sound of boots clacking against the marble floor.

“Minghao!” Soonyoung cries when the oldest of the coven walks into the living room. “Finally, you’re back! Jisoo hasn’t stopped whining about his mate since you left! You need to put a stop to him!”

Minghao sets down his suitcases with an exhausted sigh. “What’s going on?”

“He claims there’s a barrier preventing him from entering his mate’s subconscious.” Junhui explains, sending a skeptical look Joshua’s way. “Which is impossible because a mere human isn’t capable of blocking his gift.”

While that is true, there are certain things humans have done for centuries to ward off creatures of the night. However, it is strange that there’s a sudden block to his mate’s subconscious after being left vulnerable for so many months.

“Perhaps your mate has realized that you’re a nefarious creature and not just a figment of her imagination.” Minghao muses as he goes to sit at his usual place by the fire. “If that’s the case, she may have sought out a witch to block her psyche from unsavory visitors.”

The dark look Josh sends his way is amusing to the rest. Maybe it’s cruel to disregard the anguish his brother clearly feels, but being empathetic has never been one of Minghao’s character traits. Even so, some of the humanity he once had still lingers within him.

“However, if you truly wish to find her I can contact Jihoon—”

“No.” Josh snaps immediately. The growl in his voice is menacing as his eyes darken. “I’ll find her on my own.”

The silence that follows is tense until Soonyoung breaks it by insisting on seeing pictures from Minghao’s trip. As always, he obliges to the youngest’s request, tossing his phone over without taking his eyes off Josh.

“If that were possible you would have already found her.”

It’s a frustrating truth. He hadn’t been able to figure out anything that would help him find you because he didn’t want to scare you off. Now he regrets playing the part of a gentleman because it feels like he’s lost you all over again.

“Is this the human you’re always talking about?”

Usually, Josh doesn’t take any interest in humans aside from his meals, but the way Minghao’s sharp gaze switches to an almost fond one intrigues him enough to look at the screen Soonyoung is holding out toward them.

It’s like his heartbeat comes back to life when he sees a video of a beautiful girl staring at one of his old swords.

“Yes. That’s—”

“Y/N.”

Minghao looks at Josh in surprise. He’s incredulous, but it’s soon replaced by horror when he realizes why his brother is looking at the phone with a predatory gaze.

“You…” Minghao’s icy tone makes the younger ones still. They recognize the murderous intent behind that tone instantly. “You’re the one who’s been invading her dreams.”

Josh snarls at his oldest friend. “You’re the one responsible for the barrier.”

It’s like watching two animals raising their hackles at one another. Except both of them are capable of destroying each other and everything around them without caring.

Junhui is quick to step in, holding a firm hand to Minghao’s chest. “She’s his mate.”

It’s meant to make him see reason, but all it does is anger Minghao.

“A mate that he betrayed time and time again!” His words make them all flinch. “You’re the reason those hunters found her and burned her alive!”

Never has a silence so thick and tense surrounded them before. It’s a low blow to bring up Josh’s greatest pain in such a way, but Minghao is beyond seeing reason at this point.

“Both of you need to calm down.” Soonyoung says as he stands in the middle.

“Do you have feelings for her?” Josh demands, not understanding why the person who had helped him search for his mate’s reincarnation for centuries was suddenly acting this way.

“She’s a pure soul.” Minghao says, sounding a little defeated. “One that doesn’t deserve to become a monster like us.”

It’s tense and silent again, but this time the air feels different. All four of them knew how painful and awful it was to turn. Back then, they had been the unlucky ones to survive an attack when they were meant to be someone’s food. Minghao wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all you.

“Let her decide.” Soonyoung breaks the silence, being reasonable for the first time in a long time. He looks to Josh, gaze as serious as ever. “If you really love her, tell her the truth and let her decide what to do.”

Minghao has always been an enigma. He’s private to the point where you sometimes feel like you don’t know him at all. It’s why you’re so surprised when he invites you over to his main house which is basically synonymous with prohibited. He never invites anyone there, not even Jeonghan who’s known him longer than you have.

Your friend’s home is expectedly opulent and beautiful, but there’s also this ominous air surrounding it. Minghao remains silent as he leads you to the entrance. His somber attitude isn’t exactly uncharacteristic. He’s naturally quiet and serious, but right now he almost seems angry. You can tell his mind is far away, light years away even.

