#so I’m spilling my guts out here instead | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-boy-meets-evil · 9 months ago

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on second thought | jww

(where your roommate, wonwoo, has an interesting solution to all your bad dates. nothing can go wrong with two friends crossing a line, can it?)

pairing: wonwoo x f.reader genre: roommates/friends to fwb to?? | smut, tiny bit of angst if you squint rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni word count: 6.5k warnings: there's some plot here but it's mostly smut, multiple sex scenes (some quickly referenced), roommates who enter a fwb agreement, kissing, fingering, oral (f. receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms, use of actual lube, some scratching, after care, mentions: masturbation, kitchen sex, teasing, overstimulation, edging, i think that's it.

authors note: happy birthday to my bby @wongyuseokie! i'm thankful to have met you through nets. i hope you like some wonwoo to celebrate. thank you to @wonwussy for helping me with a title, you're a savior. this is unedited because i only started it yesterday so sorry in advance. also tagging: @aaniag @gyuminusone

Another disappointing date. Another man who couldn’t even seem to let you finish a sentence. Was so intent on proving how well he could provide for you that he forgot to treat you like a person. So intent on establishing his dominance that he tried to order for you at the overpriced restaurant with too-small portions. So irritated that he paid for your dinner and drinks only for you to leave separately from him and refuse his offer to drive you home. There was no way you were letting that man know where you lived. Is it really asking too much just to have a decent date? You aren’t going to let anyone try to tell you that your standards are too high. You’re really just asking for the bare minimum.

That’s why you’re sitting on the counter in the kitchen of your shared apartment, spilling your guts to your sympathetic roommate. His hair is messy, sticking up at odd angles in some places because he’s been playing video games for hours. Probably streaming at some point. You admire that he’s able to do something he loves to fill up most of his days. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and you try not to find it so endearing. But, you fail at that. He really is impossibly cute sometimes.

“Do you want a bite of this?” you ask instead, holding out the instant ramen you made as soon as you got home.

“No, I ate earlier,” he answers.

“An actual meal or a Wonwoo meal?” you challenge and he rolls his eyes.

“I ate real food. Go back to bitching about your date,” Wonwoo says.

“I don’t know, maybe I was being too harsh,” you say.

“He sounds like a fucking nightmare,” he disagrees.

“Ugh, maybe I just need to redownload one of those apps,” you whine. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at you. “Don’t look at me like that. I hate fucking on the first date, but I’m so pent up that I need to release it somehow. I’m going insane.”

This makes him laugh, at least. It releases a little bit of the tension, too. You’ve lived with Wonwoo nearly three years and were friends for years before that. Nothing is secret between the two of you. Not anymore. The first time you realized he caught you getting off in your room because you didn’t think he was home was mortifying. Even if he didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. After you got over it, things settled. And in the time since, you’ve both heard the other doing a lot of things. Some of your friends think it’s weird, but you just chalk it up to the comfort of living with someone. After all, you would tell your female friends all about your sex life. Why was that weird to share with Wonwoo?

“Toys not doing it for you?” he throws out. You only fix him with a glare. It’s more proof that you’re entirely too comfortable.

“Our walls are thin, what do you think?” you answer.

Wonwoo snorts a little before seeming to consider something. “Why don’t we just fuck? Get it out of your system.”

The sip of water you’re taking when he suggests that comes bursting out of your mouth. A real life spit take. Thankfully, he’s out of the blast zone. He looks unamused at water coming out of your mouth, but he doesn’t look like he was kidding. It can be so hard to tell with him. You think that you know his face well after all these years. But, you never thought you’d hear that coming out of his mouth, so you’re not sure.

“Please give me some indication if that was a joke or not,” you say.

“It wasn’t a joke,” he says.

“Pretty clear indicator,” you mumble.

“Is it that crazy? You think I’m hot…” Wonwoo starts. If you were still drinking, you’d spit out your water again.

“Uh, what?” you ask.

“You think I’m hot. Hao told me,” he says as if it’s no big deal. You’re mentally running through what the appropriate payback is for this breach of trust. “It’s fine. He told me because I was saying I also think you’re hot.”

“I mean, thanks,” you laugh, still considering how you’re going to torture Minghao. “But, we can’t have sex.”

“Why not?” Wonwoo presses.

“Because we’re roommates?” you ask like it’s obvious.

“So I can hear you fuck yourself with a toy or hear you fake an orgasm with another bad date, but us fucking each other is the line?” Wonwoo asks.

“I don’t fake that many orgasms,” you scoff to buy time.

“Yes, you do,” he argues. “I can hear the difference. And I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be faking it with me.”

There’s a little bit of cockiness in the statement that shouldn’t be doing anything for you. But, it is. There’s also the very real possibility that Wonwoo does know the difference in the sounds you make. It’s not like you’ve bothered being that quiet since the first conversation where he heard you. What’s the point? The walls are pretty thin and you’re both adults. It’s not like you’re going to kick him out every time you bring a date home. And you’re definitely not going to only get off in the shower because it drives up the water bill.

Beyond any of it, there’s also a little curiosity. Wonwoo is insanely attractive. Someone would have to be blind to miss that. He’s got that whole nerdy thing going on for him on initial inspection with the glasses and gaming. Or there’s the fact that he’s content to just hang out around the house, even with company over, wearing his pimple patches. But then, there’s this whole other side to him. It comes out when you’re both out with friends and he leaves the glasses behind. Swapping out graphic tees or hoodies for form fitting clothing and leather jackets. Casually leaning against a bar and whispering honey into some nameless, faceless stranger’s ear.

And that leads you to the reason you’re actually curious. Sure, he’s heard you having sex with people you’ve been dating or just someone you brought home for the night. But, you’ve heard him too. If any of your orgasms sound faked, the ones he coaxes from the pretty girls in his bed sound anything but. There’s nearly always an incoherent string of praises. That thought alone has you considering his proposition. It has you shifting a little on the counter.

“Let’s pretend for a second that I’m considering this,” you start and he smiles.

“Pretend, sure,” he echoes.

“We’d need ground rules, right? Like we don’t want this to get awkward,” you say.

“It’s not gonna be awkward. But, we can set whatever makes you feel comfortable,” he says nonchalantly.

A very strong, very hard to ignore voice in the back of your head argues against setting rules at all. Actually urges you to just drag him into your bedroom. Or his bedroom? Maybe you do need some ground rules.

So, you talk. You don’t say that it’s only going to happen once because you never know what needs might pop up. The most important thing that you agree to is that nothing can change between the two of you. If either of you feels like it’s going to, then you have to talk about it because preserving the friendship is most important. It doesn’t matter what bed you have sex in as long as the other helps clean anything up. You’re not planning on this being a regular thing, so you don’t need to negotiate any kinks or anything like that. If it does become more of a thing, then you can revisit the kinks. There won’t be any weirdness about dating or talking to other people. This is just a solution between two friends that are both going through dating dry spells.

Once the rules are set out, Wonwoo brings you into his room. Even though you’ve been in here more times than you could ever count, it feels different now. He tells you to make yourself comfortable on his bed. When he turns around to take his shirt off and toss it aside, your eyes map out his back. And, yeah, you’ve seen Wonwoo shirtless before, but never given yourself permission to so openly appreciate his body. His shoulders are impossibly wide and he’s in deceptively good shape for someone that hides under baggier clothes.

“Should I take a picture for you?” he asks. It’s only then that you realize that he’s facing you.

“Funny,” you say with an eye roll.

Wonwoo crosses the space to his bed and settles next to you. The way he reaches out to pull your face into his own is so smooth. His lips are on yours before your brain has a chance to catch up. You gasp a little and pull back.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Uh, didn’t we just go over this?” he asks.

“No, I mean, we’re kissing?” you ask.

“What am I supposed to do, sweetheart, just get right down to fucking you without foreplay?” he asks.

You feel a little stupid for asking that because of course you don’t want to skip the foreplay. It’s just that you don’t want to force it, either.

“Just let me take care of you,” Wonwoo says to keep you from overthinking anything.

It’s not something that you expected to be doing. Giving up control to Wonwoo. But, it’s surprisingly easy when he starts kissing you again. Any thoughts that this might be weird fly right out of your head as soon as he deepens the kiss. Instead, your focus is on what a good kisser he is. The way his lips mold effortlessly to yours. The way his tongue licks into your mouth. The way his hands roam your body as if they’re trying to memorize every curve.

You’re breathless by the time Wonwoo pulls back from you to pull your shirt over your head. When you changed after the date from hell, you hadn’t considered putting anything nice on. Hadn’t bothered to keep your bra on. What was the point when you were just going to be going to bed after having something to eat? Now, you’re wondering about that decision. Because your very hot roommate is drinking in the sight of you. It’s making you a little self-conscious, the way his eyes move over your body.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he utters.

It’s a little too intimate for you to respond to. It doesn’t seem to matter, anyway. Wonwoo starts kissing down your neck and working his way to your breasts. He spreads his kisses between them, rolling your nipple between his fingers when his mouth is on your other breast. There’s something so consuming about the way he kisses your body, like he’s worshiping you. Like this is a lot more than roommates helping each other out.

He works his way further down your body, kissing along your stomach, stopping at the waist band to your shorts. Thankfully, he doesn’t give you the chance to overthink here either before he pulls the shorts and underwear down your legs. Tosses them off to the side for good measure. You’re totally naked in front of someone you find you do actually trust. And someone that, yeah, maybe you’ve thought about fucking before. There was no reality where you thought it would happen, though. Even if it does make a lot of sense. Every part of you truly does feel safe with him. He knows you better than most people in your life. Which clearly translates to this part of you.

Since you’re so comfortable, you’re finding it easier to not be embarrassed at the way he’s got you squirming under the barest touch. The way he ghosts his breath across your center makes you let out a whine. It’s unfair, the way that he wants to take his time like this. It’s also unfair that he’s the first person to ever make your mind go this blank during sex. Nothing exists to you outside of this moment and this man.

Wonwoo moves back to where you need him the most, blows gently against your center. The sensation sends a shiver down your body. You barely hear him mumble out a “so pretty” before he flattens his tongue and licks a stripe up your core. There’s just enough time to think this slow pace might actually be the death of you before he goes back in. Using his fingers to spread you apart, he starts tonguing your pussy. A mix of slow and deliberate movements with faster ones. His thumb circles your clit before his mouth moves up there to give it the attention it needs.

With his mouth on your clit, he presses one finger into your pussy. You’ve never really thought much about his hands and now you’re wondering how you missed them. His long finger pumps in and out of you quickly. It seems that he’s reading your body and can tell that you don’t want something too slow. There’s so much pent up in you.

“Fuck, please, Wonwoo. I need another finger,” you whine.

“Anything you want,” he mumbles into your pussy.

He slides another finger inside of you and it makes you clench around him. That only seems to make him move faster. His mouth continues to work along with his fingers and your hands grip whatever they can reach. You’re a babbling mess and you suddenly understand what you overheard from Wonwoo’s room. There’s something so hot about knowing he’s this good with his mouth and his hands. It’s got you coming hard on his face. Harder than you can remember coming before.

“That’s my girl,” he praises as soon as you’re coming down from your high. Your hazy brain doesn’t latch onto it the way it clearly should.

He presses a gentle kiss to your inner thing and then pulls himself up to lie next to you. His fingers trace patterns into your skin while he’s waiting for your breathing to come back to normal.

“Jesus, I guess I know why I always heard so much praise through the wall,” you mutter.

“None as pretty as the sounds you just made,” he says quietly. It’s so gentle, so intimate. There’s a lot of love between you and one of your closest friends, so you don’t dwell too much on it.

You turn your head to face him. His eyes are still dark with desire, fingers still keeping contact with your body. There’s like some kind of bubble around the two of you where nothing else exists. It’s a comfortable feeling, even in the quiet. Something pulls you in closer to him and you can feel his erection brush against your leg.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “You know, I’m still a bit pent up…”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“What? I’m gonna come on your face but we can’t actually fuck like we meant to?” you joke, a little braver than you feel.

“This was about you, not about me,” he says simply.

“It can be about both of us,” you say, hand running down his stomach. He tenses a bit under your touch and it’s unfair. He’s got perfect abs and you kind of hate it. Kind of hate that it’s so hot to you, too.

You run your hand over the outline of his dick threw his shorts, enjoy the sharp intake of breath at the contact. It feels like a sign for you to keep going. But, he grabs your hand and pins it above your head. Kisses you hard and desperate. All of his restraint from before seems to be gone now.

“Don’t play with me, sweetheart,” he warns.

“Then show me how good you can fuck me. You were so sure earlier,” you press back.

Wonwoo rolls over and pulls his shorts and boxers off. Casts them off to the side with your clothing. He reaches into his nightstand and pulls a condom out. He rolls back over to position himself between your legs.

“One final time, are you sure?” he asks. It’s the first time since you came into his room that you’ve seen him look unsure.

“As long as you’re sure too, yes. I need this Nu, please,” you say, a little breathy with desire.

“I love it when you call me that,” he admits.

With your go ahead, he slides his tip along your entrance. You know you’re still wet from his hard work, but he still reaches into the dresser again. He pulls out some lube and runs it along his cock. Once he’s done that, he puts the cap back on and tosses it aside. He presses his tip against you again and this time slides in, slowly. Gives you a chance to adjust.

You’re completely at Wonwoo’s mercy like this, with his arms on either side of you like he’s caging you in. Instead of wanting to get out, you can only think that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Your hands find their way to his arms, gripping him tightly as he bottoms out in you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he hisses.

“Nu, fuck, please move,” you beg.

“Give me a second, sweetheart, I’m trying to adjust so it doesn’t end too fast,” he says, voice so impossibly deep.

“Please,” you beg again.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

It finally does get him to move though, barely pulling out at all and fucking slowly into you, so deep. He’s filling you up in the most perfect way. Your nails dig into his arms, but you can’t help it. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it spurs him on. Makes him pull nearly all the way out of you before snapping hard into you again. He repositions one of your legs so that he can reach a different angle. With each hard thrust, his dick hits exactly where you need him to be. The rhythm is fast, which is really everything you need for how stressed you’ve been feeling. Each thrust uncoils more of the tension in your body. Each moan seems to spur him on more.

When he leans down to kiss you, it’s messy. A clash of tongues and lips and teeth and need, so much need. Your hands find purchase anywhere on his body they can, even as his own arms seem to be a little shaky. So, you pull him down on top of you, bodies pressed tight as he continues fucking you. You’re still so sensitive from the first orgasm that you’re building up entirely too quickly. Even though you wanted it fast like this, you’re a little sorry to think it might be almost over.

Wonwoo must feel that you’re close by the way you’re clenching around him and begging for him to give you everything. He pushes himself up a little, just creates the tiniest amount of space between your bodies, and you miss it a little. Miss the feeling of skin on skin. But, he’s only doing it so that he can circle your clit. He just wants to take care of all that tension. You give control over to him completely. Let him set the pace. An embarrassingly short time later, you’re coming for the second time. He removes his hand but still fucks you through the high.

When your body stops shaking, you realize that he’s stilled inside you. He’s barely even moving as he looks down at you.

“It’s okay, Nu, I’m not that sensitive yet,” you assure him

“Thank fuck,” he whispers.

His pace is fast and you reach up to run your nails down his back. That seems to get him like nothing else does. When you do it a second time, he hisses out and you know he likes it. Each time your nails find a new part of his skin, his thrusts stutter. You clench your pussy around his cock and that’s all he can handle. He’s coming undone.

You return the favor through his high, lightly keeping the rhythm going and helping him settle his weight on top of you. His breathing is still heavy when he meets your eyes and gives you the gentlest kiss. Slowly, he slides out of you and rolls over. The next second, he’s up to dispose of the condom. He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a wet washcloth a few moments later, sitting on the edge of the bed to help you.

“Well, I guess I learned one thing,” you say when he gets up to take the washcloth back to the bathroom.

“What’s that?” he calls over his shoulder.

“All that confidence was definitely warranted,” you say through a light laugh.

You can just feel him rolling his eyes. “And here I thought you’d have less to say after a good fuck.”

“Nope, chatty as ever. No more tension, though,” you say.

“I’m glad,” he says, but it looks like he actually means it.

You move to get out of the bed and look at the sheets. Probably in need of a change. “Hey, do you wanna throw these in the hamper and just sleep in my bed tonight?”

“Are you sure that doesn’t break any rules?” he asks.

“No, we’ve done it…are you teasing me?” Your question morphs in the middle when you catch sight of his face. He can be such a shit for someone who acts like he’s chill all the time.

“I would never tease you,” he says, faux seriousness lacing his voice.

“That’s a shame, I like being teased,” you toss back.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” he shrugs.

“Next time?” you wonder.

“Just go get in your bed, I’ll be there in a minute,” he says.

It wasn’t like you agreed for sex with Wonwoo to be a one time thing. That felt like putting too many rules in place. Still, you’re not expecting it to happen again quite so quickly. You also genuinely didn’t realize he was home when you pulled out your vibrator. But, he was home and he barged into your room without knocking, pulled you to the edge of your bed, and fucked you hard. Made you wonder why you’d ever even consider using your vibe in the first place.

The next time comes after another failed date. It kind of seemed like that was the recipe. Something goes wrong or you’re pent up and he’s there to let you use him. Although, he’s really using you just as much. You like to let him be a little rough with you. There’s something satisfying in the way he doesn’t treat you like he’s going to break you. It’s unquestionably the best sex you’ve ever had, but that’s your business. You don’t need to share that with the class. You do figure that it might be time to talk about some kinks and boundaries, though. It would be good to be on the same page.

That seems to be how it goes for a while, at least. It’s mostly you needing something, Wonwoo being able to sense that, and helping you out. It doesn’t seem to ever start from him being the one to need something. He doesn’t even seem to be going out and bringing people home so much anymore. Not that you’re keeping track, you just can’t remember the last time he did. Or maybe he’s trying to only bring someone home when you’re not around.

He definitely holds true to his promise to tease you. One night, after a really long week at work with a lot of little things going wrong, he asks if he can take his time with you. In hindsight, you should have known it meant that it was going to mean teasing. But, you agreed anyway, and let him set the pace. Instead of hard and fast, he takes everything slow. He brings you right to the edge over and over again without letting you have your release. It’s insane how well he seems to read your signs. It seems like he can tell you’re close before you can. That night, it feels like it goes on for hours before he finally lets you come. It’s the biggest mess you’ve ever made. A fact that you would be embarrassed about if Wonwoo hadn’t looked so proud. Still, it feels like you’re the one always working something out.

Until it doesn’t.

One night, you come back from a night out with friends and are rummaging through the cabinets looking for a snack. This is the thing you hate about living with Wonwoo. He’s taller than you and doesn’t think twice about using the higher cabinets. You, on the other hand, can’t reach them so easily. You’re on your tiptoes trying to reach something when you feel him press into your back. His hand comes up and grabs the box you were reaching for with ease. You press further back into him when your heels hit the floor again.

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he mumbles into your hair. His hands find a place on your hips, holding you against him. This feels different from how every other time has started.

“What do you mean?” you ask quietly into the silence of the apartment.

He lets one hand slide down, quickly meeting the bare skin of your thigh. You know your skirt is a little shorter than normal, but the night seemed to call for it. “This. Did you go out hoping to bring someone home?”

“Maybe,” you say, shivering a little at the way his breath tickles your ear.

“Are you trying to tease me?” he asks. It comes across almost like a demand.

You wiggle your ass against him a little before you answer. “I would never.”

“Of course not,” he says.

Everything that happens after that feels different. It’s never started like this. It’s been passionate, but it’s never been driven by so much raw desire. It’s never been the kind of sex where Wonwoo pushes your skirt up around your hips and pulls your underwear down to your ankles. Never been the kind of sex where he buries his face in your pussy while you grip the counter for support. Never been so desperate and needy and rushed.

He makes you come twice on his tongue with your knees going so weak that you can barely stand before he even moves onto actually fucking you. You’re so weak by the time you finish that he has to help you to the bathroom to clean up before he tucks you into your bed. You’re so tired that you don’t even realize how intimate it is when you ask him to get into bed with you.

The disappointment that sets in when you wake up to get some water in the early hours of the morning hits you hard. Entirely too hard for something that’s supposed to be free of feelings. Your bed feels a little empty without him taking up space. Which is really stupid because it’s not like that’s been something you’ve been doing all of the time. It’s not something you’re used to. But, there’s an unexpected comfort in him. Something that catches you completely off guard. As you drift back off to sleep, you resolve to deal with your feelings in the morning.

That’s how you find yourself sitting on Minghao’s couch as he makes you both a cup of tea. He hasn’t asked about your roommate yet, but you know that it’s coming. He just wants to have everything he thinks you’ll need first. A few minutes later, he sets two cups of tea down next to the plate of snacks he threw together. If you weren’t in such a crisis, you’d have time to be envious over how pretty the presentation looked.

