#the way the corners of his mouth just go down

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Hits Different

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

Summary: Reader gets jealous when some women start hitting on Aaron at the bar on their team night out

CW: drunk!Hotch, jealous!Reader, mentions of an unsub and murder, drinking, confessions, makeout, Hotch being handsy, kinda needy!Hotch?

a/n: I’m literally obsessed with Aaron Hotchner rn

~~~

“No— I can’t,” you opposed as your coworkers decided to order another round of shots. Cheeks glowing as the alcohol seeped into you. Smiling as Derek put his arm around you and J.J. reached across the table to encourage you.

It was a Thursday night. You all had just gotten back from a week long endeavor in Utah. Local killer had his sight on some local young women. Killing them in some ritual style way that the drinks helped you fuzz the memory of. Luckily after you had addressed the public, he grew sloppy and was easily caught.

And now, back in your home state, you all crowded into a local bar to relax. And when the BAU “relaxed” it usually involved some heavy drinking.

“Shots! Shots! Sh-Shots!” Penelope and Emily chanted to the tune of the Lil Jon song. You laughed, a subtle snort escaping you. Rossi came back with the tray, beginning to pass them out to everyone.

Aaron Hotchner hovered behind him. Already having downed three glasses of scotch and beaming with alcohol on his face. It was a rare occasion that Hotch got drunk. Usually he just sipped at one drink while everyone else got themselves into trouble. But tonight he decided to let loose. Taking two glasses off the tray and squeezing in next to you in the already tight booth. Sitting them down in front of the two of you. Hooded eyes squinted upward in a closed-mouth smile as his eyebrows raised at you.

And you felt your face completely flush. Since your time at the BAU, you had developed a crush on your superior. Even if it was inappropriate and the age gap was a bit large, you still harbored feelings for him. And moments like this did not help.

Completely engulfed by the aroma of his cologne. Trying not to make it obvious you were smelling him. Hotch wrapped his arm around you absentmindedly. Leaning in and holding one of the glasses up to you. “Are you gonna do a shot with me?” His slightly slurred words melted against your skin. His voice somehow deeper and sultrier than ever. Everyone else was too distracted by the giggling of drunken excitement for more drinks to notice what was happening. It was like you two were alone for a moment.

You smiled, nodding slowly as he passed you the shot in his hand. Picking up the other and wrapping his arm around yours. Intertwined so that your hands were back against your own mouths. You were beyond flustered with the contact he was making with you. Hotch began counting down, both of you throwing the alcohol back on three.

Sucking your teeth as it burned down your throat. Hotch blew his breath out. You watched as his nose scrunched up at the taste. Shaking off the strong taste as Hotch leaned in against you. His head bumping against yours for a moment. Lips pressing against your ear in his drunk state.

“Want me to go get us som’more drinks? You like something more fruity, right?” Hotch suggested, deep voice ringing in your ear. The feeling of his lips grazing your skin had you sweating.

“Only if you’re buying,” you pulled at his tie softly. Causing his eyes to lock into yours, corner of his mouth curving up. His eyes scanned your figure momentarily before getting up and strutting over to the bar.

“Oh. My. God.” J.J.’s voice pulled you back from your staring problem you had with Hotch. You whipped your neck to face her, adjusting your posture in the seat. Shaking your head slightly, “What?”

“What was that about?” J.J. grinned brightly, eyes bouncing from Hotch to you.

“We were just doing some shots together,” you felt your face heating up again. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as your mouth ran dry.

“The only other instances of Hotch getting that close to any of us was when we were hurt,” Spencer chimed in with his analytical sounding tone. Still as smart as ever even while drunk.

“Oh God, you guys,” you shook your head and scooted out of the booth. Stretching your legs for the first time tonight. Hands resting on the table as you got closer to the opposing side. Being eye-to-eye with J.J. and Spencer, “You guys know he acts different when he’s relaxed. It’s nothing.”

Spencer and J.J. exchanged a look of uncertainty. Neither of them believing what you had just said. Rolling your eyes at their smirking expressions. Catching on easily to the feelings you had for your boss.

Downside of having friends who are profilers.

“Drop it,” you pointed at them with two fingers. Your friends began snickering and laughing. You could not help but smile back at them. Laughter was contagious when you were intoxicated. You turned to meet your crush at the bar.

You froze.

Some woman was cuddled up with Hotch at the bar. Breasts peaking out of the top of her thin shirt, curled hair falling below her shoulders, and a beautiful face of makeup. Your heart sank down to your ankles. Watching as her hand trailed his chest. Watching how her perfectly glossed lips popped as she spoke to him inaudibly.

Worst of all: his smile.

SSA Hotchner tended to be gruff and stern. Brooding and unreadable. Purely business around you and the other members of the BAU. Stoic and distant. Something you all agreed was so he did not get overly attached, just in case something happened to one of you. Rarely smiling other than seeing his sweet son, Jack.

Guess tonight was different.

Rosey cheeks and perfect teeth painted his expression. Eyes locked in on the woman before him. Your hands began shaking at your sides. If it was not a cartoon cliche, you would have had smoke coming out of your ears. Teeth grinding together behind tightly pierced lips.

Rethinking any hints he may have given you. Feeling like you had fooled yourself into a crush. Angry that some random bitch woman was getting too friendly with Hotch.

Unable to take it anymore. Jealousy brewing inside you, ready to overflow. You marched up to the bar, immediately pulling Hotch’s attention from the woman.

“Sorry to interrupt—“

“Hi, Y/N,” Hotch smiled at you. Causing butterflies to flutter in your intestines. Especially with the casualty of your first name.

God, he was drunk.

“SSA Y/L/N,” you extended your hand out to the woman, lip twitching when she shined her perfect smile. Flaring your nostrils and locking your jaw when your hand met hers.

“Hi! I’m Hope,” her peppy attitude made you sick to your stomach. Trying your best to fake your expression. Anger causing a slight shake to your demeanor.

“Right…” you trailed off, looking at Hotch whose eyes had not left you yet, “Hotch—“

“C’mon, Y/N. You can call me Aaron here,” he leaned in and whispered to you. Chills ran down your entire body when the heat from his lips radiated against your skin. Swallowing the lump in your throat.

Oh, he was REALLY drunk.

“Aaron,” you started, watching him smile at you saying his first name, “Did you get my drink?”

Hotch’s hand came up cupping his cheek as his eyes squinted, “Oh my God. That’s why I came up here. I totally forgot—“

“Don’t worry about it, Hotch,” your frustration took over your attitude. Fists clinching at your sides. Feeling tears beginning to burn behind your eyes. Deciding to storm off without the drink. Heading towards the long corridor to the bathrooms.

“Y/N—“ Hotch reached out to you with a confusion behind his tone. Not caring enough to listen to whatever excuse his drunken self was gonna give you. Trying your best not to make a scene so none of your coworkers would notice and come after you. Really just needing to be alone.

You leaned against the cold wall, hands holding onto each of your arms. Head resting against the brick of the dimly lit hallway. Fighting your eyes that begged to leak with your feelings. And you felt stupid. Did you really think your own boss would be interested in you? Enough to not get distracted by the beautiful woman at the bar? Please.

Feeling suddenly sober at the heartbreak in your chest. Hands coming up to cover your redening face. Embarrassed that you had even toyed with the notion. Knowing it was completely against protocol to fraternize with coworkers. Let alone with your superior—

“Y/N?” Hotch’s somber voice broke you away from the thoughts filling your mind.

You blinked your eyes open. Manually breathing as your shoulders rose and fell. Controlling the water that begged to pour from your eyes. Clicking your tongue as you spoke, “Hotch.”

“I told you, you could call me Aaron here,” he leaned against the wall beside you. Arms folded over his broad chest. Pondering the informality before looking back to him.

“I thought you saved that for pretty girls at the bar,” you half-heartedly smiled. Flaring your nostrils as you contorted your face to hide your frown.

Hotch laughed, bearing that smile that had you seeing stars. Eyes closing for a moment, giving you the opportunity to linger in it. Enjoying him being this casual with you.

“Is that not what you are?” Hotch asked.

You whipped your head to look at him again. Brows furrowed tightly together as your mouth hung open in confusion. “What?”

Hotch rose a brow, “Are you not a pretty girl? At the bar with me right now?”

You blinked as you stammered, “I— Not like… I mean— not like that girl at the bar…” You trailed off completely dumbfounded by his statement. Hotch watched you with a smile. His own cheeks still red.

“You think I’m pretty?” You finally formed a cohesive sentence unable to stop your mouth from curving into a smile.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Hotch’s hooded eyes stared into yours. Taken aback by that. Questioning for a moment if he was mocking you. Realizing by his expression he was not.

“You’re drunk, Hotch—“

“Aaron,” he corrected, “And, yeah I am drunk. But just drunk enough to finally be honest with you about that.” Hotch’s tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lip. Hand coming up and rubbing his neck at his confession.

“You didn’t have to come back here just to try and make me feel better. You were having a good chat with that woman at the bar. She was so beautiful, and made you smile, and not a part of the BAU, and—“ you covered your mouth getting embarrassed and shameful.

Hotch’s hand caressed your cheek. Pulling you back to him. His brows laid flat against his eyes. Lips pressed firmly together, watching his throat bob with the swallow he took. Thumb rubbing circles into your warm cheek, swiping away the singular line of tears that streamed down.

“I’m sorry— it’s the alcohol, that’s why I’m crying—“

Hotch cut you off by pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. Your eyes flew open. Hand gently resting against his chest as you savored the feeling of his lips on yours. Feeling your breath hitch in your throat and heart swell.

“You taste so sweet,” Hotch groaned, both hands gripping your face now. The primal noises he made causing arousal to swirl around your belly. Feeling its residue stick to your panties. His lips trailed down your jaw to your neck. Nipping against your soft skin as his hands roamed down the backside of your body. Gasping when his large hands groped your ass.

“I get chit-chatty when I’m drunk. That girl at the bar didn’t matter at all,” Hotch promised against your skin with kisses breaking up his sentences.

“You won’t even remember this in the morning,” you giggled when he took your earlobe between his teeth. Feeling a somberness sinking into your gut.

“How could I forgot this?” Hotch breathed into your ear. Sounding like he was desperate and almost completely out of breath, “Forget about you?”

Hotch pulled back to look into your eyes. Really taking in your face before him. Your eyes kept darting between his and his lips. Smiling when you could still taste him on your lips.

You pressed up on your toes, lips meeting his again. Tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Sloppily intertwining together. Huffs and grunts coming from Hotch as he pulled your front flush against his. You blushed at the feeling of his bulge.

“What about the team?” You questioned as the weight of the situation became suddenly apparent.

“I don’t care about them right now,” Hotch pressed his lips back to yours. Kissing away any fear or dread that was in your mind. Completely consuming you. Smiling as you both allowed hands to roam the other’s body.

You broke the kiss momentarily, “So— wait— you mean Rossi thinks I’m pretty too?” You teased him, grinning from ear to ear.

“Watch it,” Hotch smiled with a playful aggression on his tone, capturing you back in a kiss. Laughing together as you pressed lips together.