Before you can think to question him, he leads you to the living room and sits you down on one of the couches. His cold hands don’t move from your shoulders even after you’re seated. You look up at him in curiosity because he seems to be contemplating something.

“Don’t be angry with me.” His tone is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and you have to wonder what he’s done for him to plead with you like this. (Xu Minghao does not beg.)

Hands fall from your shoulders as Minghao side steps out of the way. Everything goes in slow motion from then on. He’s stepped out of the way to reveal a man who you recognize very well. Your heart jumps and starts to beat erratically as you take in his ethereal features.

What’s happening feels like a more intense version of what happened at the museum. Minghao’s friend(?) looks exactly like Josh. He even looks at you like Josh does.

“Y/N.”

The organ in your chest throbs at the sound because it’s so soft and pretty, just like it is in your dreams. He sounds so similar to Josh that you feel insane for wanting to run into this man’s arms like you always do with Josh in your dreams.

Your mind is a beat behind, and it’s only after this stranger called your name that you realize Minghao had apologized to you before he appeared. When you look over to your friend, he’s observing you carefully in a way you can’t understand.

“What’s going on? What is this?” You ask, feeling like you’ve been set up.

There’s a thick silence, and just when you contemplate on getting up to leave, the unknown guy falls to his knees in front of you.

“Please forgive me.”

Your eyes practically pop out of your head at the unsolicited apology. “I– What?”

The silence is uncomfortable, and you can only look back to Minghao for an explanation.

“You’ve seen Jisoo before—in your dreams.” Minghao says slowly as if it pains him to tell you.

Jisoo?

“When you told me that a man kept reappearing in your dreams, I thought you were being preyed on by an incubus.” Minghao chuckles bitterly. “But I was a fool not to see that the truth was much worse.”

“Incubus?” You whisper incredulously. “You mean those demons that fuck people while they’re asleep?”

Neither men react to your crude words. They’re looking at you solemnly as if Minghao didn’t just say something completely insane. None of it makes sense nor does it provide you with the explanation you demanded.

“You can’t be serious! Incubuses—“

“Incubi.” Minghao corrects you. He regrets it as soon as he sees the dark look on your face.

“—don’t exist.” You finish through gritted teeth.

“They’re not the only demons running rampant on this earth.” Minghao says as he shares a look with the man who is still kneeling in front of you. “Just look at the monster in front of you and you’ll know what I’m saying is true.”

This Jisoo guy looks nothing like a monster. Not even as he’s giving your friend the most withering glare you’ve ever seen.

“Don’t give me that look. I brought her here so she can know the truth.”

At this point, you don’t know if they’re friends or enemies with the way they’re glowering at each other. And you still don’t know what truth they’re talking about, either.

“Jisoo has been trying to find you for centuries.” Minghao finally says, eyes softening just the tiniest bit when he looks back at you.

You don’t say anything because it all sounds like some crazy lie. Minghao isn’t the type to pull pranks, but there’s no other logical explanation for what’s happening. And yet, it also isn’t possible that he could know what the man from your dreams looked like and somehow find someone who looks exactly like him for his prank.

“We’re vampires.” Jisoo says, voice soft and comforting. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

“Prove it.”

Your words come out before you can stop them. It’s not what you meant to say (not right away, anyway), but you don’t try to backtrack. On the off chance that they’re not pulling some elaborate prank, you need to know that you’re not crazy for kind of believing what they’re saying.

Minghao and Jisoo are looking at you with wide eyes, but the challenging look on your face doesn’t waver. They both know you enough to realize you aren’t going to believe them until they prove that they’re not lying.

Jisoo grins, but it seems bitter in a way. “Okay. Just… don’t be scared.”

You raise an eyebrow when his smile stretches further. It’s not until you see four of his teeth elongating into literal fangs that you feel your pulse start to race. His eyes have darkened into an inhuman shade of black that reminds you of a demon. Now you understood what Minghao meant when he called Jisoo a monster.

But that also means…

In a panic, you look to your friend. Much to your horror, he too is bearing those monstrous characteristics now. Dark eyes and fangs that make them look like the monsters they claim to be. It feels like you’re in one of your lucid dreams, and in the back of your mind you hope that’s what this is.

“Did you bring me here to kill me?” You’re surprised that your voice comes out as calm as it does, and even though you’re terrified, you can’t react how you know you should be.