“So things with Wonwoo have gotten awkward?” he asks without preamble.

“Jesus, Hao, let me take a sip first, at least,” you groan.

“I don’t want to say that I told you this was a bad idea…” he starts.

“You were the one who spilled the beans that I thought he was hot. This is your fault too,” you point out.

“I told him that he wasn’t alone in thinking his roommate was hot. I didn’t tell you both to start fucking without realizing it was bound to blow up,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh.

“So, what’s going on?” he asks.

Minghao is a lot of things. He can be a bit of an art snob. He’s that kind of impeccably dressed where he looks like he just stepped off a runway. He can appear a bit detached. But, he’s also one of the most thoughtful people you know. He’s complex and he cares for his friends more than he cares for himself most times. Both you and Wonwoo are among those he counts as his closest friends. So, he just listens as you lay out everything that’s happened since the first time you had sex. He doesn’t judge or interrupt. Patiently, he just waits as you get it all off your chest, including how you felt after last night.

None of that really comes as a surprise. You know that he’s going to give you shit and be there for you at the same time. What does come as a surprise is what he says when you’re done laying out your issues.

“I haven’t wanted to set you up because I wasn’t sure you were in the right place for it, but I actually have a friend that I think you might hit it off with,” he says. “He’d definitely get you out of this whole Wonwoo funk you’re in so things can go back to normal.”

“You wanna set me up?” you ask, surprised.

“Yeah, I think it’d be good for you,” he says.

“Okay, tell me about him,” you agree.

“He’s really kind. Kind of talks in a permanent pout, but it’s endearing somehow. He’s a giant softie at heart and he’s so incredibly loyal. He’s been talking about how he’s looking for something a little more serious. I think you’d like him,” Minghao says.

“What’s his name, Hao?” you ask skeptically.

“Mingyu,” he answers and your eyes go wide.

“Mingyu? As in that hot model you’re friends with?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Minghao says evenly.

“Okay, you can see if he’s interested,” you agree.

It’s been a couple days since Minghao threw out the suggestion of setting you up with Mingyu. The two of you have exchanged a few messages and he does actually seem really nice. He’s also funnier than you expected him to be. When he asks if you want to get dinner the upcoming weekend, you find you’re a little bit excited.

There’s only one issue. You feel like you need to tell Wonwoo. You know that he’s not going to care, but it still feels weird when you’ve been fucking around. Maybe Minghao was right and the whole thing was a terrible idea after all. It’s hard for you to tell him when you seem to keep missing each other, though. Lately, he’s been playing video games over at Vernon’s place more than normal. Even if they’re streaming, something feels weird.

“Hey,” he calls out from the front door, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Oh hey,” you answer, looking up at him. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he moves to head back to his room. “Everything okay?”

He stops to look at you when you ask that question and his eyes still look a bit distant. “Yeah, fine. Why?”

“I don’t know, you’re being short with me,” you say.

He just shrugs. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“Okay,” you say, drawing out the first syllable. “Well, I just wanted to tell you that Minghao set me up with his friend Mingyu and I was thinking I’d go out with him.”

“You don’t have to tell me about your dates,” he says evenly.

“I just thought…” you start.

“We agreed,” he interjects. “Enjoy your date whenever you go.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly to his retreating figure.

The whole point of agreeing to go out with Mingyu was to get things back to normal with Wonwoo. It was clear that you had gotten in over your head. Now, you’re wondering if things are going to be able to go back to normal at all. This isn’t your normal dynamic. You always shared stories about dates, hook-ups, anything and everything under the sun. Your other friends always said it was weird for the two of you and you just ignored them. Now, you feel like you’re in it alone. Maybe they’re right and it is weird.

Since it’s a little on the later side anyway, you decide to grab something from the kitchen and just head into your room. You can go to bed early and forget that whole conversation even happened. That’s probably for the best. It’ll be easier to get back to normal once you’re going on dates again. Once you stop fucking your roommate like you could have ever done that without forming some kind of feelings.

It’s the middle of the night when you feel someone slide into bed around you. A familiar scent slips into your consciousness as an arm slides around your center. You nestle back into the chest and know for sure that it’s your roommate. The same man you’re trying hard to get over.

“What are you doing, Wonwoo?” you mumble in sleepiness.

“Don’t go on the date with Mingyu,” he says. He sounds completely awake.

“What?” you ask. Your brain is still foggy from sleep.

“Don’t go out with anyone else,” he says.

That makes you open your eyes as the words bounce around in your brain. You turn over to your other side so that you’re facing him. His hair is messy and all he’s wearing is a plain white t-shirt, but your heart still constricts a bit at the sight of him.

“What do you want, Wonwoo?” you ask, voice thick with mental exhaustion.

“Exactly what I told you. I want you to turn Mingyu down,” he says.

“Why should I?” you challenge.

“Because, well, we’ve got this…” he starts and fumbles over his words.

“We haven’t got anything. You’ve been avoiding me for days,” you point out. “Hell, I asked you to stay in bed with me after you fucked me in the kitchen and you couldn’t even make it til morning.”

“I know, but I was scared that night because I realized I was starting to feel something,” he says. “And then Hao texted me to tell me he’d finally given your number to Mingyu…”

“Finally? What do you mean?” you asked.

“He’s been asking for your number for months,” Wonwoo says through somewhat gritted teeth. “So Minghao told me you’d agreed to be set up and I don’t know, I guess I just decided…”

“To avoid me?” you supply.

“I didn’t know what to do. And I didn’t know how to process you not telling me,” he admits.

“You weren’t around for me to tell you,” you point out. “We’ve been fucking. I wasn’t just gonna be like oh by the way, I’m going on a date.”

“Please don’t go on a date with him,” Wonwoo asks again.

“I will consider not going if you can actually talk to me,” you say.

“About what?” he asks.

“Everything you’re feeling and why this whole let’s just be roommates that fuck was stupid,” you say.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he says immediately.

You sigh, realizing that you’re not going to be able to go back to sleep, and send Wonwoo to the kitchen to get you something to drink. By the time he’s back, you’re sitting up in bed and ready to have an actual conversation.

You stay up entirely too late talking about everything between the two of you. It’s a little hard to believe Wonwoo is so open with admitting how he feels. It’s harder to believe that Wonwoo knew he felt something for you before the very first time you had sex. In his mind, it was clear that he wasn’t just offering because the two of you were friends. He offered it as a way to gauge your own feelings. But, after that first time, he kind of figured it was just sex and tried to detach himself from it. That was when you started to feel something for him.

When he’s done admitting his own mistakes and feelings, you figure that it’s time for you to own up to your own. It was really silly to just make up his side of the conversation about why he didn’t stay in bed with you that night. After all, the one thing you both stressed before sleeping together the first time was that you had to be honest in your communication. That’s what friends did and you were friends before anything else. As it turns out, you’re both way more on the same page than either of you realized.

“You’re wrong about one thing, though,” you admit.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“It was never just sex for me. I was totally done the first time you kissed me,” you share, picking at a thread on your comforter to avoid looking at him.

“I kissed you before we even had sex,” he points out, incredulous.

“Yeah, turns out I’m not so good at the just friends who fuck thing,” you say with a shrug.

“If I’d have known that was all it took, I’d have kissed you months ago,” Wonwoo grumbles.

That brings you up short. “Nu, just how long have you liked me?”

“I don’t know, a while,” he says.

You just shake your head at him before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Just talk to me next time.”

“Can we go back to having sex now? I miss the feel of you,” he whines out. “And the taste.”

“We literally fucked less than a week ago,” you point out to try and avoid the way it makes heat pool.

“I could taste you every day and never get sick of it,” he says without any embarrassment.

“Are we really giving this a try?” you ask.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Wonwoo says.

“I do, I’m just scared. What if we try a relationship and it doesn’t work?” you ask. “You’re one of my best friends. I don’t wanna lose that.”

Wonwoo reaches out to tilt your head up. “We’ll just promise to be honest with each other. We can figure this out together.”

“Okay,” you agree.

��So, we’re doing this?” he confirms.

“Yeah, we’re doing this.”

Just like that, you agree to take a leap with the only person that you’ve always trusted to catch you every time you fall. It feels scary, but also completely natural.

i hope you enjoyed it! 💕

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inkedinshadows · 1 month ago

Text

Tea, Cookies, and Love

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: Azriel takes care of his mate while she's on her period.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.3k

@azrielappreciationweek

You hated being on your period.

Even after years, it was still hard to deal with the cramps and pain, so strong that most days you couldn’t even get out of bed. Instead, you curled up under the warm sheets, clutching a hot water bottle tightly over your aching tummy. It didn’t help much with the pain, but you liked the comfort it brought.

The door opened silently, and Azriel slipped inside. He had a steaming mug in one hand and a small plate with chocolate cookies in the other. “I made your tea, love,” he said quietly as you lifted your head from the pillow. “I know it doesn’t do much, but it’s better than nothing.”

You just frowned, watching as he set the plate and mug on the nightstand. The smell of ginger and peppermint reached your nose, but you didn’t touch the tea. You would likely burn your tongue if you took a sip now.

“I thought you were going to Rita’s,” you murmured.

“The others did,” Azriel confirmed. As he sat down next to you, a few tendrils of darkness wove through your hair, drawing a small smile from you even as you clenched the muscles in your stomach at the stabbing pain.

You closed your eyes, taking a few deep breaths to work through the next cramp before you could ask, “Why didn’t you go with them?”

Azriel lifted a brow, visibly trying to hold back a smile. “You're really asking that?”

Sitting a bit straighter in bed, you nodded weakly as you reached for the mug. Even if you couldn't drink it yet, you could still savor its warmth in your hands.

“I'm not leaving you alone and in pain while I’m out having fun,” he stated. His voice was soft, but it carried that underlying determination that told you he wasn’t going to change his mind.

Yet, as he stood up and began undressing, you still tried, blowing over the hot tea. “I wouldn’t be mad if you wanted to go with them, you know.”

“I know,” he replied, pulling on some sweatpants and a shirt. He turned to you with a smile. “But I don’t want to.” He climbed into bed next to you, slipping under the blanket and wrapping you in his arms. “No, I want to stay here and take care of my beautiful mate.”

A new warmth spread through your body, one that had nothing to do with the mug or the hot water bottle. You actually removed the latter from your stomach to place it on the nightstand instead, so that you could snuggle closer to Azriel.

“Don’t you need that?” he murmured, letting you move around to find a comfortable position. You settled for curling up against his strong chest, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Not really,” you answered in a whisper. You finally took a sip of the tea, and its pleasant taste filled your mouth, warming your throat as you swallowed. Hopefully, it would soothe your aches, but you knew how unlikely that was. “It’s not that hot anymore.”

“Do you want me to go heat it up again?”

You looked up at him, a soft smile on your lips. You shook your head slightly. “No, it’s fine. I just want you here.”

“Then I’ll stay here.” Azriel pressed a kiss to your temple, then draped his wings around you. “Whatever you need, my love.”

You wanted to answer, but you grimaced instead as another cramp twisted your gut. It felt like being ripped apart from the inside, and you almost spilled the tea while trying to find a position that would bring you some relief. Azriel’s broad hand covered your lower stomach, gently massaging the area to offer what little comfort he could.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he whispered.

“Yeah, I hate feeling like this too,” you mumbled once the pain settled, at least for the moment. You drank some more tea, and your eyes took in the chocolate cookies he had brought you. “Are those Elain’s cookies?”

Azriel nodded, his hand still drawing soothing circles on your stomach. “She made them this morning. I thought you might want some before they're all gone.”

“Gods, I love you,” you breathed. You turned your head just enough for your lips to brush against his, but you didn't kiss him yet. “You just make it so easy.”

Azriel's lips curled into an amused smile. “I love you too, beautiful. But what is it that I make easy?”

You set the mug down, cupping his face with your now-free hands. “Loving you, Az.” You finally kissed him, pouring all your feelings and gratitude into the kiss and down the bond. “You make it very easy to love you.”

You chuckled as a faint blush crept up his neck. “Thank you,” he murmured, “but I don't do anything special.”

“He doesn't do anything special, he says,” you scoffed playfully. You gave his cheek a kiss, then reached for the mug again and took another warm sip.

Snuggling closer to him, you tucked your head under his chin and closed your eyes. Azriel held you tighter, cradling you against his body. As he opened his mouth to reply, you knew he was going to say that it was true and he didn't do anything special, so you beat him to it.

“For starters, you're here with me instead of out with our friends,” you pointed out. You didn't even open your eyes, instead simply listing all the reasons why he made you fall in love with him every day, all over again. “You made me tea even if I hadn't asked for it. You rub my aching belly. And you brought me Elain's cookies.”

“I just want to take care of you,” he said. His tone was soft, and he sounded as if he was defending himself and his choices. He really didn't see what was special about it. “And I know how much you like her cookies.”

You sighed quietly. You picked up a cookie, but even though you loved them, you didn't feel like eating anything right now. You'd save them for later, when the cramps would hopefully relent. So you offered it to him without a word.

Azriel took it, brows furrowed. “You want me to feed you?”

Your quiet chuckle was interrupted by a twinge of pain deep in your core, and you quickly disguised it by saying, “I want you to have it.”

He shook his head and handed the cookie back to you. “They're for you.”

“The others are for me. That one is for you.” You didn't even touch it, opting to simply sip from your mug again. “It's how bonds are accepted.”

“We accepted the bond years ago,” he mused. He didn't take a bite, instead waiting to see where you were going with this.

“I know.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eye. He was beautiful, and he was yours. Your love and your home. Your mate. Just as you were his. You knew he considered himself lucky to be with you, but he never realized you were the lucky one.

“Every day, I am beyond grateful that the Mother blessed me with you as my mate,” you murmured. A sudden lump formed in your throat, and you weren't sure if the tears prickling your eyes were caused by the hormones or the depth of your feelings for him. “And I want you to eat that cookie. Because I want you to know that I would choose you in every life, no matter what.”

Azriel was silent for a long moment, but you could see the swirling emotions in his hazel eyes. The love and care, the vulnerability he showed only to you. He slowly lifted the cookie to his lips and took a small bite, his eyes never leaving yours, your ache momentarily forgotten.

“I would choose you in every life too,” he said softly. “I would find you, and I would love you. In every life, every world.”

When you kissed again, the bond between your souls glowed stronger and brighter.

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

#azrielappreciationweek2024 #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fic #azriel acotar #azriel fluff #acotar #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #sarah j maas #fluff #fanfiction #azriel appreciation week

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jesuistrestriste · 2 months ago

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patrick who's going away on tour so he trains art to be a perfect replacement so that youre still getting fucked right while he's away. jerking art off to porn of the kinks he knows you like so he's into it as well. I'm begging you to match my freak here.

ooooh absolutely

art’s been given a list of very specific instructions on how to fuck you like pat does. he’s, like, very reluctant to follow through because he feels like it’s ‘degrading’ to treat you the way his friend does, but he made a promise.

so instead of kissing you gently, a hand on your cheek while he lets you lead, he kisses you hungrily. sloppily. licks at the inside of your mouth and holds your lower jaw in his grasp as he devours you the way only patrick would. swallows down your little noises that slip out, muffling them with his tongue in the next moment.

and instead of fucking you in missionary and holding your hand like he wants to, he flips you onto your tummy and holds your hips. he slaps your ass when you arch it up into his pelvis; squeezes the soft flesh right after the impact. art doesn’t want to enjoy the way you yelp and whine when he’s rough, but he does.

instead of giving you slow, even, tender thrusts while he gazes down into your eyes, he bucks against the backside of your form like he’s starved for your pretty insides. pummels the deepest parts of you the best he can while you squirm and squirt over his aching cock. emphasizes each roll of his body with a growled ‘fuck’.

… and instead of whimpering and moaning in your ear about how beautiful you are, and how amazing you feel, and how lucky he is to be able to have you in this way, he says what he’s been instructed to say. leans down over your back, still messily stirring up your guts and filling you with blurts of his precome, and groans into the back of your neck.

“that’s it… just like that, you filthy little thing… you like when i fuck you like this? yeah? yeah, i know you do…”

“come on, you can be louder than that.. beg for my cock and maybe i’ll let you cream on it..”

“fuckkk, my god, you’re so fucking tight— ungh! ‘m gonna- ‘m g’na cum, oh g-god, i’m fucking— i’m gonna cum— gonna fill you up—beg for my load, baby, ohhh fuckkk—“

his dick kicks against your walls as he slams himself balls-deep inside and then shudders over you, spilling rope after rope of his release into your greedy hole. he lets out a series of anguished cries like a depraved animal, his fingers digging into your waist.

normally, it’d be too much for art to continue. he gets far too sensitive to go for a second round so soon, but.. again, he made a promise.

and patrick told him that you’re never satisfied until you’ve milked him. so he trembles and whines and puts the facade back on before he lets his overstimulated cock swell back to life inside of you.

he’d never wanna do anything to disappoint his best friend. he’s gonna give you everything he has.

it’s what pat would want.

#🌸 - ask prompts #i’m matching ur FREAK anon #i’m actually going crazy over this idea #also art trying to make more gruff noises when he fucks u bc that’s what he imagines patrick sounds like #but his voice keeps breaking when it feels too good and he can’t stop the whimpers from spilling out #hnnghhh #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader

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littlexdeaths · 5 months ago

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eddie munson x plus size reader

warnings: angst, allusions to smut, major body insecurities, troubles orgasming due to said insecurities, eddie is so incredibly sweet, oral (fem receiving)

a/n: this started out as just a little angsty thing cause i was in my feelings, but it quickly spiraled into something more. while i feel a little nervous sharing it because it directly mirrors my own experience with intimacy issues and self esteem, i hope it can maybe help someone who has felt this same way <3

“— just stop, eds. it’s clearly not gonna happen.”

he can hear the disappointment in your voice as you tug his hand out of your panties. willing away the tears that threaten to spill past your lash line.

you swear something’s wrong with you.

he’s been at this for well over an hour, having to take multiple breaks from when his fingers started to cramp up. your clit feels almost raw, yet numb to the touch. the constant circles he was rubbing against it left you with nothing but discomfort.

“sweetheart—” he whispers, brushing your hair back from your face.

but you quickly bury your face into the pillow, the sheer humiliation makes you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. you already know what he’s going to say, he’s said it more times than you can count.

“save it, please. i don’t want your pity,” your words are slightly muffled, but he hears them loud and clear.

so he stays silent, keeping his chest pressed into your back. he rubs soothing circles over the curve of your hip while you soak his pillow with your tears. each silent shake of your shoulders twists the knife deeper into his gut.

why he hasn’t left is beyond you— anyone else would have.

not only is he stuck with a girlfriend who can’t take her clothes off in front of him, he’s stuck with one who can’t finish either. you can’t imagine how frustrating that must be.

“why are you even still here?” you sniffle, feeling his body stiffen behind you. “this can’t be fun for you.”

he doesn’t answer you, instead moving from his position behind you to roll you onto your back before he slots himself between your thick thighs. and even in the dark of his room you can see how your words have upset him.

“— i’m here because i love you.” he asserts, calloused fingers catching your chin to keep your gaze level with his. “i stay despite how much you continually try to push me away, because you’re everything to me.”

and he catches some more tears that trickle down your cheeks with his thumb. he unintentionally swipes them over your lips and they taste almost bitter on your tongue when you take a shuddering breath in.

“i just.. i feel like this is too good to be true— that you’re too good to be true.” you voice is barely above a whisper now, “that once you see everything… you’ll change your mind.”

his eyes slip shut and an almost painful look crosses over his features.

“baby,” he sighs, carefully taking your hand to guide it up his bare torso. you can feel the uneven flesh beneath your fingertips, a reminder that you almost lost him not so long ago. “you could grow a third head and sprout a tail and i would love you just the same.”

that image has you giggling softly, the sound causing his eyes to flutter back open. eddie grins down at you, bringing your hand up to press a gentle kiss to the back of it.

“there’s my girl,” he hums.

and despite the worry that still lingers in the back of your head, your body automatically reacts to his gentle words. you shift your hips beneath his own, now acutely aware of how uncomfortable the damp cotton feels against your skin.

eddie can see that spark of need return to your eyes, his head tilting down to nudge your nose with his own. he inhales your soft gasp when he carefully presses his hips down into yours.

“can i try something? if you don’t like it, i promise we can stop.”

he waits before making another move, lips hovering over yours until he hears your soft confirmation. then he starts to descend lower.

his lips press against the cotton of your sleep shirt, across the soft pudge of your belly. and you hold you breath when his fingers graze over the hem of it, slowly beginning to push it up your plush thighs.

“eddie i—”

he must hear the alarm in your voice as he stops, warm eyes gazing up at you from where he’s positioned between your legs.

“do you want me to stop?” he asks.

the small shake of your head encourages him to continue, pushing the shirt up only until he can see the outline of your panties.

“we’ll keep this on, okay?” he motions to your shirt.