~~~

[END//?]

// Thank you so much for reading! I’m having such a blast writing for Hotch right now. Honestly, I’m think about making a smutty part 2 to this fic if anyone was interested. If you have requests or want to be tagged in any future Fics, let me know! //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @boybandbaby ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~ @justyourusualash ~ @mrs-ssa-hotch ~

[peachesofteal]

I know Azriel has amassed a ton of wealth over centuries from doing the dirtiest work, and rarely spends it. He's never really had a need to. Of course, he buys gifts for his family, covers tabs at Rita's, buys himself things, essentials, etc but when it comes to spending for enjoyment or spending to indulge, it just doesn't happen.

He's not looking for reasons, either, until he literally stumbles into one.

You trip and fall into him in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Trip over something on the ground, get twisted up, and flail forward, right into his path. You're rose and pink pepper, floral, sharp, sweet in a way he cannot fathom, and he doesn't think before stopping your fall. He just reacts, grabbing you around the arms and pulling you upright, holding you steady as you recalibrate your balance, looking up into his face, eyes shining bright like the stars. They're brilliant, full of life, but lined with an undercurrent of stress, of worry, he does not understand.

You're fumbling over an apology as he studies you, scrutinizing every detail on your face, down to the chap of your lips.

He's never seen a High Fae look so... off before, and they're not known to be clumsy.

"Are you alright?" It's polite to inquire, he assures himself, it's the right thing to do.

"I'm fine," you smile but it doesn't touch your eyes, "thanks. Sorry about that. I wasn't watching where I was going." He's unsure what to say next but before he can come up with something, you're giving him a quick thank you, and then disappearing into market.

He thinks about you that night. Wonders about you, as he stares at the bedroom ceiling. You obviously weren't well. Maybe he should have done more. It's his duty, isn't it? To Velaris? To care for it and its citizens, to protect them. Or at least, you. Do something to care for you, protect you.

He's not sure what to do, so he pushes the lingering questions from his mind.

And then the following week, he sees you at Rita's.

You're waiting tables, waltzing across the floor delivering drinks with a smile, the same one that slips away as soon as you're out of sight. Your shoulders slump as you stand at the corner of the bar, covering your mouth with your palm, yawning into it again and again.

Maybe he should do something, maybe you need a healer, maybe he could help-

No. He shouldn't. You probably wouldn't want him to, anyway. Right?

He shakes it off, tries to shake you off but can't stop himself from watching every step you take, trying to diagnose the problem.

It takes too long for it to click.

You're not sick, or clumsy.

You're exhausted, and it makes him irrationally angry, fills him with a need to drag you away from Rita's and tuck you up into a house somewhere, a place you'll never have to lift a finger again if you so choose. A place where you could be taken care of-

maybe even by him.

It takes him very little time to find the ramshackle duplex you live in on the outskirts of town, the roof too sloped, the wooden steps too rotted, the siding too loose.

It makes him uneasy, makes his skin crawl. Why are you here, in a place like this? Who has allowed this?

Why does a place like this even exist when Velaris has such wealth?

He begins to play a game, and at first, he tells himself it's to make himself feel better, that he's doing it for selfish reasons.

It's winter, and you don't have gloves, so he buys a pair and the shadows deposit them on your front step, and it makes the sick feeling in his stomach go away. For a few days.

When it returns, he buys you a hat, and this time, he delivers it himself, eager to see your reaction.

He doesn't expect to see the gloves still sitting on the porch, and he frowns. Did you not see them? Did you not like them? He leaves the hat at their side and lurks on the roof of the house across from yours, hiding in shadow, in wait.

The sun is still rising when you leave for your first job of the day, and you stop short at the sight of the hat. He perks up, expecting to see you relax with relief, or happiness, but is left confused when you hold the hat in your hands for a moment, reverently tracing the stitching, before dropping it back next to the gloves.

Why? You need these things. They're being given anonymously, alleviating some of awkwardness of accepting gifts, and he had hoped it would spare you from feelings of obligation or embarrassment. Perhaps you are too proud, he wonders, but shadows echo a different sentiment, one of distrust, of wariness.

The gifts scare you.

The guilt churns the bile in his stomach, and he flexes his fingers into fists before flying away, cursing himself the whole way home.

Idiot.

You're very surprised when he approaches you on your walk from the Palace to Rita's, so much so that you jerk to a dead stop, staring at him with your mouth dropped open as he tries to explain he has something to give you.

Yes, he knows you don't know him. Yes, he's aware how strange this is.

Yes, you will be taking this scarf whether you like it or not.

"I'm sorry?"

"This is for you." He extends the scarf towards you, holding his breath. Your eyes narrow.

"Have you been leaving things on my porch?"

"Yes." There's no point in lying. He's standing here trying to gift you a scarf, for Cauldron's sake.

"Why?" Your voice is tight, anxious, and he wishes there was a way he could reassure you without frightening you further.

"You needed them." It comes off as arrogant, but he doesn't care. He's getting to the point where he's past caring, where he's past watching you freeze and work yourself to the bone. His jaw is clenched so tight the muscles are straining, and it takes effort to steady his voice. "You're freezing."

"I-"

"I want you to have this." Just take it. The shadows skitter around him, trawling across the brick to where you stand, and you glance at them briefly, surprisingly unafraid, before looking back at him. He expects a fight, some kind of resistance, but it's all been bled dry. The only thing he sees is defeat, and it stings. You're suffering, you're suffering and he's got everything he could ever want, material wise, and then some. "Please," he murmurs, stepping forward, and you shake your head.

"I shouldn't."

"It's just a gift, I don't expect anything in return."

"You say that now." Your voice trembles. Anger cracks like lightning through his veins. Is this what you fear? A transaction? An exchange for help? There are only so many things one could want in a situation like this, and all of the them fill him with rage.

"I promise you," his voice is steel, firm and unrelenting, "I want nothing in return."

"You promise." It's not a question, and you won't meet his gaze, but he pushes on.