“We would never hurt you.” Jisoo says, features slowly reverting back to normal. “No matter what, I won’t let anyone or anything bring you harm.”

It’s crazy that he’s promising you this with what feels like genuine sincerity, and it’s even crazier that it makes your chest warm with affection. You press your lips together, trying to make sense of how any of this is actually possible.

“You’re the reincarnation of Jisoo’s true love.” Minghao breaks the heavy silence. “He’s been searching for your soul since your untimely death.”

“That’s why you came into my dreams.” You whisper, not sure how to feel about this alleged truth.

“Yes.” Jisoo says, voice soft as ever. “I called myself Josh since it’s a modern name. You can still call me that if you wish.”

You stay silent, trying to deal with the onslaught of emotions you’re feeling without revealing any on your face. It’s hard, but you manage as you look back at your friend. “And you knew about this the entire time?”

“I didn’t know he’d been invading your dreams.” Minghao says honestly. “If I had—”

Minghao cuts his sentence short, and you can tell he’s trying his best to keep his emotions in check. It’s clear that he doesn’t like the idea of you being the reincarnation of Josh’s true love. You don’t understand why he brought you to meet him if that’s the case.

“Minghao.” Josh’s tone takes a threatening tone that you never thought him capable of emitting.

“Tell her.” Minghao says, clearly unfazed by Joshua’s sudden malicious attitude. “She has a right to know the truth before you think you can spend the rest of eternity with her.”

It’s silent for a moment before you see Josh’s shoulders slump. He looks slightly defeated and nervous. Seeing him in distress makes you uncomfortable, and you have to wonder if these are your actual feelings or something beyond your control.

“I first met you five years after I was first turned.” He starts, eyes begging for understanding. “You were running from a clan of demons who murdered your coven.”

The air is tense. You can feel your heart start to throb with hurt that you can’t place. A familiar burning sensation starts to poke at the back of your eyes, but you can’t understand why. “You saved me?”

Minghao clears his throat, eyes threatening.

“Unwillingly.” He admits, head hanging a little lower. “I was content in my solitude, and helping a witch didn’t sound appealing to me.”

“He also didn’t want to help a witch that belonged to the coven he helped exterminate.”

Minghao’s blunt statement makes your blood run cold. There’s a strange feeling that manifests itself in your chest. It’s an odd mixture of resentment, anger, and heartbreak. The feelings are familiar yet foreign. You feel the tears fall from your eyes before you can even think to hold them back. It’s all new information, but something in your bones recognizes the hurt and devastation.

“You killed my family.” The words aren’t yours, but in a strange way it feels like they are. “You almost killed me.”

“It was before I fell in love with you.” Josh sounds defeated. “Back then I was only concerned with my own survival, and I was a fool to let it get in the way of my love for you.”

Again, the air becomes tense. It makes Minghao almost regret doing this, but you ultimately have to know the truth. All of it.

“Tell her how you got her killed.”

More tears keep spilling from your eyes, and you can’t fathom the fact that they don’t feel like yours. A gentle hand wipes them away. Through blurry vision you can see Josh looking pained as he gently cradles your face in his large hand.

“I refused to go into hiding after the humans started to become more wary of our existence. Because of that, you and I were attacked by a group of hunters.” Josh feels a pain he hasn’t in centuries just talking about this to you of all people. “You protected me with your magic. I don’t know why you saved a wicked creature like me instead of yourself, but I really wish you hadn’t.”

The tears have stopped now, but Josh’s thumb is still gently caressing your face. His touch is cold yet comforting. You let out a shaky sigh, not sure what to do with all the information you’ve been given.

“This is why Minghao feels that I don’t deserve you, and maybe he’s right. But I’ve always been a selfish creature which is why I can’t give you up. Not in this lifetime or any other.”

Josh says it tenderly, but somehow you feel like you’ve become his prey.

Sometimes you wonder if letting Josh get so close to you is a mistake. Minghao seems to think it is even if he doesn’t tell you outright. Still, at least he’s supportive of your decision (as much as he can be, anyway). In spite of the fact that you now know the man of your dreams is a dangerous predator, you don’t feel unsafe when you’re with him. There’s also the fact that you can literally see the love he has for you every time you look at him.