“okay,” you breathe.

you feel your body is on fire, every nerve ending like a live wire. and you practically jolt when you feel his lips press against your damp underwear, his tongue licking a slow stripe between your clothed folds.

“oh,” you sigh and you can feel his deep chuckle rumble against your core.

so he does it again, enjoying the breathy whine that tumbles past your lips. eddie’s fingers slide up your thighs, sneaking underneath the elastic of your underwear as he continues his actions. going slow enough to get you used to the feeling, but firm enough so you feel each drag of his tongue.

after your first failed attempt from earlier you feel ravenous, now bucking your hips up against his mouth. and your boyfriend seems to get the hint.

“you want them off, sweetheart?”

and you nod almost frantically, any feelings of insecurity pushed to the wayside as your desire slams back into you at full force.

not needing to be told again, eddie carefully guides the fabric down your thighs. tossing them next to you on the bed before he coaxes your legs to rest on his shoulders. even in the dark he can see the curly hairs that cover your mound and the sticky strings of desire when he guides your folds apart with his fingers.

you hear a soft curse leave his mouth, his hair tickling your inner thighs when he leans down further to guide his tongue through your slick.

“so fuckin’ pretty, baby.” he coos.

you gasp aloud at the sensation when the muscle delves deeper, dipping inside your entrance before dragging more slick up to your sensitive nub.

everything feels more heightened like this— more intimate. and you swear you’re more in love with him now than you ever been.

so you let your body sink further into the mattress while he tastes you properly for the first time. his own hips rutting against the bed in tandem with each glide of his tongue. the noises he’s making are downright filthy, the vibrations only aiding in bringing you closer to that release.

it’s right within your grasp, all you have to do is reach out and take it.

the edges of your vision start to blur while your fingers card themselves through his curls to hold him in place. and that wave that’s been building up inside you finally crashes over the surface.

your shaky cry of his name has him moaning into you, his hips twitching as he spills into the fabric of his boxers. and he doesn’t mind when your trembling thighs tighten around his head, keeping him locked into place between your hips.

not that eddie would ever complain.

you finally release him when the feeling becomes too much, thighs settling onto the bed when you tug at his curls. he lifts his head then, eyes mirroring your half lidded gaze. his slick-smeared lips shine in the moonlight that streams through his bedroom window and you feel another rush of emotion flow through you.

“thank you,” you whisper, voice cracking.

he brings your knuckles back to his lips, pressing a wet kiss onto each one. satisfied with his work, eddie crawls back up your body, pressing tender kisses until he reaches your lips. you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him even closer when your mouth do meet.

but that’s when you feel it. the warm, sticky mess that has soaked into his boxers and smeared across his hairy thighs.

“did you just— ?” you ask in almost disbelief, wide eyes meeting his own when he pulls back to give you a cheeky grin.

another gentle roll of his hips has you gasping aloud, the action pressing his mess further into your own as he chuckles deeply.

“damn right, i did.”

#the freak writes 🫧#this is also barely proofread #and idk it’s any good but #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

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lottiies · 6 months ago

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one of his many journal entries about you

arthur morgan x fem!reader and male!reader <33

i won’t lie…i have 45 hours on the game and i’m not even past chapter 2 (っ- ‸ – ς) why progress when i can save myself the pending heartbreak and instead admire this pretty man and his journal sketches?

anyways…love all you arthur morgan kissers ♡

“my body doesn’t feel right as of late. my hands are too rough, my face is all wrinkled up, and my voice isn’t all that pleasant. if only i could sound as smooth as i write.

never been the most confident of men, but well, this body’s what i’m stuck with. used to go months on end without shaving until i realized my beard looked like bills. how embarrassing. miss grimshaw, the strong-headed woman she is, knocked some sense into me too. well…more like slapped me.

shaving makes me look more approachable, and that’s not really a good thing with my reputation. but, i did it anyway and spent a pretty penny on the barber up in valentine’s…had to pay a bit extra because of the drunken ruckus lenny and i caused there last time.

if my heart hadn’t been captured, maybe these worries of mine wouldn’t even exist.

oh, the ridiculous things love does to a man…”

꒰ fem!reader ꒱

“about as beautiful as the stars above; a woman so otherworldly that sometimes I have to look away. she shines too brightly for these tired eyes of mine. i suppose that’s for the best, ain’t it? a man like me, the walking embodiment of sin, isn’t worthy of such a loving lady.

but that doesn’t keep her away. she often asks me to recount some of my adventures, and i hesitantly do so, fearful she’ll think me a bad man. craziest thing is, she looks more worried than anything else whenever i do as told. telling me to be more careful with that honey-like voice of hers. could listen to it all day. it’s like a balm to the soul.

can’t keep myself away from her either. doesn’t matter what she’s doing, i always find myself wandering over to her. i don’t usually have trouble sleeping, i’m like some rock when it comes to it. but she’s occupied my mind too much lately, falling asleep is difficult. like right now. should be sleeping, but i’m not. just up wondering about the ifs and hows.

i’ve been saving up some money so i can go get her something real nice, maybe a pretty dangly necklace. could just steal one, but i want to prove myself to her. she deserves the best, not something that belonged to some other stranger.

god knows i’d do whatever i can to keep her safe and sound. i’d die for her. funny thing is, i considered myself to be a selfish man before breathing the same air as her.

i can say with absolute certainty that i would give up everything for a future with her.

if she’d have me.

…

now, this fool’s about to try and sketch her.

not sure if i can encapsulate her beauty onto a page, though.”

꒰ male!reader ꒱

“i fear I’m going mad. i never thought i’d feel this way about a man before. then again, pursuit of romance has never been a priority in my life. he’s one of a kind, something about him makes my palms feel all clammy.

he never leaves my head, every inch of this brain of mine is consumed with thoughts of him. his grin, the way his hat perches on his head, the stories he shares ‘round the campfire.

i’ve come across many men on all my journeys, but his handsomeness is unmatched. and he’s different. doesn’t nag me like dutch or get on my nerves like micah, but he isn’t just a brother like some of the other folks here.

i’ve been a bit too scared to drink these days. you know me, i spill my guts out and say stupid things like a damn fool when i get like that. wouldn’t know what to do if i were to sputter out how fine of a fella i think he is, or how grateful i am for him. is this only a special friendship? no, i don’t know how to describe this.

well, yes i do, actually.

love.

my fingers trembled while writing that.

some may call this spark a sin, but going down an altar with him would be a taste of heaven itself. that wish is too far-fetched though.

all i ask for is a sign. just one. maybe i’m misreading the glimmer in his eye, or the way the bastard slings his arm over my shoulder and sings after he downs some moonshine.

weird how life works, isn’t it?”

#arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan x you

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cevansbrat0007 · 8 months ago

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Hello, Duchess

Summary: Your first encounter with Bounty Hunter, Ari Levinson, goes worse than you ever could've imagined. Takes place directly after the events in New in Town.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Implied Jealousy, Threats of Violence, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari’s P.O.V.

“Can’t believe this town actually has a real live bookstore.” Ari muses as he pulls up in front of the tiny, quaint-looking bookstore. “Fuckin’ wild.” Throwing his truck in park he takes a moment to survey the area, making note of the empty lot.

‘Must not do much business.’ He thinks before climbing out of his vehicle and confidently striding toward the door. Hopefully, the lack of an audience would make things flow a hell of a lot faster. Hell, if you were anything like some of the other women in this town, he’d probably just have to smile and flash his baby blues to convince you to spill your guts.

In fact, he was practically banking on it. Because this wasn’t Ari’s first rodeo – not by a long shot. He’d spent a lot of his life in and out of small towns like Bell’s Creek, which was part of the reason he couldn’t wait to bag his latest bounty and put this place, and its people, in his rearview mirror. Ari reaches for the handle on the door, only to frown when he gets a look at the sign hanging in the window that reads: “sorry, we’re closed”.

Well, that couldn’t be right.

He could’ve sworn that when he’d pressed Mrs. Turner, the First Lady of Calvary Baptist Church, about your whereabouts she’d said he’d be able to find you at your shop. Something about your preferring to work instead of resting and rejoicing on the Lord’s day.

While the bounty hunter supposed he could always try back tomorrow, he was keen to check you off his list. Refusing to admit defeat, he decides to try his luck anyway, only to be surprised when the door opens with a tinkling chime of a bail.

Confused but also now on high alert, Ari takes a tentative step inside as he looks for any sign of life. “Hello?” He calls out, finally allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Instinct has him reaching for his back pocket, checking to make sure he had brought along his firearm.

Just in case.

“Is anybody here?” He tries again, moving further into the shop. The place is clean and well lit, and boasts rack after rack of books. But what’s most impressive is that there doesn’t appear to be a speck of dust anywhere. “Look, I just came by to–”

“We’re closed!” A disembodied voice sounds from the back of the store.

“Yeah, I saw the sign, ma’am…” He clears his throat. “But I think you forgot to lock the door, so I –”

“That means get out!”

“So much for southern hospitality.” Ari grumbles under his breath as he continues on his mission to track down the owner of the voice. “Ma’am, I just wanna talk. And maybe–ahh shit!” He curses when his hip accidentally connects with a half-full rolling cart, sending several of the heavier books crashing to the ground. “Sorry!”

“Did you just break something?!” The voice suddenly screeches. “Don’t make me get my taser.”

“There’s no need for that.” Instead of picking them up, the bounty hunter hastily nudges them aside with his foot. “My name is Ari Levinson, and I’m just here to ask you a couple of questions.”

While this isn’t how the man had expected any of this to go, he’s relieved when he sees a familiar face peek at him from around the corner. A face that happened to be even more beautiful than he initially remembered. Even though it had only been a couple of hours since he’d seen you last.

Damn! It was as if the image of you in that dress taking up space at the other end of the pew was now permanently imprinted into his brain. He'd have to tread lightly here.

Otherwise things could get complicated. Fast.

Your P.O.V

“Pretty sure this is what law enforcement calls trespassing.” You sniff, craning your head around the corner to stare at the man who was taking up entirely too much space in the narrow hallway. Sure said man was easy on the eyes, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little concerned about his apparent inability to read.

“I can assure you that’s not what this is.” The lawman holds up his palms in an effort to placate you.

And although you try not to stare, it’s impossible to miss just how big they are – how rough they seemed – with just the right amount of callus. You can’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like on your bare flesh.

“Then what is it?” You ask, struggling to keep your tone short and clipped as you emerge from your hiding place. The last thing you needed was to have this man thinking you were actually attracted to him.

If anything, you considered yourself to be curious. No harm there, right?

“As I said, my name is Ari Levinson. I’m a bounty hunter from just outside Rosewell, New Mexico who also occasionally moonlights as a private investigator.” He tells you, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I just stopped by to ask you a couple of questions. And while I didn’t necessarily mean to intrude, I figured you might appreciate me taking a more delicate approach on account of your relationship with my person of interest.”

Fucking Martin Westbrook. He’d been the bane of your existence ever since you’d first crossed paths back in high school.

“I know you’re looking for Martin.” Annoyed by the very nature of the conversation, you pick up a box, hefting it onto your hip so that you can carry it out to the sales floor. “But I’m not quite sure how much help I can be.”

You brush past him, inwardly smiling when he scrambles to get out of your way. It was a subtle reminder that this was your shop. And you absolutely refused to be intimidated by him or anyone else.

“I’m sure whatever you have to say will be plenty helpful.” He’s quick to reassure you as he turns to follow the path you set. “Provided you’re honest, that is.”

“Did you really just waltz into my shop and call me a liar, Mr. Levinson?”

“I meant no offense.” Ari coughs, scrubbing a weary hand over his bearded jaw. If you were the overly presumptuous type, you might think you’d just managed to fluster the poor man.

Now feeling extra prickly, you drop the box onto the far counter of your cashwrap before turning to face your unwelcome guest. “As you can see, I have a busy day’s work ahead of me. And I was really keen on doing it by myself.” You gesture at the array of other boxes and racks placed around the store. “So if we could get a move on, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Gladly.” He gives a brief look around. “Is there some place maybe where you and I can sit and chat?”

“I’d say here is about as good a place as any.” You tell him as you step behind the counter. Bending down, you snag a bottle of cleaner, along with a couple of rags. If this man insisted on being here, then he would just have to deal with you taking care of your business. “I’m pretty confident in my ability to multitask.”

Nodding along, Ari pulls out a small notepad and pen from his back pocket. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Westbrook?”

You let out a sigh as you begin to spray down your countertops with your all-purpose cleaner. While you supposed you could’ve gone with something a little more industrial, you were partial to the way this particular brand’s products always smelled.

“I don’t know.” You shrug as you bask in the scent of rose and cedar. “Maybe three, four weeks ago.”

“Do you happen to recall the day and time?”

“No. Not really. If I had to ballpark it, I’d guess sometime around the 5th of last month.” You move to the next flat surface, spraying it down just like the last.

“You sure about that?” You try not to let it irk you when you see him take a seat on a nearby step stool out of the corner of your eye.

“As much as I can be.”

“And did Mr. Westbrook happen to give you any indication of where he might be headed?”

“Nope.”

He’d been nervous though. That much you did recall. By the time he’d come to you that night, your old friend had been well beyond spooked.

“Did he give you his reason for leaving?”

“We didn’t…” You trail off, taking a moment to scrub at a particularly stubborn sticky spot that’s marring the wood. “There wasn’t really much time for talking.” You’re so concerned with scrubbing that you miss the way the county hunter’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “He just stopped over to say goodbye.”

And to borrow all the cash you happened to have on hand – to the tune of $500. Enough for a bus ticket and a couple nights in a dirt cheap motel.

“Right.” Ari scoffs, admittedly with a bit more heat than he intends. “Not a lot of time for talking.” He pauses briefly to drag a hand through his shaggy brown locks. “Not sure why I didn’t wanna believe them.”

“Am I sensing a problem, Mr. Levinson?” You hum, tossing your rag to the side in favor of focusing on the rugs.

“I guess I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he kept you in the dark about his plans.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “In my experience, most men like Martin tend to have loose lips around the women they’re fuckin’.”

In that moment, it’s almost as if you can feel the air go out of the room. Just who the fuck did this knuckle-dragging, mouth-breather think he was?

“Excuse me?” Those two little words are spoken through clenched teeth. You’re so taken aback by his brazen accusation that you can scarcely breathe, let alone think.

Ari simply quirks a tawny brow at you, seemingly unaware of the danger he’s just placed himself in. Did he not see how close your hand was to that damned stapler? While it was clear that folks in this town had been running their mouths, they’d apparently neglected to mention that you’d also been the star pitcher for your high school softball team.

“Apologies if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Duchess. But I’ve never been the type to beat around the bush. Besides…” The smug bastard tucks his pen behind his ear. “You have to know that people in this town like to talk.”

Fire simmers hot in your belly, as you come out from behind the register. It takes less than ten seconds for you to bridge the distance between yourself and the cocky lawman. While you might’ve been taught never to raise a hand against anyone, this man was sorely testing every last bit of your patience.

“I want to make one thing very, very clear.” You hiss once you’re finally standing toe-to-toe with the handsome interloper who, of course, makes no room to get up himself. “I have never – not even once – slept with Martin Westbrook. He’s a friend, you backwoods jackass. Something you clearly know nothing about.”

“I get the feeling I struck a nerve.”

And, judging by the newfound tick in his jaw, so had you. Except you had no way of knowing it was because he’d lost a buddy of his own a little while back.

“And I think it’s about time you got the hell out of my shop.” His piercing blue eyes fly to yours, letting you know that you’d managed to surprise him with your heated dismissal.

Good. Because this Ari Levinson fella had officially overstayed his welcome.

“Look, Duchess. I apolo –”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me out of my name, Mr. Levinson. And I’m not sure I appreciate it.” You spit as you take a step backwards with the intention of giving him enough space to stand. “Now, I’ve been nothing but amenable to your rather…invasive questions. But we’re done. So, I’m gonna have to insist that you leave.”

Before you decided he’d make a deserving candidate for death by a thousand paper cuts.

Your pulse continues to thrum in your ears as you watch him rise to his full height – an impressive 6’4 – so that he now towers over you. Perhaps if you weren’t so angry you’d be a little more tempted to allow your mind to wander a little farther into the realm of fantasy.

But not now.

Right now, in this moment, all you wanted was to watch Ari Levinson’s sculpted ass walk right out your front door.

Nodding, the now quiet bounty hunter begins moving in the direction of the entrance. Neither of you say a word as you make that quick walk. In fact, you don’t speak again until Ari’s hand is on the handle.

“For what it's worth…” He blows out a weary breath. “This wasn’t how I meant for this to go.” His eyes find yours, as if imploring you to see the truth in them.

However, instead of responding all you can do is offer up a shrug. Which he, of course, takes as an opportunity to keep going.

“It’s just…the idea of someone like you getting caught up with a piece of slime like Westbrook…” He pauses long enough to open the door and take a tentative step outside. “I guess it bothered me more than I realized.”

His reluctant admission has your stomach tied up in knots, which prompts you to ask the one question you were almost certain you’d regret later:

“And just what do you mean by that?” You do your best to seem unruffled as you awkwardly brace yourself against the doorframe.

“All I’m saying is that you’re out of his league.” Feeling even more confused, you watch as Ari’s lips curve in a faint smile. “And if you didn’t know that before, well, now you do.” His head dips politely as he turns to head towards his truck.

“Guess I’ll see you around, Duchess.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning. “Oh, and don’t forget to lock up. Might help with all those unwanted visitors you’ve been havin.”

Ari doesn't need to turn his head to know that you're currently giving him the finger. He can feel it. And all it does it make him smile harder.

END

Sweet Renegade Series Tag List

@katymae12344

@identity2212

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@blackhawkfanatic

@jamneuromain

@queerqueenlynn

@pono-pura-vida

@daykrisr999

@jamneuromain

@ninacutebee16

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@emerald-writes

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baelabong · 4 months ago

Text

ʟᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ (ᴘᴀᴜʙᴀʏᴀ)

ᴋᴀʀɪɴᴀ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ - ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ

plot: you need to let go

genre: angst

notes!warnings: rina LOWKEY cheating, it was supposed to be sana but like i changed my mind half way oops

The first time Y/N noticed something had changed, it was a small thing. So small that she brushed it off, telling herself that she was overthinking. It was during one of their usual late-night hangouts, the kind where they'd lie in bed together, talking about everything and nothing. The air was warm, the kind of warmth that made you want to stay up just a little longer, to savor the night before it slipped away.

Jimin had her head on Y/N’s lap, scrolling through her phone as Y/N absentmindedly played with her hair. It was a scene that had played out countless times before, a simple, comforting routine. But that night, something was different. The usual soft laughter that would spill from Jimin's lips was missing. Her responses were shorter, distracted. Y/N had asked her about her day, about a story she knew Jimin would usually jump at the chance to share, but Jimin had only nodded, her eyes glued to her screen.

Y/N bit her lip, trying to push down the pang of hurt. Maybe Jimin was just tired, or maybe she was engrossed in something important. But when she glanced at the screen, she saw that Jimin wasn’t reading an article or responding to a work message. She was scrolling through someone’s social media profile. A girl Y/N didn’t recognize.

Y/N had felt a twist in her gut, but she quickly looked away, not wanting to seem paranoid. She reminded herself that Jimin had friends, and there was no reason to feel jealous. But the image of that unfamiliar profile lingered in her mind long after they had gone to bed, with Jimin’s back turned to her.

---

Weeks passed, and the feeling only grew stronger. Jimin began coming home later than usual, with vague excuses about work or meeting up with friends Y/N had never heard of before. The spontaneous dates they used to go on, the weekend getaways they loved to plan on a whim, became less frequent. Jimin started canceling plans at the last minute, often with a text message instead of a call.

Y/N tried to be understanding. She knew life got busy, that sometimes they couldn’t spend every moment together like they used to. But the distance between them was no longer just physical. It was emotional, too.

One night, they had planned a dinner together at their favorite restaurant. Y/N had been looking forward to it all week, excited to spend some quality time with Jimin, to try and recapture some of the closeness that had been slipping away. But as she waited at the restaurant, her heart sank with every passing minute. Jimin was late—again.

Y/N stared at her phone, the unease growing with each unanswered call and text. When Jimin finally walked through the door, she looked apologetic, but also distracted. “Sorry, I got caught up with something,” she said quickly, barely meeting Y/N’s eyes.

“What was it?” Y/N asked, trying to keep her tone light. She was used to Jimin’s busy schedule, but tonight felt different. She needed an explanation, something to ease the growing knot of anxiety in her chest.

Jimin hesitated, her eyes darting away. “Just… work stuff. It took longer than expected.”

Y/N nodded slowly, but she wasn’t convinced. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

But even as they ate, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Jimin’s mind was elsewhere. She tried to bring up funny stories from her day, reminisced about their past trips, anything to pull Jimin back to her, but the conversations felt forced. Jimin smiled and laughed at the right moments, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It felt like she was going through the motions, trying to play the part of the attentive girlfriend, but something was missing.