"I do." You reach for it hesitantly and wrap it around your neck, tucking your chin into the softly spun wool, cheeks lifting in a very small, shy smile. Good girl.

He chose perfectly. It complements your skin, your eyes, illuminates your already striking beauty.

"I... thank you. This is really nice. It's lovely." The shadows hum, and he secretly preens, the warmth in his chest spreading as you tell him your name.

"I'm Azriel," he says in return, and you nod.

"I know." You sigh, and look past him, down the street to where he knows your work awaits. "I have to go."

Or he could take you. It's tempting, so, so tempting. It's wicked, and rotten, but satisfying at the same time, and it soothes the reckless pieces of him calling out to you.

No. He shouldn't. He settles on a different course instead.

"I'll see you soon." Your brow furrows.

"You will?" He nods, spreading his wings, preparing to launch into the sky, pleased by how you marvel at them.

"And you'll wear both the gloves and hat when you're outside from now on." Your lips part with surprise. "Yes?" It takes a beat, and then two-

"Yes."

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Tongue in Cheek - Yang Jeongin

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: CEO jeongin x fem! reader

summary: your boss is up for a big promotion. There's just one problem, he told his boss that he's married. So he asks you to be his wife for just one night. But now this cold CEO is seeing you in a whole new light.

warnings: power dynamics, tooth-aching fluff, angst, kissing, did I mention fluff????

Jeongin slid a few papers around his desk. “Something you need?” He snapped, his tone exhausted and annoyed. His patience was wearing thin lately. You had noticed immediately, the way he moved around the office like every corner and seam of his heavy armor was starting to crack. He was stressed, he was nervous. You suppose that's why you agreed to this dinner in the first place. To help him out. That was the only reason you had agreed to be his “fake wife.”

“Sorry to bother you, Sir. But Mr. Kwon’s assistant called again to confirm that you- um, that we would be attending the dinner tomorrow evening.” You kept your eyes downcast, studying every fiber of his office carpet. A deep, intimidating red color that filled the entire room like an inferno. It's as if he wanted everyone that walked into his office to know that they were walking into Hell.

“Tell her that we'll be there at eight sharp. I want you dressed nicely. Take my card and buy yourself something expensive.” Jeongin's hand stretched out to reveal a heavy platinum credit card weaved between his fingers. You took a step forward but hesitated, your mouth parting slightly. Jeongin's eyes flashed up to you, his head still hanging down. “No arguments, just do it.”

And that was that. Because if Yang Jeongin told you to do something, then goddamn it, you better do it.

The night of the dinner was chiller than you had anticipated. The sun was going down sooner and sooner and cold air swept you up and pulled you inside of Jeongin's luxury car. It was warm inside with plush seats that hugged you better than your own mother. Was this what money could buy? You casually glanced at Jeongin's hand gripping the expensive leather of the steering wheel. He was wearing a shiny silver bracelet and a large, heavy looking ring on his middle finger. He had told you once that the ring was lucky and he would only wear it when he really, really needed it. Jeongin kept his eyes fixed on the road, focused and determined even in his driving. But soon his deep voice cut through the building tension. “Mr. Kwon is the man to impress, the man to be, the man to beat. But he is put off by the fact that I never settled down to start a family. He thinks it's abnormal for a man my age to not have someone.”

You kept your mouth closed tight. You agreed with Jeongin's boss, it was abnormal. Jeongin was young, attractive, and successful. So why hadn't he found someone? As if sensing your train of thought, he cocked his head towards you and raised an eyebrow. “It's not like I don't fuck, I just don't have time for a relationship.”

A relationship. He said that word like it was poison on his tongue. The two of you pulled into the long driveway of a sprawling manor you had only seen in magazines. The path was lined with lights and led you both to a towering front door that was painted the most intense red you had ever seen. You were starting to understand where Jeongin was getting his business inspiration. You stepped inside to see dinner already being set.

Five course meal. Five courses. There were nights when all you could afford was a cup of ramen and a few beers. This was how the other half lived. Mr. Kwon and his wife were both incredibly gorgeous. To look at them too long almost felt greedy. Mr. Kwon commented on Jeongin's cufflinks and his wife absolutely adored your dress. You found it easy to converse with her. A simple, sweet woman who meant well but was so detached from the real world that she was living in her own little fairytale. Jeongin and you had discussed a background story for how you met and what your wedding day was like in case anyone had asked. And to no one's surprise, Mrs. Kwon wanted to know every detail.

After a few glasses of champagne, you found yourself gushing about Jeongin. You spoke about his gentle demeanor when his mother or siblings call. You talked about his smell and the first time you knew you were in love with him.

Jeongin sat back in his chair and watched you. He watched you diverge from the previously discussed storyline that the two of you agreed on. He listened as you spoke honestly about your feelings and your ambitions and goals for the future. He felt a clench in his chest that he hadn't felt in years. You seemed to almost have a glow around you when you spoke. As if the roof opened up to let moonlight pour down over your entire body. And the dress you chose. Jeongin finally allowed himself a moment to admire and memorize every curve and dip of your waist and legs. He could feel his $300 slacks growing tighter by the second. Mr. Kwon stood from the table and announced that the men should adjourn to the other room for cigars and brandy. Jeongin let out a sigh of relief and quickly stood to follow the rest of the men but before he could leave you grabbed his hand and kissed his cheek. “Miss you already.” You said with a smile loud enough that the rest of the guests could hear. You gave him a quick wink before dropping his hand and returning to the dinner table.

“You got a good one there, Yang.” Mr. Kwon let out a large puff of smoke from his cigar. “Don't fuck this up. She's good for you.”

Jeongin fiddled with his own cigar, still unlit. He weaved it between his fingers. “Yes, Sir.” His mind was a million miles away. You have worked for him for three years now. He still remembers the day he hired you. The outfit you wore, the messy bun with frazzled strands of hair falling in front of your eyes. You were so nervous. But you were determined. He recognized that fire in your eyes. It was the same fire that burned inside him.

“Thank you for tonight. You were very convincing.” Jeongin had driven you back to your one bedroom apartment. You stood in the single step in front of your front door. You were actually eye-level with him now, your face just inches from his. “You're welcome. It was fun.” You confessed. You liked being a part of his world. Jeongin cleared his throat and smiled. An awkward, unsure smile that you weren't used to seeing. He gave you a polite bow and turned towards his car to leave. You felt a heaviness pull at your heart as he started to walk away. But before he got to the street he stopped. He turned on his heels to face you once again, his unsure smile now transforming into a devilish smirk. “The night isn't over. Technically, you're still my wife.” He took a few steps towards you. “Kiss me.”

The heaviness in your chest now felt like a balloon soaring high as you ran towards him without hesitation. You jumped into his arms and he held your leg with one hand and used his other arm to wrap around your waist, holding you close to him. Your lips crashed into his clumsily. Your mouths falling over each other until you slowly found a rhythm. It was the most romantic moment of your entire life and you never wanted it to stop. You kissed him over and over again. Some were slow and lingering while others were needy and impatient. You kissed him. Because if Yang Jeongin tells you to do something, then goddamn it, you better do it.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star @minh0scat @kibs-and-bits @minhosgirlposts @firelordtsuki @softkisshyunjin

[crows4luna]

1,434 words. mature, explicit content ahead. reader is afab, no gendered pronouns used. first time body worship. nipple play. lots of groping because sylus is captivated seeing his beloved naked for the first time. | much thanks to @tbaluver @d4wnbreaker @ivohex for beta reading <3

“Don’t look.”—you huff, puffing your cheeks as you hesitate, hands clenched around your shirt bunched up around your midsection—“Not yet, at least.”

Your lover emits a playful chuckle, “Anything for you, sweetie.”

A few feet across from you was Sylus, happily relaxed as he sat on the edge of his lavish bed. Both of his hands were clasped over his eyes, as per your request. While you two were no stranger to more fleeting, intimate exchanges, your apprehension towards taking anything further was what held you both back from going full circle.

The miraculous part of it was that Sylus had no problem being patient. He didn’t bat an eye, nor did his jaw clench. He accepted it like it was something as simple as acknowledging the sky was blue.

That’s also the part that scared you the most.

It was a strange, foreign thing. Men were greedy, voracious animals, and with your career, you’ve dealt with plenty of them who were… interesting caricatures. Some worse than others, of course. And even though you covered yourself shoulder to toe on a day-to-day basis, you still hated being ogled at. Hated the gnawing anxiety that you were being mentally undressed and you didn’t even know it.