Giving into him is the easiest thing you’ve ever done. It feels natural and right, especially since he’s so sweet to you. You feel yourself fall harder every time you’re with him. He knows you better than anyone and treats you like you’re his everything.

Your relationship feels completely surreal and fast paced, but in an odd way it also feels like it’s not fast enough. The feeling has something to do with your past life you’re sure. After all, Josh had been waiting centuries for you to reincarnate.

He must’ve been so lonely.

You suck in a quiet breath as the thought comes to you, one that feels like it came from deep in your subconscious and is not entirely yours. Josh’s eyes snap open at the sound. He’s looking straight at you from where he has his head in your lap.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

Unlike Minghao, Josh doesn’t have the power of coercion, but you’re still unable to lie to him. (Unwilling is a better term, but, details.)

“Did you really not have another lover after I died?” Your question isn’t accusatory, and part of you hopes he says yes. “Like you never even hooked up with someone else in three centuries?”

Josh’s airy laughter makes your chest warm. He brings your intertwined hands to his lips, placing a tender kiss on the back of yours. “If you do not believe me, I shall bring Minghao and have him use his gift on me.”

He’s teasing you, but you also know he’s dead serious. It shouldn’t thrill you so much that he’s willing to do just about anything for you—even subject himself to Minghao who still harbors a bit of a grudge towards him.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, I just…” You let out a quiet sigh. “You must’ve been really lonely.”

The way you look heartbroken and guilty isn’t satisfying, but it is alleviating somehow. You truly haven’t changed. The beautiful, kind soul he fell in love with remains intact, and he can’t be more grateful for that.

“At first I was. Then I met Minghao and joined his coven. They made it more bearable.”

You bring the hand that’s not attached to Josh’s to his head and run a gentle hand through his hair. “It must’ve been hard.”

Josh only offers you a hum. He can’t deny that it was, but he also doesn’t want to keep making you feel bad with all the details. That would have to be for another time.

“How many dreams did you invade before you finally found me?” You suddenly ask, wondering just how many psyches he had to go through over the course of 300 years.

“None.” His smile is a little bitter. “I’m not a incubus, so I can only enter your subconscious.”

The confused look on your face makes him let out a quiet laugh. It’s so innocent that it’s hilarious. Especially because you don’t remember that the restriction to his gift was your doing.

“Every time I tried to use my gift, I couldn’t. That’s how I knew you hadn’t been reincarnated yet. As soon as you were born I was able to tell, but I still couldn’t get into your psyche until you were ready to let me in—this is all curtesy of you, of course.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” He laughs. “Because I can’t dream, you bestowed this gift on me so I would be able to experience a dreamlike state again. Since you didn’t want the bloodthirsty heathen that I was back then to invade the minds of unsuspecting humans, you put all these limitations on my gift.”

His laugh is cute as he reminisces. It makes you smile too until you think of something.

The other day, Josh had mentioned he used to feed off of you in his past life because it tasted different and apparently it was like a kink for both of you. It freaked you out at first, but lately you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Honestly, the more the image plagued your mind, the harder it was not to feel turned on by it. You wonder if it would hurt and if you would like the hurt.

“Do you want to feed on me?”

If Josh’s heart was capable of beating, he has no doubt it would’ve been harshly pounding against his rib cage. He slowly gets up, feeling his cock throb and his throat itch.

“Darling—”

“You’ve never done it, and I was wondering if it was something you want to do.”

Of course he wanted to do it. Your scent is mouthwatering, and he just knows you taste divine. Up until now he hadn’t brought it up because he didn’t want you to think that’s all he wanted. All you two have done this past month is share some kisses, and that was perfectly fine. If that’s all you were willing to give him he’s gladly take it so long as you let him be part of your life.

Josh swallows thickly as he contemplates his answer. While it sort of sounds like you’re offering, he can’t assume anything. Plus he doesn’t want to seem like the monster Minghao told you he is.

When you see him hesitate, you make a decision that really isn’t all that hard for you. With an enticing smile, you tilt your head the slightest bit and offer your neck to him. “Bite me.”

In a split second, Josh pulls you on his lap so you’re straddling him. You gasp quietly when he sits you directly on his hardening cock. His eyes are dark like on the day he revealed himself to you. In the back of your mind, you know this is a dangerous game you’re playing, but you don’t feel one shred of regret or fear.