That night, as they lay in bed, Y/N tried to wrap her arms around Jimin, to hold her close like she always did. But Jimin turned away, mumbling something about being tired. Y/N stared at the back of her head, the familiar scent of Jimin’s shampoo filling the air, but it brought no comfort. All Y/N could feel was the cold space growing between them.

---

The breaking point came on a rainy afternoon. They were supposed to spend the day together, something they hadn’t done in what felt like ages. Y/N had planned everything, from breakfast in bed to watching their favorite movie, hoping to reignite the spark that had been dimming for so long. But when Jimin walked in, soaked from the rain, her face was pale, her eyes distant.

Y/N hurried over, concern etching her features. “Jimin, what happened? Are you okay?”

Jimin didn’t answer right away. She just stood there, dripping water onto the floor, looking like she had been somewhere else entirely. Finally, she looked up at Y/N, her eyes filled with an emotion Y/N couldn’t quite place. “We need to talk,” she said quietly.

Y/N’s heart sank. She had heard those words before, in other relationships, and they never led anywhere good. “About what?”

Jimin hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “About us.”

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine. She had known this was coming, had felt it in every missed connection, every unspoken word between them. But hearing it out loud was different. It made it real. “What about us?”

Jimin looked down at the floor, unable to meet Y/N’s eyes. “Things… things haven’t been the same, Y/N. I’ve been trying to figure it out, to make sense of it, but I can’t keep pretending that everything is fine.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. “What are you saying, Jimin?”

“I don’t know when it started, but… I don’t feel the same way anymore.” Jimin’s voice cracked, her hands trembling at her sides. “I still care about you, but the love… it’s not the same.”

Y/N’s world felt like it was crumbling around her. She had feared this moment, dreaded it, but nothing could have prepared her for the actual pain of hearing it. “When did you realize?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Jimin admitted, finally looking up. “It was gradual, I guess. I tried to ignore it, to push it away, but… I’m not in love with you the way I used to be.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to break down. “Is there someone else?”

Jimin hesitated for a moment too long, and Y/N’s heart shattered. “There is, isn’t there?”

“It’s not like that,” Jimin said quickly. “I never meant for it to happen. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did,” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re here with me, but your heart… it’s somewhere else. With her.”

Jimin didn’t deny it. She couldn’t. The guilt in her eyes was all the confirmation Y/N needed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Y/N asked, her voice breaking. “Why did you let me believe that we still had a chance?”

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Jimin confessed, tears finally spilling over. “I kept hoping that I could find a way back to the way things were, that I could love you the way you deserve. But I can’t.”

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely now. “When did your love for me start to fade away, Jimin? I gave you everything I had, all I wanted was to see you smile.”

Jimin’s heart broke at the sound of Y/N’s anguish. She reached out, wanting to hold her, to comfort her, but Y/N pulled away, shaking her head.

“Don’t,” Y/N said, her voice trembling. “Don’t touch me if it’s not real.”

Jimin’s hands dropped to her sides, powerless to make things right. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Y/N looked at her, a mix of heartbreak and resignation in her eyes. “If she’s the key to your happiness, I won’t stand in your way. I’m letting you go, Jimin. But I have one request.”

Jimin’s breath caught in her throat. “Anything.”

“Make sure she loves you the way I have,” Y/N said, her voice cracking with the weight of her words.

Jimin’s tears fell harder now, the reality of what she was losing hitting her all at once. She had known this day would come, but nothing could have prepared her for the pain of actually losing Y/N. “Y/N, I…”

“It’s too late,” Y/N interrupted, shaking her head. “I’ve been holding on, hoping that we could find our way back to each other, but I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay. It’s me who’s wrapped in your arms, but it’s her on your mind.”

Jimin didn’t have the words to make it better. The truth was too heavy, too painful to deny.

“Even if she’s the key to your happiness,” Y/N continued, wiping her tears, “my love for you will never change. But I’m setting you free. Just promise me that she’ll love you the way I have.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Jimin whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

Y/N gave her a sad smile. “You already have.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of their situation pressing down on them. Y/N could see the regret in Jimin’s eyes, but she knew it wasn’t enough. Regret wouldn’t bring back what they had lost.

“I’m hoping it’s still us,” Y/N said, her voice trembling. “I wish this would never end. But I know it’s her who’s your last.”

Jimin shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “I never wanted this.”

“I know,” Y/N replied softly. “Neither did I.”

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I still can’t believe that you’ve chosen her,” she confessed, her heart breaking with every word. “I can see it in your eyes. And it’s hard to fight for what’s not meant to be.”

Jimin reached out, gently cupping Y/N’s face in her hands. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. You deserve so much more.”

Y/N leaned into her touch, closing her eyes as she savored the moment, knowing it would be their last. “I’m letting you go, Love,” she whispered. “I’m letting you go… but I’ll still wait for you.”

Jimin’s heart shattered at the sound of Y/N’s words. She pulled her into a tight embrace, holding on as if her life depended on it. But she knew it was over. She had made her choice, and there was no going back.

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms for the final time, Y/N whispered, “Goodbye, Jimin.”

With that, she stepped back, turning away before she could change her mind. She walked out of the room, leaving Jimin standing there, tears streaming down her face as the door closed behind her.

Jimin stared at the door, her heart aching with the loss of the person she had loved more than anything. But as much as she wanted to chase after her, to beg her to stay, she knew it wouldn’t be fair. Y/N deserved someone who would love her the way she had loved, and that person wasn’t her.

Jimin wiped her tears, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips as she whispered to the empty room, “I’ll never forget you, Y/N. I promise.”

But in her heart, she knew Y/N was already gone.

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hoe4sports · 4 months ago

Text

How this ends p5

Fridolina Rolfo ft Alexia Putellas x Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 alternate

Author’s note: Here is the ending to the “how this ends”. I hope you have enjoyed my series, and that you keep reading my stories.

Warning: non

Summary: Alexia tries to repair what she once broke.

After coming home from your trip to Sweden with Fridolina, Alexia had begged you to come see her. At first, you bluntly refused. Never again, you promised yourself. But then. the leafes turned brown, and the ocean changed into a temperature only a fisherman could handle swimming in. Just like the seasons changed, you came around and agreed to meet her.

Picking a spot to meet her wasnt as easy as it seems. She suggested to meet up at her place, but you refused. You decided that meeting up in what once was your own homes would remind you of too many good memories and you would end up forgiving her on the spot.

Meeting up at Fridolina's place, just felt inapropriate. You had too many good memories with her to ruin your peace. It wasnt like you still loved Alexia. You loved her, but like the number of dates she took you to declined, so did your feelings for her. Fridolina picked up the pieces of what Alexia broke, and she worked hard every single day to glue it back togeter.

Arriving at the cafe, you immediately spotted Alexia among the tables. You felt your heart drop to your gut at the sight of her. She was wearing a cap covering her dark baggy eyes as she looked down. Her outfit didn’t resemble something Alexia would normally wear, only a plain pair of jeans with a stain and a white t-shirt.

Even though you felt less affected by the breakup by the day, just like your wounds had started closing up: they definitely hadn’t healed. You felt like your stomach was about to twist inside out, and tried to take a deep breath which only ended in you suppressing a yawn that turned into an embarrassingly squeak.

Alexia immediately shot her head up in your direction before practically tumbling out of her chair. Her frame moved towards you with her hands reached out in your direction. You looked at her hands. The gesture was out of pure routine after spending 13 years together. When she reached you, you gave her an apologetic look and she pulled her hands in, slightly redder in the face.

“hi” you tried to say confidently, but it ended up being more of a whisper. “Hola” she whispered back.

The pair of you standing completely dumbfounded in the middle of the cafe surrounded by couples and families. The tension was thick, and it made you feel like you were on display for the whole cafe to see. “Wanna walk?” Alexia asked, but it ended up being more a telling you instead of a suggestion.

It’s odd, you think. You haven’t seen Alexia since before the summer. Now, it’s late September. Everything is different now. It’s has all changed. Eventually, you moved out of Frido’s apartment into your own home. A place with only one tooth brush, one hairbrush and one water bottle. A home where you could eat lasagna on a Wednesday because you didn’t need to cook for an athlete.

As you walk quietly on the gravel listening to nothing but your shoes hitting the rocks; the sound of the silence becomes unbearable. “How are you?” Alexia spills out. You raise your brow at her. Did she really just ask how I am, you think to yourself while internally rolling your eyes.

“I’m feeling pretty good. Going to Sweden this summer and staying with Fridolina’s family really really helped.” You practically spit the words at her.

A part of you feels good saying that harsh truth to her, to be brutally honest, but a part of you does still love Alexia. You see the hurt on her face, but she hurt you. She chose this for you, and she dosent get to slip away from the responsibility of the situation.

“What’s the deal with Frido? Why do you car-“

“Listen, Alexia. I’m gonna be transparent here. I’m only here because I wanted to tell you in person, before it comes out through media; I’m seeing Fridolina.”

“It’s kinda hard not seeing her when you stay at her place, no?” Alexia laughs.

Your eyes tear up.

“I love her, Alexia. I’m in love with Fridolina.”

After your walk with Alexia, that was cut short because of your confession; you retreated hom to Frido. The only issue with what you had just confessed to Alexia, was that you hadn’t confessed your feelings to the girl you were in love with.

When you got home, you immediately popped yourself into the couch lying down on your belly. You let out an audible sigh before laying your head down. Why did it feel like a conflict of interest?

You knew that you loved Frido, and you had loved her since you woke up from mourning your relationship. Frido had been there every step of the way. Always patient, always kind and always good. Frido was the greater woman. She was just perfect.

Abrudly, you were cut off from your own thoughts when Frido suddenly appeared from the corner. The pair of you both let out a scared scream before laughing at each other.

“Sötnos, how was your walk with Alexia? Did you get any answers?”

Frido moved towards you before sitting down next to your head. Her hands running through your somewhat knotted hair from the wind at the park.

“Yes”

You sat yourself up, looking straight into Fridolina’s blue sparkling eyes.

“Not to be noisy, but. And?”

You moved towards her face, gently reaching your fingertips towards her face. Your face just centimetres from the Swede.

“And…” you repeated silently, barely whispering trying to catch your breath.

“Y/n? What did you talk about? The cat? A possible regroup? Fill me in please! And what?”

The way Frido’s natural curiosity kicked in had you grinning at her. You looked at Frido’s lips before looking at her eyes again. Your hand tucking away a few strands of her blonde hair. A soft smile on your face leaning towards her ear before whispering softly:

“And, I love you, Fridolina Rölfo”

You and Frido had just come home from Mapi and Ingrid’s when you felt a sudden overwhelming feeling of missing your cat. Your tears were dripping, softly hitting Frido’s couch while looking at your phone. The screen was showing you your cat’s adorable little face. Alexia always complained about how many pictures you took of the little guy, but you loved him to pieces. She always complained about cat litter. How expensive cat food was. How expensive taking him to the vet was. How he couldn’t be in your bedroom or in the kitchen. But you didn’t care. He had never betrayed you, so you never betrayed him.

You looked at his sweet little face while swiping to the next picture. It was a picture of him sleeping on your chest while you were fast asleep aswell. The next picture was your cat with a flower on his head. After the flower picture, a video of him chasing a robotic fish popped up. Your tears kept pressing while you laughed at yourself.

“YN? You will never guess what Mapi just texted me! Oh, are you crying?” Fridolina said as she barged in clearly in shock. You looked up at her, and she was already moving towards you in the speed of lightning. Her hands reached out to you as she arrived at the couch and your hands immediately intertwined with hers.

“I.. It’s just silly, don’t worry about it”

“Skatt, it’s never silly if something makes you cry. I always worry about you. Is there anything I can do to help? Hell, I’ll find a way to catch the moon if that is what you want.”

You flashed your screen towards Frido who looked back at your black cat.

“Is it your cat?”

“It was, but he lives with Alexia now. She refuses to give him to me..”

“Do you want him back?”

“Yes, what kind of question is that? Of course I do”

“Okay; you get what you want, love.”

“But there will be cat litter, he has midnight zoomies and he loves to yell, AND you don’t even like cats?”

“If he makes you happy, then I’ll find a way to get him to you. I’ll be any type of animal person for you. Maybe not a spider or a snake, but a cat? No issues there!”

“But, Alexia dosent want to let him go”

“Don’t worry about the practicality, I’ll sort it out”

The next day, Frido arrives from training with her bag and your cat in a carrier, making you feel happier and more grateful than ever for finding someone that loves you the way you love them.

—

Your eyes filled with tears while looking down on the woman in front of you on one knee with a velvet box in her hands. The idea of marriage, a big grand wedding with all of the people the you loved was something that had lingered in your head since you saw your mum in her wedding dress back when you were 6. Since that moment, you knew you wanted marriage.

Frido’s blue eyes were sparkling reflections the stars in the dark sky above her. She had gone above and beyond to make the proposal special. With the help of Ingrid, she had planned a secret trip for you to Lake Como where she planned to purpose by the gate to heaven at the date of your 3 year anniversary. Frido being Frido, didn’t stop there.

“Y/N, from bestfriends to girlfriends. You are the light of my life. The last years with you have been the best years of my life. I might not have gotten the chance to grow up with you, but I’m ready to grow old with you. Y/N, will you please do me the honour of marrying me?”

“Yes, Fridolina. Yes, yes, yes!” You cheered before throwing yourself around her. She caught you and spun you around in circles. It felt exactly like a scene from a romantic movie. Then, it was time for the ring. It was sparkly and grand, but elegant and classy. It was exactly what you wanted. You looked into Frido’s eyes as she slid the ring on your finger while tears of joy were rolling down your cheeks.

«Its perfect, its everything I’ve ever dreamed of. You are everything I’ve ever dreamed of.” You say as your tears spill down your cheeks while framing Frido’s cheeks with your hands.

“You deserve it, you are so good to me. You are perfect, everything I could’ve ever dreamed of. I would be a fool miss out on trying to wife you up” the last comment made you giggle leaving a smile of your fiancé’s face.

She then reached around her back and somehow pulled out a bouquet of flowers. Not roses, you don’t care much for roses. Alexia would buy you roses, and you’d say “thank you”. But you don’t care for roses. The flowers Frido picked out for you, were bluebells: your favourite. A flower that was rare in the nature, even rarer in shops. The gesture brought tears to your eyes.

“Close your eyes, baby” Frido commanded before she put her hands carefully on top of your eyes.

“There is more?” You whisper, a hushed cry chocking your sob. You felt slightly confused, but you trusted her. She turned you around to face another direction. Music started playing, or rather a live band started playing Ed Sheeran’s “perfect”. Her hands dropped from your eyes and you immediately opened them. There, just 50 meters away from you; You and Frido’s families and friends, 60 people flown in from all over the world to be there on your special day. Your nearest friends came sprinting towards you before wrapping you into a hug knowing that all the pain was worth it.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #barca femini x reader #woso x r #alexia putellas x reader #fridolina rolfo x reader

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starkeygirlposts · 5 months ago

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Goosebumps in my Sleeve III

Summary: You've been dating Rafe Cameron for 3 years, and one day Ward and your mom tell you they're getting married. Pairings: Rafe Cameron x fem!reader Trigger warnings: stepcest, drugs, pregnancy, noncon, swearing, pregnancy, no smut in this chapter, mentions of abortion, swearing, domestic violence, idk what else lol 18+ mdni water dividers by @plum98 heart dividers by

PREVIOUS PART

THREE MONTHS EARLIER (THEN)

“Swear baby, I’m gonna find a way for us to get out of here. Gonna make you my wife. Gonna buy you a house, gonna be better.” He sniffles and you smile and nod, knowing hoping he would make good on his word this time.

Not only did you put your entire life into Rafe’s hands, believing him, but you put your baby's life into his hands too.

So when he suggested you let him take you away from here on Ward’s private jet, you weren’t sure why you couldn’t. Instead, you practically begged him to stand with you while you spilled your guts to your mom. He didn’t like the idea at all, wanting to instead drag you out of the house by your hair if that was what it took, but he couldn’t do that - not in your condition. Even he knew better. So he refrained and tried to steady himself and his racing mind by cradling your face between his hands and asking you if you had any idea what would happen if you told your mother that he’d knocked you up. You shook your head at him and insisted that she’d listen - that this would change things, and that she’d understand now. She was your mom - she’d grown you inside of her so how could she not understand now that you’re doing the same?

So now, when you’re seated on the loveseat in Ward’s study next to Rafe and across from your mother, her eyes wide with shock and clear hatred, your fingers mindlessly wander in search for the safe clutch of Rafe’s hand next to yours to steady your instant regret. You don't even get to mull it over - see why his way was better - no, you realize it instantly. Because the sneer on your mother’s face tells you all you need to know, and suddenly you feel unsafe in this room…in this house - here with the woman who above anyone else, you thought would understand. Oh, how wrong you’d been. It hits you like a heavy ton of bricks, like a slap in the face that the one person on this earth who was supposed to love and protect you above all else was going to be the one who set the match to the fire of your life.

“Mommy, please.." You start, but her shrieking voice cuts you off and it triggers a wince in your body, your hand beginning to tremble under Rafe’s, and he clutches your fingers and calls your name. You’re too focused on what your mother is about to do that you’re not able to look away from her, your gaze silently pleading what your mouth can't form the words to say.

“Ward!” She shouts and suddenly your hand is vacant, Rafe shooting up from his seat next to you and spitting her name, your mom standing up to challenge him as she shouts for her husband again. This time, the doors open harshly, nearly slamming into the walls behind them, your step-father frantically searching for the reason of his wife’s pleas and his eyes flick to Rafe’s, your mom’s, until they finally land on yours. Rafe looks down at you, but before he can make his way back over to you to shield you, your moms mouth opens like flood gates and you’re crying before she even gets the words out.

Suddenly, it's chaos all around you but there’s no noise and movements are happening in slow motion, and you’re wishing you’d listened to Rafe. Wishing you’d been selfish for once instead of trying to salvage the love you thought still existed between you and your mom.

His eyes are wide as they search yours, crouched down to your level. You’re looking at him but you’re looking right through him because all you can hear is;

“She’s pregnant, Ward! He got her pregnant!” Your mom says it out loud and it’s all you hear in your head over and over again before Rafe’s hand is squeezing your cheeks in his palm, shaking your face to get you to come back to him. The ringing in your ears clear and you finally glance up to find Ward, his nostrils flared in what you know is anger and he’s just watching you. Rafe can’t be bothered to look anywhere but your face and he’s pleading with you to look at him but you can’t, because this is all your fault. Why couldn’t you have trusted that he’d provide for you, protect you, take you somewhere safe? Why did you have to try to reconcile with your mother once again?

You look back at Rafe and you can see the tears forming in his eyes, a hand…Ward’s hand clapped on his shoulder and he tries to shrug him off but with no avail as Ward grips the back of Rafe’s shirt in his fist, dragging him up to level eyes with him. You follow the movement, your step-father almost a foot smaller than your boyfriend but still somehow more menacing as he pushes his hand into his chest, Rafe unsteady on his feet as he stumbles backward, knees hitting the sofa that you’re still sitting on. You look up at your mom to see her with her hands in her hair, pacing around like she’s battling her brain and trying to make sense of all of this. But you think too highly of her, because really, she’s trying to figure out what to do with you.

You’re quickly snapped out of your trance as you hear Ward scream. “Rafe! You fucked us! All of us!” You watch your step-father slap his son across the face, fisting his shirt and slamming him into the console table, Rafe not even attempting to fight back as he hides his face from his father before Ward grabs it in his palm and brings it close to his. Your eyes are glued to the two, not able to look away yet not able to intervene. Instead, your hand goes to your stomach, void of an actual human being yet - but still, there’s something there, a clump of cells that are both you and Rafe, and you ache as you watch the father of your baby be assaulted by his own.

Your lips part, but you can’t muster any words, instead, a sob emitting from them as tears fall over your cheeks and you beg. “Please…please stop. Pl-Pleeeease!” you manage to sob, hoping that it’ll stop, the screaming will cease and you could rewind just five minutes and change your mind.

Suddenly, you feel Rafe’s body dumped next to you forcefully and Ward stands in front of both of you. You feel a hand squeeze your thigh and you look down to see the familiar comfort of that signet ring. You hand instinctively finds his, covering it protectively with your own as you pull it close to you, unintentally holding it to your abdomen with both palms.

“Look at me Y/N.” You hear Ward’s voice and it almost sounds like it’s underwater but you can’t help but tear your eyes from your entwined hands to find your step fathers glare mere inches from your face. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, you’re trying to calm your breathing and you look to his lips to read what he’s about to say because the ringing in your ears is too loud. He’s watching you, his chest rising hastily, silent for a moment before calmly telling you “Rafe will bring you to take care of it. You will terminate this immediately.” He says, lips peeled to reveal his teeth, clenched at the end of his sentence as if it’s the most final thing. And it is. Your eyes fly wide open, head shaking frantically. It’s the nail inside of your coffin and your stomach flips into your chest as you wail. “No!” You yell, but Rafe’s sudden voice stops you from continuing.