But Sylus helped you combat a lot of things. There was no pressure from his end to be as prudish as he was, flaunting his figure comfortably. It was his nature (his own words). He was used to it, and when it comes to you, he has no problem being his most comfortable self.

Finally, your shirt hits the ground. You bristle at the cold air pinching your bare back, shivering. You don’t want to delay this anymore than you have to.

Quickly, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your waffle-knit shorts, tugging it down. The only thing clinging to your body now was a simple pair of cotton panties. A pair that descends from a cheap pack you bought some months ago. It was a slightly darker shade of maroon, a little brighter than the muted shades accented all over Sylus’ main base.

Dwindling anxiety courses through your veins, almost like a replacement of your blood. You lift your arms to cover your breasts, gritting your teeth before letting out a deep breath to ease yourself.

“...Okay,” you finally say. “You can look now.”

Sylus lowers his hands.

Unbeknownst to you, his eyes widen slightly in fascination, taking in the sight of your back. He observes the slight curve of it, then the way your hips naturally fill out, and the downward expanse of your thighs to your legs. A light smirk curls at the corner of his mouth, leaning forward a little to rest his forearms on his thighs.

“A breathtaking sight before my own eyes,” he muses. “You’re stunning, baby.”

You let out a stifled noise, unintelligible of any comprehensible emotion. You were getting flustered. More than you ever have before.

“You’re—only staring at my backside.”

“And I’m not complaining if this is all you’ll show me.”

His tone shifts from his teasing drawl to something smoother, comforting, “If this is as far as you want to go, then it’s alright with me. Don’t feel pressured to keep going just to please me.”

You stiffen a little, sighing, “I want to. Believe me, I… want this. I want to please you. It’s only fair.”

The shakiness in your voice begs to differ. Sylus raises a brow, lifting a hand to tap his bottom lip contemplatively. He knows you well—and one of your standout traits is that you’re stubborn as all hell.

He fixates on the shaky foundation for which you plead with him. Despite it all, he knows you’re being sincere. He just doesn’t want to scare you.

Sylus sighs, relenting, “Alright then. But I want to remind you that it’s your call. Always.”

“...Thank you.”

With an easing state of mind, you finally turn. It’s deliberately slow, but you feel comfortable as your eyes meet your partner’s. His gaze is ever captivating. The very same one used to intimidate and bend others at will—but it’s those eyes that welcome the sight of you like home. You can make out the subtle tenderness that extends to his adoration for you.

You allow him to take in the sight of you, now face-to-face. It’s not long before a blush slowly warms your complexion, standing out in the dim aura of the room. The moment Sylus smiles, you feel yourself tensing again.

He chuckles, his voice returning to a low drawl, “Are you getting shy?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

The former stands, moving over to you in one stride considering the short distance and his stature. Resting his hands on his hips, he carefully circles your figure, observing you again—slower. Once he settles into a spot standing right behind you, you feel the curve of his palm sliding along your shoulder, up around your throat.

Sylus leans forward, lips barely grazing your ear, “Do you want this?”

A nod.

“...Yes,” you moan out softly, the sound a mere whisper. You gasp as his strong torso presses to your back, continuing your permission, “Yes—I—fuck… I want you, Sylus. I need you.”

This time, he lifts his arms to embrace you from behind. Tufts of white hair tickle your skin as he lowers his head to mouth the side of your neck. His lips latch on, beginning to leave feather-light kisses, descending a trail. It’s enough to invigorate you, making you more pliant in his arms.

His hands find yours, still covering your breasts. He massages the back of them, gentle in his grasp.

“Do you—”

You can’t take this anymore. You’re desperate, near the verge of tears as you whimper, “Yes—yes, yes. Gods, Sylus. Fuck. Please, you don’t—have to ask anymore.”

His deep laugh reverberates against the juncture between your neck and shoulder, sending chills down your spine.

“I’d be cruel to not ask,” he punctuates with a kiss. “It’s only fair.

“And… I want to be fair to you, always. Which means asking for your permission, before I may do as I please. Before I fully relish in you the way I dream of.”

A kiss to the area beneath your ear, then a soft tug of your lobe between his teeth. He soothes it with another kiss, whispering, “I intend to relish in you in the best way, as you deserve. As long as you’ll have me.”

You’re at more peace than you can ever imagine. No longer does the cold of his bedroom perplex you, as his words are carried by what feels like an undertone of a trance.

You let down your arms—and instantly, Sylus’ hands occupy the space they once did. His palms, calloused yet smooth with neverending warmth, cup your breasts. Your back arches, and as his fingers pinch and flick your nipples, it elicits boundless moans from you.

To him, it’s probably the most beautiful sound he’s heard, and Sylus groans in anticipation of the symphony he could create.

You whine as he suddenly shifts his grip, lifting you into his arms with ease to drop you onto the bed. He resumes the position you were both once in, turning you to lay on your side as his torso presses to your backside again. You intake a sharp breath, goosebumps dancing along your flesh as it prepares to embrace your lover’s warmth again.

His palms once more resume their squeeze on your breasts, as his lips work to leave a mark on the back of your neck. He takes his time, ensuring the sensuality and its intimate burn is the same as his lips trail down your skin. All you can do in turn is writhe and grind back into him, delivering a delicious mantra of sounds that only tightens the growing bulge behind his trousers.

“Sylus…”

“Mmh… just stay still for me.”

You roll over to lay flat on your stomach, grabbing one of the strewn pillows and hugging it tight. Sylus beams at this, slipping a noise that tethers between a groan and a growl. His palms leave your breasts, keeping a firm pressure as they slither down your stomach, anchoring into the shape of your hips. He kneads the flesh, bolder in his movements as he tongues the dip of your spine, occasionally moving back up, sideways, then downward again.

It’s an honor, he thinks. To be able to devour you like this.

The only one who will sink his teeth into your skin.

[redeemingvillains]

the apothecary's rebel - mattheo riddle

summary: hogwarts' bad boy can't seem to find a way to stay out of the infirmary where you're working to become a healer, but as the stakes get higher, you struggle to understand if you're simply a means to an end, or something much more.

word count: 4k

warnings: mentions of severe injury, broken bones, blood, etc.

a/n: this is so tropey and i'm not sorry about it! credit as always to the lovely @pizzaapeteer who has definitively determined that mattheo's favorite quidditch team is the falmouth falcons, which i will faithfully honor in every fic that i write.

The first time you met Mattheo Riddle, he had rivulets of blood pouring from his nose, crimson and amber; it stained his white collared shirt and seeped into his emerald tie and dark robes but despite it, he was smiling, laughing actually as his eyes glinted at Professor McGonagall who was dragging him alongside her into the infirmary.

"Please, Professor" he implored, "I can't help myself when someone runs their mouth like that, I can't, it's like a curse or something, my fist just flew to his face, what was I supposed to do?!" He was smirking as he looked at her, but she ignored his gaze as she yanked him before you.

"Enough, Mr. Riddle!" she said shrilly.

He tugged his arm out of her grasp. "I don't need the infirmary, m'fine" he huffed, rolling his eyes.

"You're dripping blood on my floor" she retorted, pointing to the maroon spots at his feet.

He glanced down and then wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing the blood further across his face.

"Ms. YLN!" McGonagall said, making it clear that he was your problem now as she squeezed her eyes shut in aggravation then spun on her heels and left.

You stood from your desk at once startled and awed by the situation, but Mattheo's gaze followed McGonagall out of the room.

"M'fine, I don't need anything" he repeated as he continued to swipe at the blood that wouldn't stop running.

You begged to differ as you took in the gash on the bridge of his nose, and the early signs of a black eye. You handed him a cloth which he stuffed under his nose halfheartedly, barely glancing at you, and before you could do anything else, he jogged back to the doorway, peered around the corner and disappeared.

Your week went by without anything nearly as exciting occurring beyond the normal bumps, bruises, and burns from spells and potions gone awry before you saw him again, this time of his own volition.

He caught your eye as his large framed graced the doorway. He was dressed for quidditch, still in his shoulder pads and Slytherin practice jersey. His dark curls were windblown and his cheeks were flush with exertion; sweat glistened on his brow and you thought fleetingly to yourself that no one had the right to look that sweaty and that good at the same time.

You stood from your desk to approach him, eyebrow quirked when he held up his hand by way of explanation, where two of his fingers were bent the wrong way, clearly broken. You motioned wordlessly for him to sit on the nearest cot.

He sat and immediately focused his attention out the window, peering like he was hoping to see the quidditch pitch from his vantage point.