“I’ll be gentle.” He promises, voice breathy and needy.

Josh trails gentle kisses up and down your neck with patience that you find impressive. His fangs tease the tender skin as he opens his mouth slightly, and it’s almost like you can feel it throb in anticipation. With one last sweet kiss, Joshua sinks his teeth into your skin until you can feel a stabbing pain.

You gasp out a moan at the feeling. The pain lasts a second before you feel it rapidly fade. It’s replaced by images that invade the forefront of your mind. Memories that you don’t remember rush forward as if they were aching to be freed from the depths of your mind. There’s so many, and in spite of the fact that they pass through your mind quickly, you see every one of them.

When you come back down to reality, Josh is still drinking from you. He groans into your skin, reluctantly pulling away and licking the puncture wound he’s left behind. Josh continues to press kisses along your skin and whispered praises that you can’t help but melt into him.

“Jisoo.” You breathe out softly.

Joshua freezes when he hears what you’ve called him. He pulls back, eyes wide as he takes in the way you’re looking at him. Your gaze has always been full of affection, but now it’s full of ardent love that reminds him of the way you looked at him all those centuries ago.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Y/N…” Josh sounds breathless as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to remember.” You murmur as your bring a hand up to caress his cool cheek. “But I guess it’s only fair since you left me first.”

“It’s my biggest regret.” Josh says honestly, grip tightening on you.

You hum, trailing your thumb over his lips. He opens his mouth the slightest bit so you can touch his fangs just like you used to do once upon a time. Goosebumps cover your skin at the familiarity of it all. The feelings in your chest deepen impossibly as you replay all the memories that slowly keep coming to mind. You thought it would be impossible to love Josh any more than you already did, but once again you were proven wrong.

You let out a shocked squeak when he pulls you closer to him. His face is shoved into the side of your neck that he didn’t bite, breathing in your addicting scent. “I was so afraid that you wouldn’t remember.”

“If you wouldn’t have been such a gentleman and bitten me sooner it wouldn’t have taken me so long.” You laugh, hugging him tighter.

The two of you stay like that until you shift and realize you’re still sitting on his hard cock. In a flash, the hot memory of Josh ravishing you back then goes straight to your cunt. You lick your lips and decide that you both have been waiting long enough to be with each other again.

“I’m impressed you kept your chastity just for me.” You purr into his ear, gently grinding down on his cock. “Such a loyal lover until the end.”

Josh doesn’t hesitate to take you to bed, cock aching to be inside you once again. He’s gentle when he finally gets you naked, eyes full of desire and love. “So fucking pretty.”

A breathy moan escapes you when his cold hands start to caress your body. His lips trails your neck, gently teasing you with his sharp teeth. Your skin heats up at the attention, and you feel like your floating by the time Josh gets his dick out to finally give you what you’ve been wanting.

“I missed you so much.” He groans as his throbbing cock slowly eases past your wet folds.

You moan along with him, hands finding his to lace your fingers together. “Missed you too, my love.”

Josh’s cock twitches inside you when he hears the pet name come out of your pretty little mouth. His leaking tip brushes against your cervix as your legs wrap around his hips. His pace is slow at first, trying to savor the feeling of your hot, tight cunt wrapped around him. He buries his face into your neck, licking and biting at the skin as his thrusts start to get tougher and deeper.

Your moaning is loud, and you’re amazed that he still knows which angels to hit after so much time. It’s like you’re seeing stars when Josh gently bites at your skin. He does it teasingly until you’re begging him to bite you again.

“Stop teasing.” You whine wantonly, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts.

His chuckle is low and has your pussy clamping down on his cock, drenching it in your arousal. You can’t remember the last time you were so turned on. It hasn’t been long, but it already feels like you’re about to come.

“Seeing you fall apart like this is my favorite thing.” You can feel his sinister smirk against your neck. “It’s been too long since I last saw it.”

Josh lets go of one of your hands to bring a thumb to your clit. He starts to rub slow circles on the sensitive nub as his thrusts grow more ravenous. You cry out in pleasure when his thick cock hits your sweet spot roughly. Your back arches in pleasure as you feel your juices start to coat his heavy balls.

“Never letting you go again.” Joshua growls lowly, more to himself than you. “All mine.”

With his possessive declaration, he sinks his fangs into your neck for a second time. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you violently come all over his big cock.