“I’ll make sure of it, Dad.” He says quietly, and you tear your hand from his, because did you just hear what you think you heard? Your head snaps to his, his gaze intent on his father, not able to look at you and you wonder if you’re invisible. You sheik “Rafe! What are you doing?" Your pupils are blown, tears cauterized by fear when he finally looks at you and nods. His eyes are soft and you don’t understand how you almost find comfort in the way he’s looking at you. “I’ll bring you. ’s okay.” He nods, as if he’s trying to convince himself and you. Your eyebrows furrow together and suddenly you realize your worst nightmare has come true.

THREE MONTHS LATER (NOW)

“You have to let her out of there, Rafe!” You plead, your hands coming up to rest on his forearms that are gripping your upper arms. His hold is tight and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was high. You might not even blame him. Your eyes roll up to meet his and you search there for any inclination that he is. You don’t find any and you’re able to breath a sigh of relief. But then you’re snapped back when Sarah’s fist slams on the door, rattling its hinges.

“We will! We will let her out, as soon as we’re out of here I’ll call Y/M/N and tell her to let her out. But we need to move baby, we have to leave.” He's pleading with you and it’s so much easier to make the wrong choice. How badly you want to throw caution to the wind and say okay. But you whimper and the acid in your throat does a lot to keep you grounded. You’re watching him and in his eyes you see the little boy who so badly wants to be accepted and loved. You wish you could go back in time and give him all of that love from the very beginning. You don’t want to let him down, but you have a conscience, something you sometimes question if he has. But where has that conscience ever gotten you? You clench your eyes tight before you say “No, Rafe we can’t leave her here.” You tell him, trying to wiggle out of his grasp but he huffs and calls your name before shaking you and pulling you close, his chest touching yours. “Don’t you know she’ll never let us leave? She isn’t on our side Y/N. I’m the one who got this for us so that we could get the fuck out of here and be together! - without her! Without them! Don’t you get that?!” If you thought he was pleading with you before, he’s absolutely begging you now.

You’re shaking your head even though your heart is dead set on running with him. To hell with Ward and your mother and yeah even Sarah…Wheezie was just collateral. But you can’t start the rest of your life off this way. “It doesn’t belong to us, Rafe! Your solution is to not only run away, but make enemies in the process? We can’t do that! How are we supposed to raise a baby together when we would have bright red targets on our backs! You want to get settled somewhere just to have to leave every 6 months?” Your voice is increasing in volume and you can tell he’s getting nervous, shushing you and calling you baby over and over, hovering his lips over yours.

“Let me talk to her.” You finally muster quietly, meeting his eyes and he’s quick to shake his head. “No. No, nuh nuh no, we’re leaving, come on.” He says, now walking away and bringing you with him by your arms. “NO!” You shout, louder than you mean to and his fiery eyes shoot to yours, and the fury you see there teeters your balance. You were tired of letting him make the rules and you only following like an obedient dog. He wasn’t thinking clearly, high on adrenaline and sure, maybe it was easier to leave right now but what kind of life would that leave for the three of you? Once you got in that truck with him there was no turning back. You hadn’t held out this long just to make a rash decision due to greed. “Let me talk to her for five minutes and then I promise that whatever happens, I will leave with you.” You tell him and you mean it. You’re praying that the one person - the one person who you think might understand actually will understand, and you’ll gain an ally. Because god knows right now, you need one.

Sarah and you were never by any means close, but your mutual understanding of her respecting you and you respecting her made your encounters tolerable. You never heard it from Rafe’s mouth but you knew he was always trying to fill her shoes, be the infallible son that she was a daughter, be accepted by their father the way he unwaveringly accepted her. But the shoes he was trying to fill were unattainable and so your heart hurt knowing that she’d never even tried to be her brothers advocate. Had she ever been Ward’s voice of reason when he’d slap Rafe around, speak up when Ward humiliated him any chance he got, maybe you could be closer. But you weren’t, and so you left it alone.

Rafe is boring his eyes deeply into yours, his jaw tensing and eyes darkening before rolling his eyes and clenching them shut, teeth gritted when he reluctantly agrees.

“Fine. You have five minutes. If I need to drag you out of this house kicking and screaming, Y/N, don’t think I won’t.” He tells you lowly, dipping his head to place an open mouthed kiss to your forehead, hands squeezing your arms tighter before releasing them all together. In any other scenario, he’s your captor, and you’ve just bargained a trip to the restroom, except he’s the father of the baby inside you and he loves you and you love him back. In this scenario, you can’t bite the hand that feeds you and he’s the only one in the world right now other than your doctor that knows your gut is still harboring a fetus that’s half you and half him. It’s a pernicious power struggle because even though he may be bigger and meaner, you hold his most precious possession inside your body and so that carries more weight than the threats he dares to make good on. You know he’d never hurt you - never hurt his baby and so you push the limits because you know that in the end, he'll let you win. Your mind drifts back to that wretched night three months ago when you thought he’d truly abandoned you, when he’d driven you to that clinic and made you walk in with him, tears dripping down your neck and pleas falling from your lips. You wonder how the stress of that alone didn’t cause a miscarriage, but the thought is too invasive and so you tuck it back to the deep, dark corner of your mind it crawled out from.

You step around him and glance next to you just to make sure he’s there - a small comfort because even when you like to be brave, you still need him there with you. Of course he is, so you reach out to palm the handle of the door and when you turn it, the lock clicks open and you slowly try to push it forward, but it’s yanked from your grip to expose a red faced Sarah, looking like she’s just swam from the Red Sea all the way here. There’s red wine splattered all over her clothes, the floor, and the walls, her hair matted to her forehead with greasy locks of wine and sweat, and her lips are parted to breathe heavily through them. Your eyes widen in a state of shock before she lunges behind you but is met with Rafe’s grip on her shoulders, pushing her back into the room. One of his hands goes to clap over her mouth before he quietly tells her that “You’re going to talk to Y/N for five minutes. And I’m going to trust that not a hair on her head will be out of place after those five minutes are up.” His tone is threatening and you know he means it when she doesn’t respond except nodding her head vigorously and meeting your eyeline.

You look up at Rafe wordlessly, not sure what to make of the exchange. He releases her and backs away, closing the door behind you. You look to her and she’s watching you with what you can only think of as anger before she tells you “You know he tried to kill me! Why are you with him?!”

You don’t respond, your voice caught in your throat, because you’re not sure you heard her correctly. “What?” you ask, positive you must have misheard her. She steps closer to you and you can’t help but back away. You’re afraid of her now. Afraid of her because you can’t possibly be afraid of him. She’s the one who’s speaking such vile things about the man you’re in love with. She’s the one threatening to blow up your life one more time.

“He tried to kill me. He lied to me to trap me and when he got me he tried to drown me. If Topper hadn’t of been there I - “ You cut her off by shaking your head and telling her to stop lying. “Stop it, Sarah. Rafe wouldn’t do that!"

“Well you better take another look at him Y/N because you obviously don’t know him as well as you think. He’s crazy and you’re just as crazy if you don’t think so! There’s something wrong with him and I -"

You cut her off by grabbing her hand mid air, asking her to stop.

“I - If what you’re saying is true, I won’t try to defend him. I can’t. I know something is - not right with Rafe…but what do you expect?” You sneer, your nose synching up in disgust. You knew something was not right with the man you loved. But weren’t you just as angry as he was? “You just thought he’d be the sweet doting brother and son after everything? You think you’ve been the same for him?” You ask, and before she can respond, you snatch her hand and pull it to your stomach. She’s resisting, calling your name questioningly until her palm lies flat under the fabric of Rafe’s tee shirt and she registers what she’s feeling. Her brow furrows and her eyes flick up to yours, a sharp gasp coming from her mouth. Her eyes go wide, full of what you recognize as fear.

“Oh my g - god, no no no…you can not be pregnant, Y/N!” You can’t help but start to cry, the overwhelming anxiety and relief in telling someone else about your baby. A flutter of a kick comes under Sarah’s hand, a new development, something you've only experienced it a handful of times before now. Another gasp comes from your step sister. “Oh my god!” She says again, looking at you and laughing incredulously. You can’t quite believe it either. You aren’t able to dwell on the miracle inside of you for long, before telling her

“Your father and my mother think I had an abortion.” You say quiet and flatly, the words burn on their way out of your mouth, the idea making you sick. You’re almost ashamed, unsure why and thats when your step sister furrows her brows in confusion or disgust - maybe both as she asks like she’s trying to comprehend what you just said “What?”, unable to believe what you’ve just told her.

You let out a shaky breath “You think your father’s going to let me keep her? That he won’t rip her away from me the second she’s out? She threatens the Cameron name and you know better than anyone that he won’t allow it.” You manage to say before Sarah stops you by asking you the silliest question you can think of. “It’s a girl?” She asks and you can’t help but roll your eyes, dropping her hand before she pulls you back, her hand taking yours. She pulls you in for a hug and you’re not sure what to do, never having experienced any kind of connection from your step sister. You shush her and tell her “Rafe doesn’t know. Please don’t be too loud.” You say with a finger over your lips and she pulls back and furrows her brow as if to ask why but she doesn’t press.

Because truth be told how were you supposed to tell her that Rafe having a daughter who could be another her was something you were terrified of telling him. Though you know he loved the baby inside you, clear how he’d sneak into your room every night to trace hearts on your belly, rubbing his hand over the expanse of skin until she’d kick his palm and his face would spread into a grin. You didn’t want to ruin his idealization of his child being different than the one person he’d tried so hard to distance himself from. The one who he was always trying to live up to. The one who he had to compete with for love and acceptance by the one person in his life who was supposed to give that to him too.

“Okay okay okay…I get it okay, I get it. You’re right. Ward would never allow it. But...what’s your plan? Run away with Rafe and steal the cross from Pope?” She asks you incredulously, and you shake your head.

“No. No the cross belongs to Pope. You know Rafe plans to run with all of it. But I - I’ll talk to him. He’ll listen to me. I know I have no right to ask Pope for any bit of his families fortune, but I will lay myself out for my little girl.” You tell her tearfully, and you can see her contemplating what you're saying before she shakes her head and tells you no.

“Do you think Rafe wouldn’t kill for this baby? Because I know better, Sarah. And that scares me because I can’t do this by myself. Please help me.” You plead, sounding more desperate than you mean to but you are desperate and as much as you may hate it, she’s the only one who can help you right now. If you left it to Rafe, he’d drag you out of here and run with the cross to god knows where. But you had an idea.

"Trust me” you tell her before turning around and gripping the door handle before opening it slowly, Rafe’s body instantly slipping between the gap and breathing heavily down onto your face as he grips your cheeks in his palms and kisses you, hard. Your hands come up to rest on his chest, a plea of a break and he gives it to you, breaking his lips from yours to look into your eyes and ask you if you’re okay. You watch his eyes dart behind you no doubt to glare at his sister and you tell him you’re fine. “Rafe, we need to talk about this…” You try, before he shakes his head and pulls his hand into yours and tells you it’s time to go. But you plant your feet firmly on the floor and pull back on his hand.

You take a deep breath before continuing “I don’t want our daughter to be collateral damage to your grudge against a pogue, Rafe. And you shouldn’t either. I know you want to be a better dad than yours. This is how you do that.” You tell him, shaking your head as his furrowed brows and confused gaze meets yours.

You don’t understand how Rafe isn’t thinking of how this is going to impact your family. Why he doesn’t realize that you’re going to bring an innocent life into the world in a few months and her well being is above all else important. But what you didn’t know was that was exactly what he thought he was thinking about. Setting her up for life, being able to provide everything and anything her little heart desired. So maybe his way of thinking was a little warped. But in his own however sick or twisted way, his thoughts were the same as yours.

He tilts his head, getting close to you now, his nose brushing yours as you brace for what you think is going to be anything but brutal. But to your surprise, he tilts your head up to his level, your chin in his grasp and you can’t help but try to blink the tears away. How sick you were of crying.

“Did you just…” He starts, eyes closing in concentration, "- A girl?” His voice is low but you don’t sense anger there, instead the tone of a shy boy who’s searching for his purpose. You look up to meet his sight, eyes opened again and tilted up in what you hope think is…happiness, and you nod just slightly. “Yeah. A girl, Rafe.” You manage to whisper, and he juts your chin forward to crash his lips on yours. Your eyes close for the briefest of moments to breathe the largest sigh of relief, and so now you actually do cry. But not because you’re sad. No, you’re so overestimated at the moment and now that this secret you’ve been hiding, afraid of the wrath that may follow its unveiling, is told, you can finally breathe again.

While you’d been terrified to tell Rafe that he was going to have a daughter, he’d been battling with his own thoughts regarding your babies gender. It didn’t cross Rafe’s mind to compare his unborn child to his sister, to think that if it was a girl that it’d be another Sarah, but instead he was busy wrestling his mind over the idea of having a boy who was just like him, because he was terrified of becoming his father. He’d never voice the idealization (especially to you) of him turning out to be the kind of father his own is, his son always trying to seek and gain his approval and love to no avail. That he’d get too engrossed in his legacy and fortune that the happiness of his boy would become the least of his concerns. Worries consumed him that he’d someday have a girl who would steal his heart and become everything his son wasn’t. Just like Sarah was. So he didn’t worry about having a girl who would be just like his sister, no. Instead he worried about having a son who was just like himself.

NEXT PART

Please interact! It’s pretty much the sole reason we as writers continue to write. I’d love to hear from you guys what you’d like to see in this story via ask box/requests. I will answer any and all submissions! NOTE that I will NOT add you to the tag list if you are only commenting to add to the list.

Please repost, and leave a comment so I know you like the story!

See y’all soon!

TAGLIST:

@kiiyomei @carrerascameron @mariaenchanted @slumnit @lillell467 @ijustwanttoreadlols @droppedyourhnd @maybankslover @a-library-ofmy-own @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @namelesslosers @ILOVETOSLAYSLAYSLAY @vodkababy @juniebugg

#drew starkey #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron pregnant #dark!rafe cameron #obx rafe #drew starkey x reader #toxic!rafe cameron #dad!rafe #mom!reader x rafe

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aethes-bookshelf · 1 year ago

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empty eyes, emptier words || astarion/tav/halsin

I've been stuck in BG3 hell since the game first came out. I'm still in there. I don't think I'll be coming out anytime soon, so have this piece of angst. If everything goes well, maybe I'll deliver on some devil fucking (ft. Haarlep & Raphael). But that's a big IF.

For now, take this. I wrote it in class. I was supposed to be paying attention, but I made this instead. Bon appétit.

Warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, tav straight up fucking dies

Pairing: astarion/tav/halsin

Wordcount: 1.4k

Summary: Orin knew exactly who to take to hit those troublesome True Souls the hardest. Their leader was the obvious choice - a chicken can only run so far if you take its head. Tav would make a beautiful sacrifice for Bhaal.

And if anyone came to try and get them back? All the better. Blood will flow either way. And what a sight it'll be.

[I made some changes to Orin's dagger. Now, whoever gets killed with it can't be resurrected. Or can they?]

ao3 link || part 2

Orin turned around at the first sound of footsteps. She brandished her dagger, her Netherstone embedded in the cold metal of the weapon. She was standing on the sacrificial altar at the center of the temple. Beneath her laid Tav, arms and legs bound. They were unconscious, fresh and old wounds littering their body. The little clothing they wore stuck to their skin, wet with blood. The smell of it hit Astarion like a club to the head. He hated how his mouth instantly watered, hunger rearing its ugly head.

‘I don’t smell Gortash’s rot on you,’ Orin said, crouching by Tav’s body. She dragged her blade across their skin. Fresh blood bubbled to the surface. Tav didn’t even flinch. They were barely breathing.

‘Did it think it could trick me? Did it think it could save?’ Orin taunted, her dagger stopping right over Tav’s heart. Astarion could hear its faint beating.

The heat of Karlach’s anger burned the air around her. ‘I hope you’re not about to do what I think you are. For your sake.’ Her massive ax sliced through the pungent air, tail swishing behind her.

Halsin didn’t speak, but his eyes glowed bright gold. His hands were clenched at his sides, anger barely restrained.

Astarion unsheathed his own daggers, their weight a fleeting comfort. ‘You lay one more finger on them, I’ll rip your throat out,’ he said. A growl ripped itself out of his throat.

‘Your teeth aren’t sharp enough to pierce my throat,’ said Orin. The tip of her dagger sank into Tav’s chest. ‘Not enough to slice my flesh, taste my blood.’ She drew back her hand, dagger rising into the air. A speck of blood followed its tip.

Astarion clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. His upper lip drew back; he bared his fangs on instinct.

‘Even if you kill them, all you’ll achieve is pissing us off,’ said Karlach. Her words were confident, but her voice betrayed her; she was afraid. ‘We’ll just bring them back so they can spit on your fucking corpse after I split you in half, you crazy bitch.’

None of them liked the way Orin laughed at those words. ‘“Bring them back”? Not here. Not with Bhall’s blessing.’ She grinned, showing all of her teeth. ‘They’ll be the first sacrifice of the night. Then I’ll spill your blood and guts on their flayed skin.’ A shiver ran through Orin as she brought her dagger down.

The blade sank into Tav’s chest with a sickening squelch. They gasped, body going rigid for just a second. Then they went limp.

Astarion’s scream rang through the still air as Karlach charged the altar.

* * *

Astarion knelt down by the bodies laying on the stairs and started rifling through their pockets.

‘What the hell are you doing, Fangs?’ asked Karlach. Tears were evaporating off of her face, her infernal engine still hot with her battle rage. The ashes of a used scroll of revivify were cooling at her feet. The spell's energy had already ran out and Tav was still limp, their body slowly going rigid.

‘I’m looting, can’t you tell?’ Astarion’s voice was snappy, but even. ‘Tav’s usually the one to take everything that’s not nailed down but they obviously can’t do it this time, can they?’

He leaned down over a pile of smoking bones and burned blood that used to be a man once. ‘They always find something for us in these piles of trash, I thought it’d be… nice to do the same for them for once.’ He managed to fish out a rusted dagger from underneath the pile.

‘Astarion,’ said Karlach, voice breaking.

‘Besides, their favorite tea ran out a few days ago, so we’re gonna need stuff to sell.’ He leaned over the pile of Orin’s gore next. ‘Tav spent most of our money on some new armor for you and Gale, and that tea’s expensive, you know?’ He took Orin’s dagger. His hands were shaking.

‘Astarion,’ Karlach tried again. The low hiss of evaporating tears got louder.

‘They deserve to drink something good when they come back, no?’ Astarion stood up straight. His grip on Orin’s dagger was so tight his chuckles went paper-white.

‘Astarion,’ Karlach’s voice was low and thick with tears, ‘I don’t think they’re coming ba—’

‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’ Astarion was quick to turn around and point the dagger at Karlach’s chest. ‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’ For the first time since they arrived at the temple, his voice broke. ‘Of course they’re coming back. Why do we keep that creepy skeleton around if not to bring us back in times like these?’

His eyes watered. ‘They’re coming back. They have to. They must. Even if that means I’ll have to drag them out of the Hells myself.’

Astarion’s eyes wandered to Tav’s broken corpse. They were still laying on the altar, the stone of it slick with their drying blood. He couldn’t see their face; Halsin’s shoulders were obstructing the view. Astarion could swear the druid was shaking too.

‘Halsin, they’re coming back, right? They’re coming back!’ If Astarion’s heart still beat, it’d be fluttering with rising panic.

Halsin’s voice was low and quiet. He kept stroking Tav’s matted hair as he spoke. ‘I’m not sure they will, my friend.’

Those words punched all air out of Astarion’s lungs. Fury replaced it.

‘Shut up!’ he screamed; his voice echoed in the empty temple. ‘We were supposed to have decades together. Decades! They can’t leave yet. They promised!’ His knees buckled. With every word he spoke, he sank lower and lower, until his knees hit the cold stone beneath him. ‘They promised we’d… We were supposed to find a way for me to be in the sun again,’ his voice faded into silence.

Astarion couldn’t speak anymore. His chest clenched and his eyes burned. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rage and kill, and tear. He wanted to bring Orin back just so he could send her to her blasted god all over again. He wanted to hear Tav laugh at one of his stupid jokes.

His throat was clenched so tight not even sobs could escape it. He was vaguely aware Halsin’s shoulders were openly shaking with his grief, but he couldn’t bring himself to comfort the druid. That would mean looking at Tav’s empty eyes. That would make this entire nightmare real. So very, terribly real.

Astarion’s grip on Orin’s dagger loosened; the weapon fell with a loud cling, its Netherstone slipping out of it. The stone shone dimly in the light of the torches.

All of it for these stones. All this death, pain and misery for these three pieces of one whole. Tav died for it.