You gathered a few supplies and approached him and he thrust out his hand, eyes never leaving the window.

"Go on then, get it over with" he said shortly. "I wanna get back to practice."

Unbeknownst to you, he was no stranger to broken bones, nor the sharp, relentless pain that came with the healing process and he was doing everything he could to steel himself for it.

Your touch was warm and tender as your fingers gently examined his hand.

"What position do you play?" you asked.

"Beater" he said simply.

You handed him a dose of healing and numbing potion, which he chugged in one go, thinking briefly that it tasted much better than he remembered.

"Are you any good?" you continued as you took the vial back from him and continued your work on his fingers.

"Are you joking?" he asked, laughing humorlessly.

You shrugged innocently, a sly smile on your lips, though you never broke your focus.

"Yeah, I'm good" he said. "Best Slytherin has seen in a while. We might actually have a chance at the cup this year if Flynt can keep his head straight and Goyle can stay sober long enough to sit on his broom."

"A daunting task" you teased.

He laughed genuinely this time, your humor enough to garner his attention and break his gaze from the window as his eyes fell on you instead, and you could feel yourself flush under his notice.

"Harpies or Cannons?" you asked, trying to guess his favorite team.

"Falcons" he said, smirking at your knowledge of quidditch.

"My brothers root for Ballycastle, but I'm partial to the Magpies" you replied.

Now he was flat out impressed and had about a million questions for you, but just as he opened his mouth to ask them, you step back and smiled.

"You're all set!"

He thought you were joking until he looked down at his carefully bandaged fingers.

"You should be able to grip your broom just fine. Put some ice on it after practice if you can, otherwise it will hurt like hell when the potion wears off."

You were gathering your supplies as he wiggled his fingers with trepidation. He felt a dull ache, but nothing more, and he could easily grasp his broom despite his mended fingers with the unique way you'd wrapped them; it'd felt better than any mending he'd had before and whether it was your talent or the deft way you'd distracted him, he couldn't stop himself from muttering "S'bloody brilliant."

"Thanks" you said genuinely, feeling the heat return to your cheeks as you shot him a playful smirk of your own. "Best Ravenclaw's seen in a while" you teased, echoing his words from earlier before you walked back to your desk.

The rest of the afternoon you found your thoughts wandering between the books you were trying to study and the boy with dark curls and a smirky grin who seemed magnetized to mischief, how even the brush of your fingers against his strong, calloused hands had had you struggling to focus on healing, the very thing that came most naturally to you.

You were both happy and disappointed that you didn't see him soon thereafter, glad perhaps that he was keeping himself out of trouble and in one piece. You caught glimpses of him occasionally in the busy corridor between classes or in the Great Hall surrounded by his raucous group of friends, but you tried your level best not to stare, in turn missing his equally ardent attempts to catch your eye.

It was perhaps three weeks later that you awoke late on a Saturday night to a muffled pounding on your bedroom door. Bright moonlight shone through your curtained window as you struggled to get your bearings and the pounding relented, heavy and urgent.

Occasionally, Madam Pomfrey summoned you in an emergency and your heart trilled as you pulled a large sweater over your lace and silk pajamas. You moved quickly to open the door, only to find Mattheo slumped and leaning against your doorway.

He swung his head to look at you with noticeable effort and you couldn't hold in your gasp as you took in his face, scraped and dirty with a large cut on his eyebrow that you were already calculating would need stitches, and a smaller but sizable cut to match on his lip. His mouth was bloodied and the gash on the bridge of his nose was back.

"Gods, Mattheo" you whispered as you reached for him. "Let's get you down to the infirmary."

"S'four inthe mornin' m'not gonna explain to them why I looklike this" he said, his speech slurring as he moved to brush past you into your room.

"Can'tyou fix me n'here?" he asked, as he swayed and you moved to support his weight.

"I-I don't have what I need, I don't have any numbing potion..." you tried to say.

"Can't hurt more'n it already does" he huffed as he sat on your bed.

The sight of him there, rumpling your sheets caught every last word in your throat and you busied yourself grabbing what you could to buy time to still your racing heart.

"What happened?" you asked, finally.

"Me'n the boys got into one" he said, not offering more in the way of an explanation as he glanced around your room, making you feel exposed.

"And where are they?" you asked, glancing for a moment back at the door like they might follow him in.

"I wasn'about to drag five ofus n'here" he said with a smirk.

I wanted you all to myself he thought as he tried with significant effort to focus on you as you came to stand between his spread legs. Your sweater was falling off of your shoulder to reveal thin, silk pajamas that covered next to nothing; your hair was rumpled and wavy with sleep, giving you a relaxed and tousled look that had his mind racing with the image of you tangled in your sheets.

You held his chin softly in your hand, turning his head slowly to the right and to the left. You could smell firewhiskey on him, and could see the pupils of his eyes blown wide as they looked unwavering at you in a way that made your legs feel like jelly.

"You might have a concussion" you said quietly, focusing on the facts instead of the fantasy in front of you.

"Probably" he agreed, his voice thick and raspy.

Your eyes shifted from his strong gaze to focus on his hands, attentively wiping away the dirt, gravel and blood from his knuckles, your fingers running down his palms. His eyes fluttered, thinking you had no right to make him feel this good by touching his hands, and then immediately he thought about your touch anywhere, everywhere else.

You leaned further into him to attend to the cut on his eyebrow, softly whispering the spell to mend it, close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin and he closed his eyes in earnest, letting your words wash over him, calming him from what had been an intense and violent night; they didn't flutter open again until you gently touched his lip.

"Sorry, did that hurt?" you asked.

"S'other ways you could make it feel better" he said, smiling widely in way that set a twinkle in his eye.

"Very funny" you said, redoubling your efforts, without realizing that for once he wasn't joking.

He reached out a hand to grab your waist, attempting to pull you into him, but you mistook it for an effort to steady himself and set a hand on his shoulder.

With the amount of alcohol in his system you thought, there is little to no chance he remembers any of this.

Mattheo woke with a throbbing headache and for the life of him he couldn't piece together why his friends visibly looked like they'd lost a brawl, while he looked...fine; his hands and face were clean and his split lip and eyebrow were reduced to small cuts and scrapes, nearly healed.

He had a foggy memory, like a dream, of you tracing your fingers over his lip, a touch he retraced now like he could feel you on his skin, could feel your warmth from being pulled out of bed, and then he remembered how good you'd smelled, like vanilla and amber... Had he really gone to your room in the middle of the night? He would almost be embarrassed if he didn't feel so fucking smitten about it.

The group dragged themselves to breakfast, hoods drawn; Theo even sported an oversized pair of sunglasses, whether to cover his black eye or to abade his hangover, no one was sure. They were talking in rasp whispers about the night before when Mattheo caught sight of you leaving the Great Hall with a few of your friends, his feet moving on autopilot towards you before he knew what he was doing, breaking rank to his friends' bewilderment.

"Hey" he said, catching your attention. "I-uhh, thanks for last night, I guess" he smiled, even as he carded his hand through his hair, a bit abashed.

"I am genuinely surprised you remember any of it" you said, laughing.

"F'course I do" he said confidently.

"So, you'll keep your promise then?" you retorted as you cocked your head expectantly.

Promise? What fucking promise?

"Yeah, of course I will" he said, even as his mind drew a complete blank on what you were referring to.

Your eyebrows shot up as a wide smile graced your lips and you crossed your arms, ready to challenge him before you were interupted.

"—Wait, is this her?" Theo barged in, pushing Mattheo aside, the others following closely behind.

"Can she look at my nose?" Draco tried. "I think that fucker broke—"

"—No. Stop, stop it." Mattheo said, dragging them away from you gruffly as you laughed, waving to Enzo who was waving eagerly to you despite Mattheo's efforts to contain him.

Your cheeks were crimson. He'd told his friends about you.

That giddiness carried you throughout your day. You felt like you were floating from class to class, like a fifth house ghost, your spirits high even as you resigned yourself to the infirmary that evening while the rest of the school made their way to the quidditch pitch for the final game of the season, the House Cup: Slytherin versus Gryffindor.

A dark storm had settled over the mountains and the last of the sun disappeared behind large, black clouds that brought with them torrential wind and rain that you watched cascade in sheets against the windows. You were disappointed to be missing the game, missing the chance to watch Mattheo play, but you were also happy to be inside, dry and warm.