“Fuck!” You cry out, hips moving against his arms he continues to fuck you through your high.

He’s licking at your open would now, sharp thrusts angled just right to have you on the cusp of another orgasm. Joshua pulls back, pink lips painted scarlet with your blood. He looks ravenous, and you think you might actually come again from how hot he looks.

“That’s it, darling.” Josh sounds insatiable. “Cream all over me.”

It’s not long before the sight of you completely fucked out triggers his own orgasm. Thick ropes of cum shoot inside your pulsing walls, painting them white with his seed. His moans are as pretty as you remember, and they mix in with your perfectly as he fucks his cum deeper inside you.

“Fuck me again.” You pant out, still longing for the second orgasm he was coaxing out of you.

Josh’s smirks as he flips you over on your front. “Still as insatiable as ever, darling.”

You look back at him with a laugh. “Like you’re any better. So hurry and fill me up again.”

You’ll never get sick of the feeling of his cold skin on yours as he grips your ass. Josh’s large hands rub and squeeze before you feel his throbbing cock tease your messy cunt. You let out a needy whine, tilting your hips up more to offer yourself to him.

“Such a needy little thing.” Joshua murmurs in that mean but sweet tone only he was capable of having.

“Only for you, my love.” You mewl, pussy throbbing at the thought of him splitting you open again.

As is his style, Josh slowly pushes his fat cock into your hot cunt, making you feel every inch of him. Then, in a split second he shoves the rest in like he can’t wait to be inside you any longer. The jolt of pleasure and slight sting of the stretch was enough to tip you over the edge for a second time.

You muffle your cry of pleasure in the sheets, fingers clinging to the soft cotton as your pussy clenches down on Josh’s cock, making him feel even bigger inside you. He groans from behind you, loving how your juices coat his cock as if you’re claiming it as yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Can you do that for me one more time?”

It’s more of a rhetorical question because in the next second his fingers are digging into your hips as he pulls his cock all the way out before shoving it back into your needy pussy with a sharp thrust. You can feel your body tremble as your pussy grips his cock like a vise.

“So fucking tight.” He groans, voice dripping with lust.

“Fuck me!” You moan, pushing back on his cock with insatiable need.

At your desperate demand, Josh sera a brutal pace. He fuck you hard and rough, leaking tip hitting your sweet spot over and over again until all he can hear is lewd squelching and skin slapping. His hips slam against your ass, obsessed with the way your sweet crema coats his cock. You cry out his name as his heavy balls slap against your throbbing clit.

Josh is pounding you into the mattress, cock splitting you open deliciously. You’re so addicted to the feeling that you can’t help but spur him on. “Don’t stop!”

You cry out in ecstasy when he does exactly as you ask. He pounds his cock against the spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Your fingers grips the sheets as you bounce your ass back to meet his thrusts desperately.

“You’re close again, right, baby?” Josh’s voice is teasing. He doesn’t need to ask, though. He knows you are because he knows your body.

You’re moaning and shaking with overwhelming pleasure. All you can do is nod as you bring your hand down between your bodies to rub your aching clit. With all the stimulation from your fingers and his cock, you fall over the edge once again. Your body tenses as you moan out Josh’s name with ecstasy. The excess of your orgasm drips down Josh’s cock, staining it and marking it as yours.

With one last thrust, he shoots his hot cum inside you, moaning your name like a mantra. He sloppily fuck it back into you before pulling you flush against his chest. You two collapse back on the bed with Josh holding you closely as if he thinks you might disappear.

Slowly, you turn around with his cock still inside you. Joshua’s eyes are sparkling as he looks at you. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing.” You breathe out blissfully. “And not just because you’ve stuffed me full.”

His cock twitches inside of you, and you can’t help but let out an endeared laugh. Your chest is warm as he hugs you closer to him, lips gently skimming over your puncture wound.

“Jisoo.”

He hums against your neck, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

“I was so afraid when I first died.” You confess, feeling him tense. You’re quick to pull him closer and caress his cheek. “Afraid that I’d be reborn and you wouldn’t be there when I was.”

Josh swallows thickly and comes to cup the hand that’s still brushing over his cheek. “I’ll never leave you alone again.”

“I know. Once you turn me, we’ll have the rest of eternity together.”

It all feels too good to be true, but you know that this is reality and not just another one of your sweet dreams.

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