Meaningless, meaningless, meaningless. All of it. All of it!

Astarion’s mind was reeling; jumping from pain to denial to anger to desperation. He didn’t know what to do. Tav would know, he thought, and a fresh wave of tears fell.

Karlach laid a hand on his shoulder. She’d cooled down enough for her touch to be only slightly painful on his corpse-cold skin. ‘We have to go, Fangs. Halsin.’ Her grip on Astarion tightened when he shook his head. ‘We have to go,’ she repeated, harsher this time. Barely restrained emotion shook her voice. ‘If they even can come back, we need to get them back to camp as soon as possible.’

Halsin took a deep breath and wiped his face with the back of his hand. ‘Karlach’s right,’ he said and stood up. Tav was limp as he cradled them close to his chest. To his heart. ‘If we stay here too long, we’ll certainly lose them for good.’ The druid squared his shoulders and turned to face the other two.

Astarion went rigid at the sight of Tav’s hand, limply hanging off the side of their body. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at their face.

‘Astarion,’ Halsin’s voice was soft, ‘I understand your pain. They are in my heart as they are in yours. But we mustn't waste time lest we lose them forever. If there is a chance to save them, we must act now.’

Astarion swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. The chill of death had never been more present in his bones. He nodded, silent, and picked up Orin’s dagger and Netherstone.

‘Let’s go,’ said Karlach, new-found determination on her face. ‘We still have to buy their favorite tea after this, right? How’d you put it, Fangs? “They deserve to drink something good after this”?’

Astarion nodded. He didn’t trust his voice not to break if he spoke. There was an empty, far-away look in his eyes.

As they left the temple of Bhaal, the sweet stench of blood followed them out.

#my writing #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #astarion x tav x halsin #angst #hurt/no comfort #major character death #x reader #gender neutral tav #ambiguous ending

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 9 months ago

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Cozened Indigo - Part Two

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of murder, dark themes. Word count: ~4k

Summary: She gets her interview with Aemond, and Larys blows her cover.

Author's note: I have put my journalism degree to use here, to ensure as much accuracy as possible. However, as Westeros is a fictional place, I have warped certain laws and regulations regarding court reporting for the purpose of the story. Please suspend your disbelief for the sake of a fictional tale. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Aemond silently takes a seat, eyeing her carefully as she stands there, rooted to the spot. When she makes no move to do the same, he gives an impatient flick of his wrist, gesturing to the opposite side of the table. Startled out of her daze, she moves quickly, the chair legs scraping loudly against the hard, painted concrete as she pulls it out before sitting down.

His fingers drum slowly against the table top as he watches her place her notepad and pencil upon it.

“You haven’t brought a recording device,” he says.

It’s a statement, not a question, uttered by a voice that slices through the air like a hot knife through butter. Soft, yet possessing a sinister undertone that chills her to her core.

She wets her lips, glancing nervously at him before responding; “recording devices aren’t allowed.”

“They are on media visits.”

Sighing, she flips open her pad, tapping her pencil against the blank page. “The trial is in three weeks, there isn’t time to organise one, there’s too much red tape involved.”

“On a media visit, we would have privacy, our own visitation room. You could record our conversations instead of having to scribble to keep up with what I say.”

He sits back, his spine rigid against the plastic of the chair, and clasps his hands in front of him. She feels like she wants to scream in frustration, it doesn’t seem as though he’s even listening to her.

“We haven’t even introduced ourselves yet,” she tells him, attempting to change the topic in the hopes it will get him talking.

Aemond snorts derisively, though his eye does not reflect the upturn pull of his lips. “You know who I am, I know who you are. I don’t feel there’s any need, unless you’d like to exchange pleasantries? Shall we talk about the weather, perhaps?”

She chews her lip, considering her next words with caution. “You know my name, but you don’t know anything about me. Maybe you’d feel more at ease talking to me if I told you a little about myself?”

He leans forward and, reflexively, she pulls away, her back making a heavy impact with the hard backrest of the chair, as her pencil falls from her grasp onto the tabletop.

“I know you destroyed your career by publishing a story that glorified a criminal, without checking to see if your sources were credible. I’d say I know enough.”

She stares at him, wide-eyed, bile rising in her throat as her breathing grows erratic. She hadn’t anticipated him knowing about that, let alone bringing it up.

He chuckles drily, his posture relaxing as he leans back once more. “You’ve looked into me, dug around in my past, did you not think I’d do a little research of my own? I know all about you.”

“We’re…we’re not here to talk about me,” she stammers, attempting to compose herself as she snatches her pencil back up and sits up straight.

“I’m still deciding if I want to speak to you,” he admits with a shrug.

Her brow furrows in confusion as she narrows her eyes at him. “But you agreed to meet me?”

He gives a slight nod. “I agreed to meet you, yes. I didn’t agree to an interview.”

“Then why agree to see me? You’ve wasted my time.”

“I could say the same of you, waltzing in here, without even the decency to follow the appropriate media procedure, expecting me to spill my guts in front of a room full of rapists and murderers.”

“So you won’t speak to me?”

He pokes at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, appearing to think about her question, the silence feeling as though it could fill the vastness of an ocean.

“You seem…earnest,” he finally says, “get media visitation and you’ll have your interview.”

He slaps the flat of his hand against the top of the table, an indication that the conversation is at its end, and stands, walking slowly back over to the door he had entered through.

As the guard unlocks it, allowing him to leave, he casts one last look at her over his shoulder. It’s a pointed stare, one that lets her know that this isn’t up for debate. It’s no longer a question of if she can get a media visit, it’s when and how.

The moment she’s back on the ferry, she calls Larys, knowing that if anyone can acquire a media visit with any modicum of urgency it will be him. She is relieved when he picks up on the third ring, and she wastes no time in getting straight to the point.

“He won’t speak to me without a media visit.”

“Hello to you too,” he drawls.

She exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The trial is in a few weeks, if I apply for it myself then it’ll take months. I need you to–”

Her phone beeps, the screen going black as her battery dies.

Fuck.

She had forgotten to switch it off before handing it to the guards, and the incoming emails and messages she’d received during her visit had drained it.

It’s evening by the time she gets home, the sun having set long ago on her journey from Dragonstone back to King’s Landing. Eagerly, she plugs her phone in to charge, restlessly tapping her foot as she waits for it to power back on.

Her heart skips, relief flooding her as the screen lights up and she is immediately met with a Whatsapp notification from Larys.

“Have been trying to reach you. Media visit is arranged for the day after tomorrow. Can you make it?”

With shaking fingers, she types back a reply, apologising, explaining her phone had died and confirming her availability. A few minutes later, he responds, telling her he will follow up with further information shortly.

It’s finally happening, she has her interview.

The following morning, her presence in the office feels like a mere farce to fill time, with no intention of starting the Flea Bottom piece, there is no real reason for her to be there, yet she has to keep up appearances until she has copy finalised for the story she actually intends to write. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission in this case.

She decides to fill her time with further background research and laying down the basic introduction for the piece, time is of the essence so it’s better to get a head start where she can. Less than ten minutes have passed when she hears the clearing of a throat behind her. Startled, she minimises her Word document and turns to see Royce looming over her.

“How’s the Flea Bottom piece coming along?” He asks, gesturing towards her computer monitor with his coffee mug.

“Oh…yeah,” she lies, with a tight smile, “making great progress with it, should have copy for you soon.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking at her incredulously, before taking a slow sip of coffee.

“Tell me then, if you are working on the Flea Bottom piece, what are you doing visiting Dragonstone Prison?”

Her face blanches as she stares up at him, her mouth running dry as she thinks of what to say. She has nothing.

“I–”

“My office. Now.”

He turns and strides back towards his small corner office, leaving the door ajar for her to follow.

It feels as though she is trudging through treacle as she makes her way across the newsroom, her heart pounding in her chest as she steps into the figurative lion’s den, expecting to be told her employment is terminated for openly defying a commission from not just her editor, but the editor of the Duskendale Gazette.

Sheepishly, she shuts the door behind her, pressing her back against the wood as her eyes raise to meet Royce’s, who sits behind his desk, visibly seething with annoyance. There’s no use in denying it, so she decides to get straight to the point.

“How did you find out?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper as she clasps her hands in front of her.

“Larys Strong left a voicemail on the office’s answering machine yesterday evening, confirming your media visit to the prison tomorrow.”

Shit. He must have called the office when he couldn’t get through to her mobile.

He continues before she has a chance to respond. “I’ve told you already, to leave that story alone. Were I a less understanding employer, I’d fire you for insubordination, but I’m willing to be reasonable. You’re to drop whatever it is you’re pursuing and continue with the story you’ve been assigned. Is that clear?”

She sighs, bowing her head momentarily, before stepping towards his desk. Her tone is imploring, her stare pleading as she looks at him. “Royce, Larys Strong is Aemond Targaryen’s legal representation. They’ve chosen me, us, the Duskendale Gazette over all publications to run an exposé on him ahead of the upcoming trial! There is something there, I know there is, you have to let me pursue this. Please!”

Royce groans in frustration, carding his fingers through his dark curls. “You know I can’t allow you to do this, you could be accused of media bias, influencing the jury. That’s not a risk a publication as small as this one can afford to take.”

“The article isn’t going to mention the trial, or the allegations being made. I intend for it to be a profile piece. Aemond has never spoken to the media before, he is incredibly private. This would be an exclusive, we’d be doing something no other newspaper or magazine has done before. It takes months to get a media visit, Larys has gotten me one in two days. It would be stupid to waste this opportunity.”

She takes another step forward, now standing directly behind the chair that occupies the opposite side of Royce’s desk, silently hoping she has said enough to convince him.

He sighs, shoulders sagging slightly, as he regards her with a look of resignation. “I’ll let you do it, but I have conditions.”

Her heart soars, her eyes widening hopefully as she nods enthusiastically. “Anything.”

“You won’t be reporting on the trial itself once it starts. And I want copy in two weeks.”

She recoils at this, given how stony Aemond had been on their first meeting, she knows it will be virtually impossible to get him to say enough to fulfill that sort of deadline. She had been hoping to push right up to the day before the trial began.

“Two weeks?! Royce, that’s not even enough time to get the interviews I’ll need!”

“I’m not taking the risk of being accused of influencing the jury,” he retorts. “Two weeks, or I’m tanking this, got it?”

“Got it,” she replies quietly, her previous elation withering and dying as quickly as it had burst to life.

Two weeks to get Aemond to open up. Two weeks to save her career.

The moment she is out of Royce’s office, she calls Larys, overwhelmed by annoyance at the trouble he has gotten her into and eager to give him a piece of her mind.

“You left a voicemail at my office,” she says irritably, when he eventually picks up.

He hums affirmatively into the receiver. “Well, your mobile was switched off.”

“You’ve gotten me into so much trouble with my boss, he almost pulled the plug on all of this!”

She hears him exhale slowly, pausing before responding. “But he hasn’t, so that’s a good thing.”

“I’m not allowed to report on the trial either, and I have to have the entire piece finished in two weeks.”

“Well, consider it a blessing. Minimal risk of media bias, you now have permission to write the story too. Wouldn’t it be a shame to go to all that effort to have it wasted at the eleventh hour, because your editor won’t approve it?”

Her eyes narrow, her voice lowering in an accusatory tone. “You did this deliberately, didn’t you?”

He lets out a quiet laugh that travels through the phone as a breathy sigh. “There is rarely anything I do that isn’t a calculated choice. I think you’ll find my actions have been mutually beneficial. Good luck with your visitation tomorrow.”

There is a click before the line goes dead. He’s hung up.

She wants to be angry, but she knows he’s right. Without the need for secrecy, this piece will be far easier to write, even with an impossible deadline.

There is a marked difference between this morning’s visit to Dragonstone Prison and the one previous. As soon as she checks in at the ferry terminal, she is ushered towards her own private boat and transported across the Gullet. There is no wait time once she arrives and, though she is searched, she is allowed to keep her electronic devices with her.

The room she is led to is small; plain white walls and a white floor, with only a table and two chairs, the same as the ones in the visitation room, at the centre of it. The blinking red light of a CCTV camera placed in the top corner by the door catches her eye, reminding her of the profundity of her location.

Over the last couple of days, she has been distracted by the stress of Royce finding out what she has secretly been working on, and preparing for the interview, so much so that she has quite forgotten just how foreboding the presence of Aemond Targaryen is.

She is delivered a stark reminder as he is led into the room, clad in the same grey prison scrubs he’d been wearing on her first visit, his wrists handcuffed in front of him. It feels as though all the air leaves the compact space as he enters it. His posture is immutable as always, his head held high, and his gaze immediately fixes upon her, an unmistakable glint in his eye as he stares at her. She stares back, hoping she appears more impassive than she feels, but there is an underlying fear that if he really wanted to hurt her then there is little the cuffs he wears could do to stop him.

“Bang on the door if you need anything,” the guard tells her, breaking her out of her reverie, “you’ve got one hour.”

The fact that there will be someone stationed outside of the door helps her to relax a little and she decides that this time she won’t allow for him to have the upper hand, moving to take her seat before Aemond does, as the guard leaves, locking them both in.

She keeps her attention on the table in front of her, placing her dictaphone in the middle, as Aemond slips into the chair on the opposite side of it.

“How are you today?” She asks, keeping her tone casual as she fiddles with the settings of the recording device.

“Incarcerated,” he answers simply, his voice conveying no emotion.

She sighs, glancing up at him. “I went to the effort to get a media visit, as you requested, I hope you’re feeling a little more talkative today.”

“The effort that Larys went to,” he corrects her. “You seem to forget that you stand to gain something from this too.”

Biting back the heated retort she wants to make, she ignores his comment. “This will be a profile piece, we’re not going to talk about the upcoming trial, we don’t even need to talk about your nephew if you’d prefer not to.”

“A little hard to avoid that,” he says, lips quirking slightly. His cuffs give a metallic clink as he lifts his hands towards his face, tapping at the ragged scar on the left side of his face. “Luke is the reason I have this.”

Her lips part slightly, eyes widening in shock as she stares at him. “Lucerys did that to you?”

Aemond nods, lowering his hands into his lap. “When we were children. It was a petty squabble at a birthday party. I threw the first punch, but he lashed out with a knife, and I’ve been left with a permanent reminder of the fact.

An overwhelming surge of pity courses through her, her face softening as she looks at him. She wants to say something to comfort him, but he stops her before she has the opportunity.

“I don’t need your pity. It’s been fifteen years. Let’s just get on with the interview, time is running out.”

She clears her throat, shifting in her seat as her thumb presses down on the record button of her dictaphone. “Right, let’s start with your childhood.”

The hour vanishes into nothing as she asks Aemond probing questions about what he was like as a child, how his relationship with his family was and what his upbringing was like. A tale of fatherly neglect, of children living in the shadow of their older half sister unfolds as he tells her of how he grew up teased by his older brother, Aegon, and bullied by his nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys. The only members of his family that he ever received anything close to affection from were his mother and his sister, Helaena.

She pays rapt attention, her heart aches for him, though her sympathy comes in short lived bursts, as every time his knee accidentally grazes hers beneath the table, it chills her blood and causes her skin to break out into gooseflesh. At least she assumes it’s accidental.

They draw to a natural stopping point and she switches the recording device off. The one question she has never asked, that there has been a complete media black out in terms of details, is precisely how Aemond killed Lucerys. Her curiosity gets the better of her and the question passes her lips before she can stop herself.

“How did it happen?”

Aemond tenses, jaw clenching as he stares at her intently. He swallows thickly, then responds, “you mean how did I kill him? I trust that this is off the record?”

She nods, afraid that if she speaks she’ll scare him off of opening up to her.

“I lost control of my car, and I hit him. He died.”

There is no hint of remorse evident in his voice, he responds as though she has asked him for the time. She is struck by how matter of fact he is. Surely, if it was accidental then he’d show even a slither of emotion? Just as she’s about to question him further, the door swings open and the guard informs her that her time is up.

She has barely scratched the surface of Aemond Targaryen, she knows if she is to write a feature that is even half decent she’ll need more time with him. She is grateful that Larys informs her has managed to secure two further media visits, and over the following week she gets to know Aemond better - at least what he is willing to share with her.

He is intelligent, with a keen interest in history and philosophy. He does not share his brother’s love of socialite status, preferring to dedicate his time to reading and fitness. Unwavering in his loyalty to his family, he had taken up a position at his grandfather’s law firm up until the point of his arrest. Aemond Targaryen’s life is one that is shrouded in solitude and tragedy. Aemond embodies pieces of a broken antique vase; the idea of putting him back together is beautiful, but there is the inevitable risk of cutting yourself if you attempt to try.

She does not bring up the death of Lucerys again, telling herself it will be easier to get him to talk if they stick to subjects that don’t make him uncomfortable. However, deep down she knows that she hadn’t liked what she’d heard when she’d asked him the first time, she hadn’t enjoyed the way his response had made her feel. Better to avoid the fear than face it head on.

As their final interview comes to its end, she switches off the dictaphone, expecting a cordial and brief farewell, before the guard re-enters to take Aemond away once more. She is surprised when, after a moment of keeping his gaze fixed on his cuffed wrists that rest on the table in front of him, he looks up at her and asks; “will you be at the trial?”

She pauses momentarily, as she’s slipping her equipment back into her bag, taken aback by his question. “Oh…um…well, I’m not going to be covering it.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t sit in the public gallery.”

“Are you saying you want me to be there?”

Aemond gives a slight shrug. “You’ve come this far. May as well see it through to the end.”

He’s right, as he frustratingly always seems to be. She responds with a slight nod, moving to stand. She is unsure how exactly to bid him farewell, this is the last time she will ever be in such close proximity to him. Looking at how his wrists are shackled, she knows a hand shake would be inappropriate. She shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, deciding eventually to keep things formal.

“Well, Larys will provide you with the article once it’s published. Thank you for taking the time to speak to me.”

He grins wolfishly at this, staring up at her intently. “Thank you. I’m sure you’ll make me leap right off the page.”

His words stay with her, echoing in her mind long after she has left the prison. Though her time with Aemond is at its end, she knows his impact upon her is one that will last a lifetime. The intensity of his one eyed stare is forever burned into her mind, the lilt of his voice one that scratches at the recesses of her mind, and with the article still to write she knows she is far from free of him. While Aemond is quite literally imprisoned, he has her trapped in a cell of his own creation, one that she won’t be freed from until the words are on the page.

As she walks to the office, preparing to transcribe her interviews, her phone vibrates in her bag. Pulling it out she sees Larys’ name on her screen, and quickly presses to accept the call. She barely has time to greet him before he begins speaking, and she pushes a finger to her ear to better hear him over the sound of passing traffic.

“Have you got everything you need?” His tone is strained, an undercurrent of urgency in his voice that she’s never heard before.

“As far as my interviews with Aemond are concerned, yes. It would give a more well rounded piece if other members of the family were prepared to talk, but we’ve already established that that’s not an option.”

“Aegon and Helaena have agreed to speak with you,” he informs her quickly.

Her eyes widen in shock, and she ducks down a side street, shifting the phone to the other side of her head, wanting to give him her full attention. “Why the sudden change? What’s happened?”

“Rhaenyra has gotten wind of the fact that Aemond has spoken to the press, so now she’s doing an interview too – with White Knight Magazine.”

Chapter one || Chapter three || Series masterlist

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sorchathered · 8 months ago

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Break my heart again 🖤

Pairing- Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Warnings- language, angst, Jake being an idiot, Bradley being a douchebag

Summary- Jake broke your heart and regrets it more than he can say, what happens when he sees you again but you’ve moved on? Or have you?

Jake Seresin could be a real son of a bitch. He knew it, everyone around him knew it, and after he broke your heart that rainy September night you knew it too. It played out like a bad romcom, “it’s not you it’s me, I’m just not ready to commit” all the pathetic vague bullshit that really just meant that he wanted to be able to be single and hang out with the boys instead of being “tied down” to you. It hurt, especially when it felt like it came out of nowhere. You had been thinking of forever, and apparently he’d been looking for an escape route. So you did what any heartbroken girl would do, got a new look, drank too much with the girls and blocked him from every social media you could.

That was nearly 4 years and two duty stations ago, all of Jake’s drinking buddies had grown up and had families, and now he was on the outside looking in a very different window. Longing for something he should have held on to, knowing it was too little too late.

He’d been back in California for almost a month, the special detachment had become permanent and it looked like the Dagger Squad was here to stay. He was in his own head while everyone headed out for the day, Coyote finally breaking him from his trance with his suggestion to meet everyone at the Hard Deck for dinner and drinks, a couple of the guys' families had made the move to Miramar and it would be a full house. Jake agreed, still in a fog but at least pretending to be interested in the prospect of meeting everyone.