You settled into your book, trying your best to enjoy it, but you found yourself reading and re-reading the same sentence over and over again, unable to clear your mind from the night before, the way Mattheo settled effortlessly on your bed in a way that even now had your stomach clenching, the way his dark eyes followed you in the white moonlight, the way he smiled under caked blood and the warmth and softness of his skin and his lips under your fingertips; and finally the way he'd grabbed you, perhaps stronger than he'd intended, fingers pressing into the thin silk that covered you, leaving imprints on your skin. Your heart was racing and you felt warm at the memory as you set your book down and exhaled shakily.

It wasn't a moment later that you heard a commotion in the corridor, loud voices and shuffling feet before a large group burst through the doors, professors and students crowding around two quidditch players, the sight making your heart constrict in your chest, until you noticed a red jersey on one and the flash of Draco Malfoy's bright blonde hair on the other. You scurried to help guide him to a cot as he groaned, his eyes squeezing in pain as a gash on his forehead dripped blood down the side of his face.

"What the hell happened?!" you asked Professor Sinistra who had a deep frown set on her face.

"The storm is making it impossible to see anything, they should have cancelled the damn match" she said. "These two collided and there's another one coming - he tried to grab Malfoy and took a bludger straight to the knee before falling 60 feet to the ground."

Draco continued to writhe in pain in front of you and Professor Sinistra was still talking but she sounded distant, almost underwater, because dread and fear had settled over you. Somehow you knew before you turned around that the third player was Mattheo, and you glanced over your shoulder in time to see him being supported between Theo and Blaise.

He was limping on one leg as the other dragged uselessly beneath him. He was soaked through, his hair stuck to his forehead and his jersey stuck to his skin. He was covered in mud and his face was like stone, marble white as he stared sternly at a spot on the ground, jaw clenched.

You dropped what you had been doing, rudely brushing past Professor Sinistra and rushed to his side.

"Here, put him here" you said to Theo and Blaise, leading them to an empty cot.

"Nahh - fuck - get someone else" Mattheo said sharply in a way so cutting and raw that you froze, like his words had struck you like a charm.

"W-What?" you said as the boys lowered him to the bed, exchanging glances.

"You heard me YLN. Get someone else!" he said angrily, almost yelling.

You turned to face the rest of the infirmary which was in a state of utter chaos between the nurses, students and professors running back and forth; the raging storm outside cracked and boomed, setting you further on edge.

Tears welled in your eyes at how overwhelmed you were and how angry Mattheo was. Your head was spinning. Clearly he didn't care about you at all, you had been a convenience, a means to an end, someone who could patch him up when he was too drunk to go to the infirmary, and he'd used his good looks and charm on you like he did everyone else to get what he wanted. You had been an utter fool. Now his injuries were serious and he wanted someone with experience, not some girl to exchange flirty banter with.

Your eyes scanned the room again and you swiped angrily at your cheeks as several tears escaped.

"Well, there isn't anyone else, Mattheo" you said, the realization hitting you simultaneously that you were responsible for him.

He groaned in annoyance and threw his head back on his pillow, which Theo and Blaise thankfully took as their cue to go. You drew the curtains behind them, struggling to calm yourself, to get a semblance of control.

"You took a bludger to the knee?" you asked. "What else, where does it hurt?"

He was silent, face grimaced, refusing to make eye contact with you.

"Suppose I'll just have to undress you and find out for myself then?" you tried. But even that didn't work as he remained quiet and shame and embarrassment set over you.

You took a steadying breath and quickly wiped another errant tear away before approaching him cautiously, moving to unlace his boots as gently as you could, but even that caused him to tense. Delicately, you began to cut his trousers from the bottom and within three snips could you see a sicky swelling letting you know that this was bad....very bad. He'd well shattered his knee and likely broke his fibula and tibia too, his entire leg was a disaster. You had no idea how he'd remained so calm despite it all and you were worried that this might be too complex for you to mend.

You mixed him a strong healing and numbing potion and he took it from you wordlessly, gruffly. Gone was his bashful smile from this morning, the twinkle in his eye, it was like he wanted nothing to do with you, downing the potion in one go, still refusing to meet your gaze.

"Mattheo, I can't imagine how painful this must be, but I'll fix it, I-I promise" you said.

His eyes shifted darkly to you for only a moment, anger and distain clear in his gaze before he looked away again, never saying a word.

You applied just about everything you'd ever learned about mending bones, tendons, muscles and sinew and within moments of taking the potion, Mattheo had fallen into a deep sleep, allowing you to work without fear of hurting him further. It took the better part of two hours, by which time the rest of the infirmary had settled and Madam Pomfrey came to check on you. She was difficult to please, but she scrutinized your work with a sharp eye before complimenting you thoroughly, you had done it.

You were depleted, exhausted, both physically and emotionally but you didn't stop as you wiped the caked mud from Mattheo's cheeks and gingerly cut away the rest of his wet clothing, fearful he'd catch a chill, thinking you deserved some sort of medal for your level of professionalism as your fingers traced his strong muscles, veined arms and faded scars. You pulled a blanket over him, charmed to stay warm before you finally slumped into a chair at his side.

Your entire body was tense, and your muscles were sore. You let yourself catch your breath as your emotions finally caught up with you and you bit your lip to keep from crying at how foolish you felt.

Madam Pomfrey poked her head through the curtain. "You're free to go" she said quietly.

You glanced back at Mattheo before turning to her. "I think I'll stay...just in case" you whispered.

She pursed her lips knowingly before nodding curtly and walking back to her station at the far end of the room.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but eventually you fell into a fitful sleep riddled with nightmares of falling into deep darkness with nothing and no one to catch you.

Mattheo came to in a haze, enveloped in a soft warmth that brought a smile to his lips; for some reason, it reminded him of you, and it smelled like you, like warm vanilla and amber spice. As if in a dream, a memory came rushing back to him, of another time he was engulfed by you, of feeling your gentle touch on his lips in a way that made them tingle even now.

"How'sthis" he said. "I promise if I'm ever this'fucked again, and you haveta take care o'me, I'll take you ona date?" Your eyes shot to his, shining against the moonlight streaming into your bedroom and he clocked the twitch of your lip, the rose of your cheeks, Gods how he loved to make you blush. "Yeah?" you said jokingly. "Yeah" he said, feeling confident. You refocused your attention on his lip, your touch soaking through him like sunlight. "Well, for your sake, I hope that doesn't happen, you're a mess" you chided. Then, quietly, "But for mine, I look forward to it."

His heart soared and he reached for you only to come back with empty hands. He continued to grasp for you until his eyes fluttered open and he realized where he was. The memory of the game came rushing back to him, the flash of thunder and lighting, the fear of seeing his best mate falling off his broom as he raced to grab him, and then the crunch and splitting pain of his knee shattering, the scream he'd let out that was drowned by the storm.

His stomach roiled as he relived the way his friends had dragged him back to the castle, how every bump of his foot felt like torture. He tensed now, waiting for the pain, nearly nauseating himself with the memories, but he felt...nothing. A dull ached radiated from his knee and it felt stiff, but the sharpness was gone, replaced with a pulsing warmth.

His eyes blinked in the low candlelight, coming to rest on you, curled uncomfortably in a chair next to his bed, and he realized he should have known, should have recognized that you were the constant peace on the other side of his pain.

You were asleep, but your face was scrunched in discomfort, in concern and he clocked the smudge of your eye makeup, the loose strands of your hair falling on your face, and the fact that you were wearing the same clothes from earlier this morning, when he'd made you smile. Now, you looked distraught, upset and his stomach clenched as he remembered the way he'd spoken to you.

He had been in so much pain and pain is weakness he could hear in his head over and over again as he'd tried unsuccessfully to fight it. She's going to think you're weak, pathetic. He didn't want to be weak in front of you, he didn't want you to see him that way. He was proud when you mended his busted knuckles, his split lip, or even his smashed fingers, you didn't need a weak, crying git. But then he remembered the crushed look on your face as he'd yelled at you, and he realized he'd been a git all the same.

"Hey" he said, his voice coming out quieter than he'd intended, scratchy with sleep.

"Hey" he tried again.

You woke, startled. "Are you alright?" you asked, bolting upright in your chair, setting a hand on his arm. "Here, let me check your—"

"—I'm fine" he said, laughing. "More than, actually."

"Oh" you said, settling back down. "Good."

A moment of tepid silence passed between you.

"Look, m'sorry about earlier" he said, his sleep ridden voice coaxing your eyes to meet his as he opened his hand on the bed beside him, stretching it out for yours.

You hesitated, pursing your lips, and he could tell you were hurt.

"Can you keep a secret?" he tried.

You nodded.

"That fucking hurt, a lot" he exhaled as he let his vulnerability show.

"That's not really a secret. You shattered your knee, fibula and tibia, Mattheo, and you also have three bruised ribs and two more broken fingers" you said, pointing to his other hand.

"Well, would you look at that" he said smartly, twiddling his fingers back and forth.

"Draco cried harder over a hairline fracture, you'd have thought he was dying" you laughed quietly as you rolled your eyes.

Mattheo let out an earnest laugh at that before he grabbed his side.

"Do not tell him I said that—"

"—I am absolutely telling him you said that!" he said cockily as you both laughed until you fell into silence again.

He opened his palm again and you moved closer, setting your hand in his, which he enveloped in his warm grasp, gently rubbing a thumb over your fingers.

"I didn't want you to think I'm weak" he said finally, the truth settling over both of you like a blanket.

"Pain isn't weakness, Mattheo" you said simply, and the fact that in one instant you had understood exactly what he had meant had his dark chocolate eyes locked on yours.

"And anyway" you continued, "you don't have a weak bone in your body, your pain tolerance must be through the roof."

He didn't have the heart to tell you he hurt just like everyone else, he'd just had more practice with it, so he shrugged.

"Well all things considered, I feel great... thank you" he said, twirling your fingers together before tugging them gently, pulling you to sit on the bed beside him, close enough to feel the warmth between you. "I do have a couple of complaints though."

Your eyebrow quirked, suddenly serious.

"You got me nearly naked here before I could take you on that date I promised, hardly seems fair" he smirked.

You blushed, opening your mouth to defend yourself. So he did remember after all you thought.

"I'm kidding" he said lightly. "But start thinking about where I can take you. A promise is a promise."

You couldn't hide the smile on your face even as you tried, glancing into your lap, your cheeks Mattheo's favorite shade of blushed red.

"And what else?" you asked, trying to deflect.

"You missed something. I think I fucked my lip up, real bad" he said.

Your eyes twinkled as they looked at him, glancing briefly at his perfect lips, free from any mark or mar.

"I don't know, I don't see anything" you said, jokingly, taking his face in your hand, pretending to examine him.

"C'mon, c'mere you've got to get closer" he teased, pulling you into him, so your noses were nearly touching, your heart pounding in your chest.

He paused, relishing the moment, letting his fingers trace a line from your cheek to your jaw, letting your lips hover a breath away from his before he cupped your face and closed the distance between you.

He kissed you tentatively, softly, with a tenderness that made every inch of you feel like melted honey but it was only a breath before his restraint broke, intoxicated by you and every moment he'd daydreamed about the way you'd feel against him, the way you'd taste as he cupped both sides of your face and pulled you further into him. You grasped for purchase as the blanket between you slipped revealing his bare chest and you wound your arms around his bare shoulders, tangling your fingers into his hair, eliciting a muffled moan from deep within him. You nibbled his lip playfully before you pulled back, and he grasped you harder, fighting the distance.

"How's that?" you asked, breathlessly.

"Still unbearably painful, gorgeous, keep trying" he smiled against your lips before kissing you again.

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @pizzaapeteer @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @rositxespinosa @longpondlibrary @littlebookbengal @lovetaylorrussellgrr

[ylangelegy]

a birthday drabble for @totomoshi 🤎🥨☕ sara, my love, i wish for you everything good and sweet! xo

five-star (seungcheol x reader) ┆ word count: 686.

Your go-to coffee order is on the edge of your usual table. 

Wryly, you pick up the paper cup to inspect it. There’s nothing to indicate who the drink might be from.

A part of you wants to not look a gift horse in the mouth. A free drink is a free drink, after all. You’ve frequented this café enough to qualify as a regular, so any of the other frequent patrons are prime suspects. 

When you turn to the barista to ask, he’s already shaking his head. 

“No clue,” he says. 

“You make the drinks,” you respond accusingly. 

He flashes you a dimpled smile but offers nothing more. “I can at least assure you there’s no poison in it,” he says, drawing a light huff from you. 

“I’d give you a one-star rating if it did.”

“Oh, how ever will I live.” 

The bell over the entrance dings. Your good-natured bickering is cut short. When you take a sip, it’s just as he said. No poison, and exactly how you like it. 

This becomes a thing. At least twice a week, your drink is already waiting for you. Sometimes, it comes with a croissant. A chocolate chip cookie. A slice of cake, even. 

You let this drag on for about three months before deciding enough is enough. 

“I know it’s you, you know.” 

He looks up at you, one eyebrow arched upward. 

“Me?” he asks innocently. 

There’s no one else around. You had timed this, waited for the last of the customers to filter out before striking. 

“I know it’s you,” you repeat, gesturing vaguely. 

He gives a noncommittal hum in response. He’s already wrapping up for the day, folding his apron and packing away his name tag. 

Seungcheol, it says. 

“And yet you only decided to bring it up now?” he teases. 

You raise your shoulders in a shrug. There’s a small smile tugging at your face— the confirmation of his identity, sweeter than any of the pastries you’ve been gifted so far. 

“I liked getting free stuff,” you answer cheekily. 

Seungcheol’s eyes turn into crescents as he laughs. He’s obviously amused at your feigned ignorance. Perhaps even endeared by it. You can tell in the way he leans across the counter, trying to get a little closer to you; the way the corners of his lips tilt upward as he speaks. 

“And I like you,” he finally, finally confesses. “In case that hasn’t been made clear yet.” 

Something akin to a snort of laughter slides past your lips. “Could’ve told me earlier.” 

“I thought you liked the free stuff.” 

“Yeah, well, I would’ve liked a date much more.” 

And, oh, the way his smile breaks, then. It lights up his whole face. 

“Are you only saying that because I make good coffee?” he asks as he packs away his things, seemingly readying to leave with you. 

You realize that you wouldn’t mind.

“The coffee could be better—” you’re saying, but Seungcheol’s smile drops into a pout. 

“Yah!”

“Let me finish!” You clear your throat. “But the barista’s kind of cute.” 

Seungcheol’s lip is still jut out, though it twitches ever so slightly. When the two of you step out of his café, he hurriedly locks up before glancing down at you. 

“What’s it going to take to get a five-star rating from you?” His tone is half-joking, but you have some idea that he’s not referring only to his café. 

The two of you fall into step. Seungcheol’s shoulder brushes against yours, like he’s physically restraining himself from reaching out to hold your hand.

“Let’s start with that date,” you say, trying to maintain some semblance of coolness as Seungcheol seems to lead you to your destination for the night. “And then we can talk about your rating.” 

You’re playing it coy, playing it safe, but it’s hard to act nonchalant when Seungcheol is practically vibrating with excitement at your side. 

He grins down at you, all bright and warm and fond, and to hell with it. You smile back at him.

(He swears it’s better than any five-star rating in the world.) 

[niccolites]

green cliffs: - lessons in mortality. chapter three

highlander!soap x fem!reader. cw dubcon. read here on ao3

You grab the nearest item in Johnny’s room and lob it at his head, which he dodges with an ease that sets off your temper again. It’s a cup and it shatters against the wall, a last gasp of dust that settles into the air.

“You are a right bastard,” you hiss at him, so angry that you shake with it. You had barely been allowed a moment to process what Johnny had announced - without consulting you - before you were being hustled out. Johnny’s arms a firm band around your waist as he brought you to his room, something that had almost set you off in the hallway.

You expect him to get angry at you, the way he did out in the woods. If anything he seems delighted, broad smile as he laughs at you. Dodges your next throw - a book this time - and catches you, sweeps his arms around your waist and hoists you up against him. “Am sorry, a am sorry,” he grins into the curve of your jaw, the hint of teeth before he settles on a smacking kiss as you squirm to get away from him. “A just couldnae contain masel’, I had tae tell ‘em.”

“There’s nothing to tell, what are you talking about?” you snap, thumping your palm against his shoulder to get him to relinquish you. His shoulder is hard underneath his white cotton shirt, firm muscle that flexes as he adjusts his hold on you.

He doesn’t. Just continues to laugh, as if you hadn’t even spoken, eyes sparkling as he seems to be caught up in some other thought. Let's go of you but you can’t go far before he has your head held in his hands. “My father will want a full ceremony, so we can make it official there, Am sorry that I announced it before, a couldn’t help myself.” He nudges his nose against yours, affectionate like he’s allowed to be.

“I don’t understand,” you whisper, a twist in your mouth. You think about your brother, think about how you are going to get back to him. You’re starting to think that maybe you were the one to leave the pitchfork in the hay and guilt curdles in your stomach, another mess for Ian to clean up after you. Johnny’s hands cradle the back of your skull and you think that you are stuck here. Walked into the maw of a lion and were surprised when it bit down and caught you.