Every night at the bar seemed to go the same these days, he’d drink a few beers, beat the brakes off everyone in darts, and take some pretty girl home only to kick her out in the morning. It was getting sad if he was honest, he hadn’t planned to be nearly 35 and alone, he figured he’d have a wife and at least a kid by now, he was tired of feeling sorry for himself. He needed to stop this endless cycle of bachelorhood, something had to change. He grabbed his beer from Penny and made his way to the pool tables, jolted from his pity party by the sound of the prettiest laugh he’d ever heard. He knew that laugh, hell it had haunted him for far too long. His eyes scanned the area, frantically searching for the face it belonged to, when there you were. Long hair in loose waves down your back, in a red sundress that could make a supermodel jealous, and your arms wrapped around none other than Bradley Bradshaw himself.

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room, it was too hot and too loud, Jake felt like his skin was suddenly too tight for his body and he couldn’t seem to school his face to at least look normal. Javy’s wife Britt caught on that something was off, Jake was standing at the entrance of the pool area with his eyes wide and mouth gaping, so she kicked her husbands foot and ushered him to figure out what had his friend so shaken up.

But when he looked at Jake’s field of vision he knew, Bradshaw’s girl had looked familiar when they’d walked in but he couldn’t place her until now. He’d known you were Jake’s biggest regret, and he imagined seeing you in the arms of his biggest rival, probably stung like a bitch. He calmly made his way over, grasping his friend by the elbow and pivoting him towards the side exit, the night air would help, and maybe he could get him to spill his guts in the process.

Fuck this was a nightmare, he’d been thinking of you more and more lately these days, and seeing you in Rooster’s arms was enough to make him nearly throw up the contents of his stomach. He’d never felt this unsure of himself in his life and this was the final nail in the coffin. Coyote was worried, Hangman was never off his game, always the most cocksure bastard you’d ever met whether it be in the air or on the ground but this version of him was someone he’d never seen.

“Man come on, you gotta level with me. Was that y/n back there? I know that’s a sucker punch Seresin but you can’t let this drown you, it’s been what? Almost 4 years? You can’t seriously still be hung up on this” he shook his head in disbelief, his best friend had a wild reputation as a Casanova but somehow 30 seconds around this one girl had knocked him to his knees.

“She was everything. Everything you could hope for if you wanted to start a real lasting relationship and I tanked it before we even had a chance. I wanted to fuck around and sow my oats, what the fuck did that even do for me?! I’ve got nothing at home to keep my going, no one to miss me when I’m gone, and now she’s with fucking Bradshaw? Jesus. I don’t know if I can do this tonight man, I think I’m just gonna head out.” He smacks Javy on the arm and heads out to the lot, hating the sympathetic look he knows he’s getting from his friend.

Back in the bar everyone has noticed Jake’s abrupt exit, especially you. Leaning in to press his lips to your ear Bradley says “Well that took less time than I thought, you sure have got him twisted up honey.” He’s grinning, the little shit stirrer, and while you had expected more of a reaction you knew you were in for it when Jake finally got his head on straight.

You’d met Rooster in Japan, working as a medic while he was on a rotation around six months before. It had been a fun friends with benefits situation, no strings and while you couldn’t deny that the sex was phenomenal you were still in the mindset of settling down. Bradley knew that and had told you whenever you were ready to cut things off he’d respect it, you were a good friend and great company but he wasn’t marriage material and he knew it. So when he’d headed back to California and found out that not only was Hangman there, but that you were still hung up on him he had a golden opportunity. Fuck with Jake a little, and maybe get you your happily ever after, it made perfect sense to him even if you thought he was crazy for suggesting it. You couldn’t deny that it was working, Jake had been rattled and ran for the hills, maybe Rooster’s plan wasn’t so half brained after all.

Bradley made it his mission to irritate Jake as much as possible the following week, making sure to let everyone in his radius know he was taking lunch to his girlfriend, loudly answering your phone calls, even dropping flowers off at your office one day. It was maddening, Jake felt like he’d been deflated, he couldn’t even bring himself to string together a sentence when you were around not to mention how much you being around was affecting his ego.

He still hadn’t spoken to you since you saw him at the hard deck, you were so frustrated, you’d really thought he’d come show his ass and the two of you would have it out but it was almost like he didn’t even care you were here. You were so in your head as you headed for the elevator that you ran smack into a warm wall of muscle, dropping your files and your bag. “Oh shit I’m so sorry, I wasn’t even looking are you o-“ you cut off as you looked right into the pretty green eyes of your ex.

“Hey, yeah I’m ok, you alright? Here let me help you” he made quick work of gathering your stuff, accidentally brushing your hand as he handed you one of the files. You knew he felt it too by the sharp intake of breath, just being around each other was enough to bring it all back, it made you want to climb him like a tree and beg him to take you back. You were far too stubborn for that so you stepped away from him like his touch had set you on fire, for someone so uninterested in your presence he certainly looked offended by the action, brows creased with that pesky forehead vein poking out that you always used to pick on him for.

This was awkward, you’re not his anymore but being this close to you may drive him insane. Your perfume is the same, your hair is a little lighter but it suited you, and you looked so damn beautiful, just like you always had. He needed to say something, just staring at you was going to freak you out but he couldn’t find the words. Jesus when did he get so weird?! He muttered out a “see you later” and started to head back down the hall, but you grabbed his hand at the last second, yanking him back towards you.

“Ok what gives?! You’ve been so weird since I got here, I know things ended badly with us but you left me remember?”

“Oh trust me sweets, I remember. Biggest fucking mistake of my life.”

“I’m sorry…what?” He had to be fucking with you, this wasn’t what you expected at all.

“I did leave, and it’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. Fuck y/n I think it about it every damn day, I was stupid and thought I wanted to party my life away, all it left me with was a broken heart and an empty house. I know you’re with Bradshaw now so we shouldn’t even be talking like this-“

“I’m not with Bradley.” You blurted out. “I mean we dated for a little while but he knew how much you hurt me and couldn’t help himself. He certainly knows how to get under your skin.”

“Yeah well, I probably deserve it.” He said as he ran his hand over his face.

“You do” you said with a grin, but noticed he hadn’t let go of your hand.

“So you’re saying that you’re single then?” He said with his smug grin, all it took was knowing he had a chance to bring back the Hangman persona, you shook your head with a laugh, he was already reeling you in. “Yeah, yeah it looks like. Who’s asking?” He chuckled as he pulled you closer, hooking a finger under your chin.

“I am baby, and if I have it my way you won’t be for long.”

Stubbornness be damned, you’d had your fun and now all you wanted was to give in to whatever was causing the butterflies in your stomach, so you let him kiss you. Hot, heavy and definitely indecent considering the environment, you basked in what it felt like to have his lips on yours again. He pulled a way a little, reveling in the way you tried to chase his lips; maybe he had affected you more than you’d let on too. One thing was for sure, he wouldn’t break your heart again, he was already dreaming up ideas of forever, it finally seemed like you both were on the same page.

🏷️ Tagging- @mamamaystbr @mamachasesmayhem @attapullman @roosterforme @bradshawssugarbaby @bobgasm @sailor-aviator @goldenseresinretriever @sarahsmi13s @hangmansgbaby @sebsxphia @mynameismckenziemae

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #bradley bradshaw #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you

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phyx-m · 1 month ago

Text

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 24: The Devil At Your Back

Content warning: Angst, vivid dream, wounds, blood, slightly suggestive.

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

House Of Self-Undoing - Chelsea Wolfe Bad Weather - Stomper (feat. Lucy Tops)

* * * * *

Chapter 23 | Chapter 25

* * * * *

You’re nine years old, and the cat’s fur beneath your hand is soft. It purrs affectionately as your tiny fingers trail its velvety coat, feeling the rounded bumps that make up its spine. You laugh softly, smiling, as it comes to—

A hand shoves into your hair and yanks you back. Your shuffling feet try to run, try to pull away, but your scalp is screaming. A cry pours out while your father’s face appears. The skin sagging at his neck wobbles with each angry exhale.

Hands that should protect take away so much.

“You stupid, useless girl! I should have had sons to carry this clan’s weight. Instead, I’m cursed with two fucking daughters!”

Crack!

The strike hits your cheek with a stinging burn, forcing your watering eyes shut. When they blink open, you suck in a breath. Your sister stands before you in the corridor, in the shrine.

“Sister, it’s time to go.” She extends a hand.

You reach for it but stop and look down.

A bone-white kimono with dark blue edges hangs around you. Matching him. The thing you’ll be bound to.

“No. I can’t. I can’t do this.”

You step back.

She smiles softly, taking your hand, skin to skin.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “You must stay. You have to do this.”

No!

Somewhere, a baby’s cries reach your ears. You snap your head to the sound. It wails as if it were in pain. It wails as if it were frightened.

Make it stop.

It doesn’t stop.

You shut your eyes and—

Blink.

Opening them, your sister is gone.

Down the darkened corridor, you start to walk, your body heavy, disoriented, not your own.

Reaching the end of the passage, there’s a door. You slide it open, a little ajar and slip in sideways.

Inside the room, is a futon, and there in the center of it lies your mother, split open, guts spilling from her swollen belly, eyes flickering, breath fast and shallow. She looks at you, mouth trembling, eyes wide, shock all over her face. A cry takes you over as she melts in a rupture of crimson meat and bone.

Nothing more than a pile. Nothing more than rot.

Somewhere, that baby still cries, and no one comforts it.

Blink.

There’s a glow on the horizon, and something’s burn—

Screaming. Homes on fire. People running in all directions. Bodies, so many bodies, some partially eaten, and others not. The scent of blood, searing fat and skin clogs your throat.

Blink.

From behind, four hands slide across your stomach, a black band encircling the wrists. One climbs to your breasts, another to your cunt, the next slowly comes to wrap around your throat, while the last presses flush to your abdomen.

“Let me see you.” A deep rumbling voice at your back, warm breath on your neck, before a hot tongue licks a path to your ear. “Let me see you, my winter flower.”

A nudge along the side of your throat before teeth sink in, breaking skin and muscle. Blood rolls down your neck to shoulder, soaking your yukata red. It doesn’t hurt. If anything, there’s only pleasure.

Leaning back into touch, into warmth and solidity, you moan, something denied for so long.

“Sukuna.” Your breathless voice reaches him, and fingers squeeze harder, gently choking you.

At your back, the King of Curses groans, shoving his face deeper into the wound he’s made, licking, sucking, trying to swallow skin and—

The air suddenly splits, breaks, and falls apart on a sensation that sends the whole world vibrating.

Blink.

Walking with dirt on your feet, cool grass between your toes, you turn, pace, turn again.

“I killed her…”

You turn, pace, turn again.

“I killed her…”

Turn, pace, turn again, lift your head.

Death is here.

It’s going to kill me.

A flame opens and slithers across your eyes. Muscles tense, muscles straining.

Red everywhere.

That’s all there is.

Red, red, red—

“Oi, brat! Time to wake up!”

CRACK!

“Mother!” you scream, pushing your body up, hearing the sound echo off the stone walls of the dark overhang.

Panting, your breaths arrive in short, small gasps, chest heaving, the world around you a blur.

Breathe.

You do.

Breathe again.

You do, and then blink.

It’s strange, but you must still be lingering between sleep and waking because four glowing eyes hover close, staring into your tear-streaked face.

But you’re not. You’re awake.

Sukuna crouches beside your mat, his upper right hand planted on the ground next to your hip, massive body leaning in, almost framing you, close enough for his warmth to seep in. The firelight from the dying coals silhouettes him, casting a small glow across the dim shelter.

It’s late, you realize—still the middle of the night.

“What’s going on?” you rasp, finally coming to.

You hate waking like this. Screaming. But at least being awake means no dreams. Awake means no nightmares. Just… looking into the King of Curses’ face.

“My Lord,” you whisper, staring at him, eyes squinting slightly. “What are you doing?”

How long has he been next to you? And why does this feel familiar?

Sukuna pulls back a bit, staring down at you. Even crouching, he looms so tall that you must tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

“You were crying out in your sleep,” he grumbles flatly, clicking his tongue. “You know how I feel about that. It disturbed my rest.”

A sudden weight presses around your neck. His energy. It drags over it like a phantom hand—like in your dream, and it leaves a surprising amount of goosebumps in its wake, making you shudder softly, though not entirely out of disgust.

Far from it.

Sukuna’s scarlet orbs drift down, lingering on your throat and chest, then lower.

“Also, this fell.”

Swallowing a thick knot, your eyes drop to his second pair of hands, where he lifts your crumpled blanket from the ground and tosses it carelessly into your lap. Then he stands, rounds the fire and returns to his mat, settling himself with a glance at the dying flames. Quietly, he lies down, propping his upper arms behind his head, eyes drifting to the stone ceiling. After a moment, he turns onto his side, offering you his back.

You can’t help but watch him as the nightmare stays fresh in your mind—the look on your mother’s anguished face.

Leaning into a slouch, you wipe the dampness from your eyes, your nose stinging as fresh tears threaten to escape.

Was that what she looked like before you took her life? The dread that was there, the betrayal, the fear on her face.

Your heart begins to pound.

Why can’t you remember how that night unfolded? Not that you want to, but still. It’s all a blank space, forgotten and stripped away. Perhaps for good reason.

Because in that dream, she looked terrified.

A tremor runs through your hands. Throat thick, palms slick. The beating muscle in your chest pulses faster and faster.

Instinctively, you dig your index fingernail into the cuticle of your thumb, hoping the pain will ground you, but it’s useless.

Thankfully, there are still a few sticks near the fire. Needing a distraction, you lean forward, pick one up and push it into the coals. Sparks flutter up, the tip glowing a faint red.

Better.

With your mind beginning to settle, you grab a bit of moss, pressing and rolling it between your fingers. It’s still damp, giving off an earthy smell. Fingertips pushing in more, you explore the texture—soft but slightly coarse, cold against your skin—until, all at once, it fades.

You stop and look down.

The tuft blackens in your hands—lush green fading to a putrid brown, then a brittle gray. Tiny tendrils shrivel up, curling and recoiling from your touch.

“What the… hell…” you breathe.

Hands flying apart, you quickly drop it to the ground, watching it disintegrate into dust on the stone floor.

Lifeless.

Panting softly, there’s a scent that creeps into your nose. One, you know well.

Rot.

Your eyes move to your fingers, and your heart trips over a beat.

The tips up to the knuckles are a bruising colour, with thin, web-like veins spreading from the cuticles, branching unevenly. It looks as if a creeping blight infects your skin.

You rub your fingers together, scraping a nail along the surface. The sensation is still there, reassuring you that you aren’t decaying, that the flesh isn’t dead. Another rake, and gradually, the discoloration fades, your skin returning to normal.

You’ve never done anything like that before. Killing animals… people, yes, but plants? And it happened so quickly, with no sense of restraint.

The rocky walls of the overhang suddenly feel choking.

You rise quietly, moving smoothly despite the wobbly feeling in your legs, and walk past Sukuna. Judging by his stillness, he must have fallen asleep.

At the mouth of the hollow stone, you stop, needing air to steady yourself, feeling too out of control in your own body.

Tipping your head back, the clouds from the downpour are gone, leaving only the sky and its inky black curve and stars. You admire it for a moment, but the expanse and the moon sitting lonely overhead stir a familiar ache.

At this moment, you crave your mother’s presence, her comfort.

Dropping your gaze, you spot Ayana’s white-dappled coat in the dark. She rests beside Sukuna’s horse, whose massive form nearly engulfs hers. The two creatures stand so close that their nearness brings a small sense of ease.

Keeping your hands in tight fists, careful not to touch, you step toward her and rest your forehead against the soft surface of her neck. Her ears flick, and she lowers her head, sensing your tension, and gives a gentle nudge.

A trace of a smile tries to form on your lips, but it doesn’t quite settle.

Warmth suddenly flares at the bend of your neck—whether intentional or not, malicious or not—your eyes drift shut. You know Sukuna is not asleep but quietly watching you from behind.

You stay like this for a while until you sense him withdraw, and eventually, you do the same.

Turning, you move back to the shelter, catching his lower eyes as you pass but saying nothing. When you reach your mat, you glance down at the remnants of the moss once more.

You’ll have to worry about it later; there are other priorities above your own.

Sister, protector, tool.

Lying down, you pull the blanket over your body as the space falls into stillness. Only the soft hiss of the crumbling embers remain, lulling you back into drowsiness.

Your eyes shut.

A flicker of your mother’s dying face presses against your eyelids.

You snap them open.

“Lord Sukuna?” you suddenly murmur.

Silence follows, but then you hear him shift.

“What?” he grunts, sounding annoyed.

You pause, rolling to your side to take in his profile, the right side of his face, his mask. You still can’t quite place what it is.

“I never did thank you for the mare,” you say quietly, watching him focus on the stone ceiling.

The fire hisses again as it cools.

“Thank you…” you continue, the words sincere yet hesitant. “She’s perfect… and I’ll treasure her forever.”

The embers release one last dying breath.

His lower right eye slowly falls over at you. The upper one joins it a heartbeat later.

Even in the black, with only a pocket of waning glow, you catch the corner of his mouth twitching into the softest smirk you’ve ever seen on him.

Your foolish heart aches at the sight, and you mentally kick that feeling into some dark corner.

“Get some rest, brat,” he mumbles, rolling onto his side again. “You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

Pulling the blanket up, it takes a long time before you realize the corners of your mouth are curving into a smile. Smothering it, you roll onto your side, mirroring his back, and drift into a dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

The late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky when you and the King of Curses finally ride into the Kasai compound. Yesterday's weather delayed your journey, and when you arrive, the place is already bright with activity.

People—family members, guests, attendants, other clans. There’s so much noise, so much chatter. Laughter, singing, jeering. If you listen closely, you can even catch the occasional shameless moan of a man enjoying himself a bit too openly with his concubine.

It’s going to be a long night.

Your eyes wander ahead, trying to decipher what Sukuna might be thinking. When you woke this morning, he was already up—less agitated but still contemplative. His energy seemed more subdued, enough that even Ayana allowed him to water and feed her.

Something has shifted on your journey, though you can’t quite name it. Perhaps it was the time away from the shrine or the moments spent alone.

But the sense of something being broken between you two remains.

There’s also a nagging voice inside insisting that something is wrong despite the countless reasons that could explain it.

As you approach the stables, you watch him closely. He surveys the surroundings—the gaudy estate, the limestone barrier, the tops of the yew trees forming the grove along the perimeter—studying everything in great detail before finally turning his attention to the stables.

Inside, retainers and attendants mill about, drinking and chatting as they tend to a slew of horses—likely their way of passing the time while whoever they’re here with spends the day getting properly shitfaced.

But as you enter—more precisely, as he enters—everything comes to a standstill.

You expected Sukuna to draw attention—his reputation, appearance, energy. Today is no exception. As you ride further inside, every weary eye falls on the four-armed creature. Then those eyes shift to you. And any hope of going unnoticed while here, gone.

Your jaw tightens, muscles coiling.

When Sukuna dismounts, the stables fall into a cage of silence, broken only by the restless movements of the tethered horses. They sway and knock their hooves in agitation as conversations die to murmurs. It almost feels like that night seven years ago when deranged whispers spoke of a demon’s arrival in the north.

Now, that same demon is here again, but this time, he’s among them.

Sukuna’s red orbs sweep the stables, making most avert their eyes, a few bow their heads, and some turn away completely.

“Fucking fools.” A deep cackle erupts from his chest, and from atop Ayana, you spot a grin sneaking across his face—pleased with their fear and likely pleased with himself.

Hell, this is going to be a long night.

With one last twisted flash of his teeth and a glare that skewers the onlookers, he turns, pushes back the strands of his wind-tousled hair and locks eyes with you.

One side of his mouth curves up smoothly. This man is a terror, but damn it, you were so blind before, only seeing the cruelty in his face. Terrifying, even.

Now, you couldn’t deny it—you see what else he is—breathtaki—

Gods, fucking take me.

Large hands slide around your waist, fingers crowding into the curve of your spine as he lifts you from the saddle.

“Oy! I can dismount on my own!” you snap, feet thudding into the hay-covered floor.

Disregarding your protests, Sukuna draws you in until his mouth brushes your ear, a stream of warm breath tickling your skin. Inwardly, you curse yourself because, for a moment, your eyes flutter at the contact.

“Remember, we made a deal,” he murmurs, voice low, just for you. “We’re here now, and I want that name.”

Your heart pounds.

Impatient.

You’d barely touched solid ground, and he’s pressing for it already? What will he do once you give it up—or if he drags it from you? Though you might know the answer to this, and it’s bloody.

You turn, finding his face close to yours. Instinct makes you lean back, but he cocks his eyebrow and hauls you closer, unfolding to his height and gripping your wrist.

“Don’t make this harder for yourself,” he growls through his teeth, digging his fingertips into your skin until it hurts. “You may think you see me, but you have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Lord Sukuna, in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve lived in these parts the entire time you’ve been destroying them,” you hiss quietly while flexing the hand he grips. “So I know exactly what you’re capable of.”

Or most of it.

You’re not sure you want to know the rest.

The pressure on your wrist increases while his jaw tightens as if he were gnashing your words around with his teeth.

“Yes. And isn’t fate just a cruel bitch that you were?”

Your nose wrinkles at his words.

“Lord Sukuna!”

Multiple footsteps thud inside the stables, and a loud, boisterous voice draws your and the King of Curses’ attention.

“Welcome!”

One of your father’s attendants steps forward and bows, lifting her head. Despite her magnanimous welcome, there’s a nervousness in her eyes.

“Please, this way.” She gestures toward the stony path leading away from the stables. “And my Lady, your father will expect to see you before you settle in.”

Great.

“All right. Thank you,” you reply.

She steps outside, leaving two other attendants to handle your trunks and tether the horses. Sukuna glances once more at the two mounts as if assessing them before stepping onto the path.

Following the attendant, she leads you through a screen of hedges. The route winding discreetly along the estate’s perimeter, skirting the front gardens and leading into the compound. No doubt she’s been instructed to bring you inside through quieter means, a poor attempt to keep the King of Curses out of sight as much as possible.

Once inside, the attendant brings you to a secluded room. Bowing once more, she slides the door open. You follow Sukuna inside, kneeling on the floor as the door closes behind you, sealing in the quiet, leaving you both to wait.

Seconds stretch into minutes. Minutes feel like an eternity. Your mind starts pacing like a chained dog. Every sound—footsteps passing by, distant drunken laughter—sets you on edge.

You pick at your gloves and shift your posture, knees bent, feet tucked underneath you.

“You’re tense,” Sukuna points out. Your eyes peek over at his relaxed stance. “Any stiffer, and you’re bound to snap in half like a twig.”

He sinks back into his lean, sitting casually, his upper arms resting at his sides, one knee bent, and his lower arm draped over it, fingers tapping idly.

“I’m fine,” you say, squirming to find a more comfortable position.

Sukuna huffs.

“Idiot.”

More time trickles by, and under your growing impatience, you begin to warm. The multiple layers of clothing draw sweat to the surface of your skin. You move your hands to your cloak, ready to remove it, when fingers clamp around your wrist and pull them away.

“Leave it,” Sukuna growls.

You shoot him a bewildered look, preparing to utter a curse at him, but he jerks his head to the door, listening intently, straining for something just out of reach. You’ve seen him do this before, and it’s never a good omen. The last time you saw that expression, a polearm had been hurtling toward you moments later.

Outside the room come soft sounds. Delicate footsteps and a whisper of fabric brushing against the floor.

A pause.

Four red eyes dart back and forth.

The hand at your wrist tightens.

The door slides open, and your sister steps inside. Sukuna’s hand slips away.

“Yuna.” A smile spreads across your face, lifting your cheeks until they ache.

“Sister!” White silk swishes at her ankles. “You came.”

She’s outfitted in a beautiful pale kimono, and her hair and makeup are perfectly done for the festivities. The gem of the Kasai clan, indeed. Compared to her, after three days on the road, you feel like a ragged, unkempt toad.

Grinning, you start to rise to your feet, ready to go to her and gather her in your arms, but a snag at the back of your cloak holds you in place—Sukuna’s lower right hand. You stop moving. It shifts, sliding up to the top of your spine before trailing slowly down, vertebra by vertebra, until it passes over your obi and settles at the small of your back.

The possessiveness of his touch has a shiver spiralling through you.

Suddenly but carefully, he unfurls himself to his towering height, pulling you up and not letting go.

Yuna’s eyes hover between you and the King of Curses, her expression one of rapt attention.

“Hello, my Lord.” She bows formally, eyelashes fluttering. Then she lifts her head, and a graceful smile touches her painted lips. “It’s always lovely to see you.”

Sukuna says nothing.

A horrible silence descends upon the room.

The three of you remain in place.

They stare at each other—her features unreadable, his a challenging one, head cocking to the side in a sharp, smooth motion.

You feel the muscles in his arm tensing behind you, his fingers gripping the fabric of your garment with more force.

Yuna’s smile widens, eyes brightening with a strange recollection.

And then, ever so softly—

“I knew it…”

“Ah! My daughter!” Your father’s loud announcement cuts through the increasingly crowded room. The pungent scent of alcohol reaches you even from where you stand. “You’ve finally made it. I was getting worried something may have happened to you.”

Lying to your face, how refreshing.

He turns to the King of Curses and bows. Sukuna doesn’t return it, making the balance of power unmistakably clear.

At the door, another figure enters, your attention swinging to them.

Onishi, with his swollen face and all.

Hideous bruises snake out from below the cotton strips, trying in vain to hold the nose you had broken into place. It looks hastily treated, an effort to appear decent in public.

A tinge of satisfaction curves your lips.

He moves across the room and takes a spot behind your father, leaning against the wall. His eyes meet yours, glinting probably from the memory of when he had you pinned against the limestone barrier, hands touching your breasts, invading your space. Almost as if reading your thoughts, the bastard gives you a discreet wink.

The fucking audacity.

Your hands curl into fists, leather gloves creaking softly.

Calm down.

Your eyes shift away, only to find Sukuna watching. A quick glance shows his lower eyes trained on you, while the others settle firmly on Onishi’s bruised, crooked face.

Knowing him, he’s bound to piece this together without a word from you.

With more pressure, the hand at your tailbone splays across the small of your back. Surprisingly, it grounds you.

“Yuna,” your father says, pulling your attention from the warmth flooding you. “Why don’t you go back to our guests? I’d like a small word with your sister.”

“Of course.” Yuna bows and heads to the door. Halfway there, she flicks you a look. “I’ll find you at some point tonight, all right?” she whispers.

You give her a soft nod.

“Oh, and daughter.” Your father adds, making her pause. “Send them in.”

A tight smile replaces her easy one. She leaves, but taking her place are three beautiful women, by their well-kept clothing they’re attendants or—

"Our guest should be made comfortable,” your father states, gesturing to the trio before turning his gaze to Sukuna. “They’re yours. Do what you wish with them.”

What?

A sour taste churns your stomach.

Sukuna eyes them as they approach. Their pupils odd, blown wide.

“This way, my Lord,” they chime in unison, coaxing him toward the door.

A sharp, needling sensation splits you sternum to chest, dragging with it an emotion you don’t want. Sukuna’s hand slips away from your back, and the entire room seems to stutter as you desperately try to catch his eyes. But he doesn’t look your way.

You’ve never been in a relationship—real or otherwise—but something is there. That sticky, unforgiving emotion that feels like swallowing fire, burning deep and spreading through your body, making your skin prickle with heat.

Jealousy. This is jealousy.

You watch, unable to tear your focus away. Their nimble fingers trace up his arms, gripping his clothing, smoothing it, touching the contours of his muscles. Cooing and preening. One of their fingers skims the ink on his wrist, peeking out from his kimono. And it's that touch, that brief skin-to-skin contact, so simple and insignificant, that stings more than anything else.

He claimed to regret what he did to you when you first met, and now here you are, stumbling all over yourself.

Pathetic.

Look away.

Your eyes shift to your father, who is watching you closely. Is this a test? A trap? A scheme laid out for you to fall into?

Has he charmed you, daughter?

His words ring out inside your head.

So what if he had? What if—

No.

But deep down, you knew you were well and truly fucked. This monster has started taking that tiny sliver from you that you once promised you’d never surrender.

A sudden urge to laugh squeezes your lungs fiercely.

One of the women giggles, and Sukuna’s mouth pulls into a sneer.

Say something.

“We’ll give you a bath, my Lord.” Another of them hums, making your heart lurch while they pull him towards the door.

Do something.

Brows pinched, Sukuna leaves, his upper arms folded across his chest while the lower ones hang at his sides, the women clinging to him like parasites.

A glance back and four fiery orbs find yours, brimming with intimidating annoyance, deepening the crease above your nose.

“I’ll see to you after,” he says, giving you a sidelong glance before he steps from the room, the women trailing closely behind.

“He probably won’t fit in the bath. My Lord’s body is too big,” one of them complains, their voices fading down the corridor.

“Perhaps we can use our mouths instead.”

More tittering, more giggles.

The door falls shut.

You stare at the spot he just stood for too long, long enough to hear your father clear his throat. You lift your eyes, pushing away those raw, unwanted emotions, though the place where he had touched your back still burns.

Focus.

You straighten.

Your father scrubs his jaw, his attention settling on you, and you keep your expression neutral. No cracks, nothing.

Onishi, still leaning against the wall, retrieves an object from his kimono to fiddle with. It's small, a box, and fits perfectly in his palm. He rotates it repeatedly, each side catching the light as it turns, his eyes never leaving yours. For some reason, you’re certain he must not have told your father about your encounter weeks ago; otherwise, you would have been reprimanded by now.

As he turns the object again, you notice the sides are decorated with hooded slits.

He turns it over again.

And again.

And—

“Well.” Your father’s voice pulls your focus back to him. “You’re here, and you managed to bring the creature with you. Well done.”

He pauses.

You can hear the unspoken words: Lured the creature here.

There’s a genuine smile on his face, as if, for the first time in his life, he’s proud of you.

Proud of you.

The thought leaves you conflicted because there’s another look there, one that’s not entirely tinged with contempt but carries a glimmer of care, as if he’s seeing you differently.

“You have your extra month,” he grants. “Your sister is safe once again.”

It’s a simple statement that should bring relief. A long time ago, you might have leapt at that look, like a dog waiting for scraps of affection. But now, all you feel is numbness.

“Thank you, Father.” The words carry no real sentiment.

You bow, and he smiles.

“Good. Now go.” He flicks two fingers toward the door. “Get washed up and dressed. And don’t forget to enjoy yourself.” His hawkish eyes lock onto you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl with disgust. “For once, you’ve earned it.”

* * * * *

Knock, knock, knock.

“My Lady? Are you decent?” A female voice calls from the other side of the door.

An hour has passed since you returned to your old chambers to prepare for the festivities.

It didn’t take long to bathe, slip into your new kimono, tie your obi, and slide your concealed scabbard into place. The makeup you applied—powder, kohl—was simple, nothing elaborate.

During your time alone, your mind continually replayed the earlier encounter with your sister, the three women, your father, Onishi… Sukuna.

Something feels wrong, but you’re unable to slide what that is into place.

Mind churning chaotically, you were in the middle of combing your hair when the knock interrupted your preparation.

Now, as the sun sets, a lantern sits beside you, it’s light flickering on the wooden floor. Red fires the edges of your garment to black.

“Yes,” you call out. “You may enter.”

Resting your hands on your thighs, comb in hand, your eyes shift to the door.

It slides open.

One of the women from earlier stands there, anxious, chin cast down. Your mouth twitches with barely concealed disappointment. She bows and quickly steps aside.

The King of Curses steps unexpectedly into view, blackening the doorway, his eyes locking onto you kneeling on the floor.

“Oh, Lord Sukuna.” You rise, the clack of your footwear echoing on wood.

A soft bow of your head, then you lift it. He’s dressed in colours matching yours: a deep, muted purple kimono, like a swollen bruise, nearly black, painful in its intensity, and perfectly moulded to him. Your gaze drops to his waist—his obi is a burnt umber, again, like yours, though his attire is stark, without embroidery. One more glance shows his hair swept back, all controlled chaos.

His eyes rake over you from head to toe, a muscle in his neck pulsing. At his side, all four of his hands tense, then release, as if he were restraining the urge to use them for something.

It’s hard to breathe when he looks at you like this—hungry. He is hungry.

“Leave,” he orders, flicking a hand dismissively at the woman. She bows and retreats, eager to put space between herself and him.

Without tearing his eyes away from you, Sukuna steps inside and shuts the door, dimming the room, making his scarlet eyes glow in the low light.

“Continue.” He grins, nodding his chin at the comb in your hand, then circles you.

Watching him, you sink back to the floor, resuming your kneeling posture and sliding the comb through your hair. His mouth twitches as he observes. This close, you catch the clean scent of him—no blood or ash, but something fresh. Cypress, perhaps.

“Did you need something, my Lord?” you ask quietly as he steps away, choosing to scrutinize your room in far greater detail than you’d like.

“Do I need a reason to see my wife?” He pulls a scroll lined with poetry from the shelf, inspects it, and makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a scoff before sliding it back. “Besides, I told you—you’re not leaving my side.”

But you did.

The image of the trio of women taking him into their mouths flashes through your subconscious. Anger has you pulling the comb through your hair with more force.

He glances over, catching your expression before you can look away.

“No, you don’t need a reason. I just thought perhaps you would be too preoccupied with other company,” you say, striving to keep the bitterness out of your voice. But it’s there.

The comb continues to move, your fingers following it.

A calm settles over the room, broken only by the soft crackle of the lantern's flame, until Sukuna chuckles. The sound breaks the silence, swelling into loud, insidious laughter that makes your teeth click together.

“You really are fucking stupid, you know that?” He steps around and comes to stand in front of you, the earlier grin on his face gone. “You can barely see what’s right in front of you, even when it’s still. It’s pathetic!”

You glare at him, the comb stilling in your hand before you set it aside and look away.

“I see just fine,” you mumble, picking up a hairpin with a pearl inlay.

Sukuna sinks to his haunches. Two fingers slide slowly across the underside of your chin, hooking and guiding your face to his.

“Oh, she sees just fine, does she?” he mocks, cruelly mimicking your voice.

A weight settles on your chest while your body silently begs you to turn away from him.

“She sees everything? Even what hides in plain sight?” he continues, then pauses.

Three heartbeats later, he tilts his head, squinting at you as his expression shifts from pity to seething hatred. The sudden flare of anger in his eyes disarms you.

“No… that’s not it, is it?” His gaze narrows, searching for something you can’t comprehend.

The air between you tightens.

Jabbing his fingertips into your chin, he forces you to straighten and lean toward him, so you must brace a hand against the floor between his knees.

“There are so many hooks in you…” he rumbles quietly, his thumb crawling up to smooth over the swell of your cheek. “So many pulling, all at once.”

He traces up to your temple, applying more pressure. Nervousness climbs into your throat, but despite it, you roughly pull your chin from his grip.

“What are you even rambling about?” you mutter.

A split breaks between his eyebrow and mask and his hands fall to his sides.

He clicks his tongue in agitation.

“Nothing, brat,” he grumbles, before reaching into his obi and suddenly pulling out a pear.

You quirk an eyebrow at it.

He takes a bite, the juice glistening on his lips as he leans back, letting go of your jaw.

You sit up straight, readjusting your posture.

“Where’d you get that from?” you ask, hands reaching to the crown of your head to part the silky strands of hair and twist a section, weaving the hairpin through it.

Sukuna moves to lean against the wall.

“The kitchen,” he replies, tracking your hands and the precise movements of your fingers. “I was hungry.”

As always.

He takes another bite.

“So, you’re just walking around here like you own the place?”

“Anyone who sees me coming usually shits themselves. Here, with all your kin wandering around, it’s easy enough to get a simple piece of fruit.”

Of course, they’re afraid. He’s been eating and killing them for years.

Another bite.

“I can understand why,” you say, letting your eyes trail down the length of his body.

His teeth flash.

“Nearly two months at my shrine, and my wife is still frightened of me?” he asks, amused.

Your eyes dart away, focusing ahead as the cool texture of the pin grazes your scalp.

“Your appearance… no.”

Your actions, yes.

With the hairpin in place, you reach for your comb and draw a few strands forward to frame your face—or to shield yourself.

“Oh? If my appearance doesn’t scare you, perhaps you'd like to share your thoughts about it.”

After tapping the pin one last time to ensure it’s secure, you lower your hands to your lap and glance over at him. The piece of fruit already eaten and gone.

“You want to know what I think about… your appearance?” You arch an eyebrow, features folding into soft confusion.

He crosses his upper arms over his chest, tapping a finger impatiently as he waits for an answer.

“You’re…”

A pause. He taps again.

You’re unwilling to admit how he’s begun to haunt you, how he’s slipping into your dreams, your thoughts, and worse into your—

“You’re adequate, my Lord.”

His chest swells, as if he’s about to burst into laughter, and you quickly turn away, grabbing your dark leather gloves from the floor.

“Adequate.” His voice fades into a condescending chuckle.

Through the curtain of hair, you see him push away from the wall and step toward you.

“Is that truly the grand assessment my wife can offer? Adequate?” He bends slightly. “But perhaps 'adequate' suits you just as well.”

You scoff.

“And here I thought I was uglier than you expected,” you mumble, fiddling with one glove as you slide it on, trying not to relive the first words he ever spoke to you.

Sukuna leans in further, forcing you to look up.

“I lied,” he hisses in your face, eyes flaring wide.

“What?” You shoot him an exasperated glare as you get to your feet.

For reasons you can’t quite place, your instinct is to punch him in the throat, knee him in the cocks, curse him into oblivion—and judging by the smirk growing on his face, the bastard knows it.

“Tch, don’t look at me like that.” His orbs brighten, as if this reaction brings him pleasure. “Your fragile emotions are so easy to fuck with.”

Another scoff. You start slipping on your second glove.

“Then��” You don’t know why you’re asking, but the words come out. Maybe some self conscious part of you just wants to know, even from him. “What… do you think of me?”

His grin falters, and you avert your gaze, a flush of embarrassment shading your features at how vain you sound.

“Never mind, don’t answer that.” One last soft tug, and the leather fits snugly over your fingers.

Sukuna steps closer, exhaling sharply.

You turn back to face him.

His lower eyes stare at your hands.

“You’re—”

“A sickness?” Your barb interrupts him.

“Fucking trouble,” he growls roughly, stepping closer. The palm of his upper left hand moves to your waist and slides to your obi, making you jump at the contact

“A nuisance.” Softer this time. His fingertips slip beneath, finding the scabbard hidden there.

“Something unexpected.” The pads of his fingers trace over it slowly, his four eyes following the movement as if mesmerized.

“Perhaps… something pleasant.” His voice turns to a deep purr, and when his hooded eyes lift, your cheeks threaten to warm. Then, with a flick of two fingers against the scabbard, a sharp sting jolts your abdomen. You wince. It’s such a subtle tap, yet it carries so much force. Grinning, he thumps it again before pulling back and striding to the door.

“Come.” He slides it open and steps out, demeanour turning severe. “It’s time to go.”

A heavy exhale punches past your lips.

Spilling into the corridor, you watch Sukuna step into the throat of the right passage instead of the left, the one that would discreetly shuffle you into the festivities.

“Where are you going?” you ask wearily.

He stops and glances over his shoulder at you, then to the left corridor.

Understanding washes over him.

“You expect me to sneak in there?” He turns, his face twisting into one of annoyance. “Is that what you expect of me?”

“No,” you say.

It's less about him and more about yourself—an unwillingness to face all those judgmental eyes leering at you. The last time you were here, the insults and gawking looks had been draining.

Demon’s whore. Cunt. Oni bitch.

“Ah, I see.” Sukuna folds his lower arms at his torso. “The little snake is afraid.”

Your mouth twitches.

He gives you a mocking pout, then raises his upper right arm.

“Left—” A finger points down the corridor ahead. “—and you can sneak in like a mutt, with your tail tucked between your legs. Or, you can go right—” Another finger points toward the passage where loud voices trickle out. “—and walk through those insects with your head held high.”

Doubt creeping in, you glance to the corridor on the right. The idea of stepping into the heart of the hall feels daunting. Years of being cast aside and mistreated keep you from doing something so rash.

But perhaps, just this once, you will be brave.

Eyes glittering, you look back at Sukuna.

He lifts his eyebrow.

“It’s your choice.”

My choice.

For so long, choices have felt like sand passing through your fingers, never truly yours.

Elusive. False.

A persuasion to live a life that isn’t your own.

With a controlled inhale, you lift your head and incline your chin. Your sandals tap softly as you step toward him, choosing right.

You pause.

“It’s only proper for you to go first, my Lord.”

Tradition dictates that men of his status lead the way, and you to follow. Yet the King of Curses steps behind you, bending down to lean over your shoulder.

“Mhm, no,” he husks calmly. “I prefer the view from here.”

A hand gently pushes into your hair, pulling the strands back to your shoulder and exposing the scar he left on your neck.

A reminder.

“I’d hate to miss the look on everyone’s face when they see you, of all people, march in there like you own the place.” He pauses, hand moving, he traces your nape with a finger before circling the bone at the base of your neck. “The dutiful daughter, the shadow of the Kasai clan—”

A beat.

“The one given to me so willingly.”

The hair lifts on the back of your neck.

Your eyes dart to him, catching the smirk in his voice.

The nagging voice in your head cuts through, louder this time, screaming that something is deeply wrong.

His other hand moves, curling under your chin and tilting your face up to meet his scarlet eyes.

“Besides,” he hums arrogantly. “I’ll be right behind you.”

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 25

#sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #dark content #heian sukuna #beneath the silk #dark fantasy #jjk fanfic #sukuna smut #true form sukuna #sukuna fanfic

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