“That’s alright, angel, I can sort everything,” Johnny soothes you, but it just raises your hackles more. He nuzzles his face into the size of yours, the bristles of his beard catching on your skin and leaving you feeling raw. He pulls back, just enough to nudge his nose against yours. His mouth is so close to yours, and he seems to realise this, blue eyes going half-lidded as he sways forward.

“Johnny,” you interrupt, and his breath hitches in his chest, a fine tremor running through him as his name sits in your mouth.

“A know, cannae help maself around you,” he admits, leaning back just the smallest amount, a hint of bashfulness that you narrow your eyes at. Like he’s putting it on. “I’ll go speak wae my da, see if we can speed up the wedding, yeah? Then we don’t have to be so nervous.” His eyes shine, as if caught up in a fever dream.

“Johnny, I don’t -” you start, but he gives you another kiss on your cheek and darts away before you can finish what you were about to say.

Maybe that is how he justifies this to himself. If he isn’t here to hear you protest, then maybe that means you aren’t protesting at all. You scowl around his room, wondering how much destruction you can get away with.

It’s messy, which is about what you would expect. An oak table in the corner with a few dishes on it, left behind presumably from the last time he left - you hope. His bed tucked into the corner of the room, rich red sheets, crumpled, as if he had left in a rush. You wander around, drag your hands down the wolf hide thrown over the armchair by the fireplace. Imagine yourself being here, living here. Dig your fingers into dead flesh, the give of fur that has been stripped from a living thing.

His blood is still under your nails. You suddenly decide that you need to be clean, need to be scrubbed down of any traces of the last couple of days and start anew. Maybe Johnny is like an animal, if you stop having his blood on you, he’ll let you go.

There is a metal basin in the corner, but there isn’t any water in it yet. You falter, uncertain as you look down at it. Then square your shoulders. If you were going to convince Johnny to retract his proposal - that was more skipping past proposal and straight into matrimony - you would need to be brave enough to at least ask for warm water.

You poke your head out of the room, trying to catch the eye of anyone wandering. A stout woman is wandering past with a basket on her hip, filled with sheets. You tentatively call out and she turns a questioning look on her face. “Hello, sorry to bother you. Do you know where I can get some water for a bath?”

The woman - grey streaking her hair even crammed into her bonnet - squints at your face for a moment before she glances at the room that you are poking your head out of. “Ah! Johnny’s bride, aren’t ya? Nae bother, lass, I’ll run and get ye some water just now.” She pauses, giving a frown at the general state of you. “I’ll grab ye some clothes as well, poppet, ye look a right state.”

She’s off before you can find the words to let her know that you are not Johnny’s bride. Not that you know to even begin to articulate such a statement. You wonder if you do protest too much, if you would just be forced out of the keep. Told to find your own way home then, if you were happy enough to rudely reject the heir. You know that you are to the west of your home, but the intricacies of the journey are lost on you.

You slink back into Johnny’s room and settle into his armchair, feel the fur of that dead wolf on the back of your neck as you sigh. Stare down the portrait of what must be one of Johnny’s old relatives on his wall.

The older lady is efficient, barely any time has passed before she is back, bustling in with a bucket of water that she sets by the fireplace and starts trying to spark a flame. Mrs Duncan, she introduces herself as she settles down on her haunches with a grunt. “Oh, I can sort that - it’s alright,” you start to say, standing from the armchair and hovering as if ready to take over.

“Nonsense, ye’d likely dae it wrang and then I’d have tae come back and do it fer ye anyway,” she says. The words are harsh, but the manner in which she says them is as if she hadn’t just insulted you. You bristle, beginning to frown. You’re interrupted when she catches sight of the rest of the room. “Ah, look at the state of this. See that boy, absolutely no shame, y’know if he expects a woman to be living here wae him, he cannae be leaving it in a state like this,” she tuts, fire catching finally and she bustles around leaving the fire to warm up the bucket and gathers up any of the dirty dishes that have been left behind.

You twist your mouth, trying to hold back a scowl. Mrs Duncan is gone again anyway, returning with another bucket. There is a constant stream of conversation, even if you aren’t contributing much to it. She has a nephew in the keep, the stablemaster, and apparently he is as messy as Johnny. You hum politely, nodding in the right places.

You jolt back to yourself when she stands you up, the buckets of now steaming water in the basin, reaching behind you to undo your cloak and tossing it at her basket of sheets. “I can do that myself,” you yelp, stumbling away from her as she reaches for the clips on the back of your dress.

Mrs Duncan pauses, watching your wriggle away from her. She looks a moment away from protesting and yanking your dress off anyway, but the mullish look on your face pulls her up short. “No need to be prudish around me, poppet, I’ve seen all sorts in this place. I’m sure you haven’t got anything that would concern me,” she tells you, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I’m not - I just would rather sort myself out,” you manage. Her face doesn’t move. “It’s been a long couple of days, I just would prefer to.” She relents at last, a gust of a sigh before she scoops up her basket and leaves. You are left with firm instructions to leave your ruined dress by the door and put on the new one she brought for you - a pointed pat on the fabric that she has laid on Johnny’s desk.

Alone again, you tip the water into the deep basin, watch the steam wrap up in the air. It catches on your face and sticks, curled into the curve of your cheek and leaving behind the faintest of moisture. You yank your dress off, finally taking stock of it. It is ruined, Mrs Duncan hadn’t been exaggerating. Blood and muck and dirt, the skirt torn at the edges slightly. You hope that Mrs Duncan doesn’t toss it away, it had been your favourite for a while. You wonder if she would notice if you managed to get it cleaned in the bathwater after you were finished. Something tells you that you are unlikely to get away with it.

There’s more water than you’ve ever seen here. Usually, there is a single bucket that you manage to heat up and tip into the basin that you and Ian had been using since you were young. You suppose this is Johnny’s bath, and must be large enough to accommodate him. Deep and forged with a thicker metal than your basin back home.

Standing in your slip, you gnaw on your lip as you watch the door. There is an overwhelming urge to be cleansed. Some sick combination of Johnny and those Englishmen’s blood has seeped through your clothes in some places and have stained your hands, your legs. Your skin crawls with the need to scrub it off. However, the fear of Johnny coming back to his room and finding you naked is enough to give you pause before you jump into his bathtub.

You pause, twisting bare feet on the cold stone of his floor, as if you have created the time in which he will come back in. A few beats pass. If he comes back, which is unlikely, then you will just ignore him, you decide. You tug the filled basin slightly around the corner just in case. Childishly hoping that he may not notice you now at all if he does come back.

Your slip comes off and you sink into the warm water, groaning at the feeling. You dip yourself down fully, suspended in water for a moment before you pop back up, reborn again.

You scrub at yourself with your nails, dig off grime and blood. There’s a hardened piece of animal fat, soaked in a sweet smelling oil that you imagine is Johnny’s soap. You scrub yourself with it, an old version of yourself slicking off and sitting as a filthy film in the water. You dig into your hair next, lather and rinse until your scalp stings.

Perhaps you overindulge. Lie with the rim of the basin digging into the back of your neck and stare at the ceiling for a little too long. You think that the more likely reason is that Johnny is able to sense that you are naked and comes running.

The door opens and you flinch, sinking further into the water. The liquid surges, almost capsizing over the sides at the startled movement. Johnny flies in through the door and stutters to a standstill, almost hurling over himself at the sight of you. Blinks and breathes through his mouth, a faint wheezing noise.

You sink further into the water, cradling yourself as if to hide from his view. “Could you be a gentleman for one minute, and leave so I can get out?” You ask, trying to sound firm, but it comes out as a faint plea that makes you wince. Your plan to ignore him has fled, he commands too much attention, too much of your attention.

He barely seems to hear you, eyes focused on the flesh he can see through the water. As if entranced he stumbles towards the basin, distantly starting to tug his kilt out of the pin at his chest. Slow at first, then faster as his chest starts to heave.

“What - Johnny !” you exclaim as he strips off with an eagerness that almost throws him into a wall before he’s bare and striding towards the basin. He’s all muscle, built with no give in him. There’s hair over his chest, thinning to a line down his belly that has you averting your eyes with a flush. “I can get out -” you start, one hand still trying to cover yourself while the other tries to find some purchase on the edge of the basin.

You’re lifted up by your arms before you can stop him, squealing as he all but jumps into the basin and drags you down on top of him. Water sloshes everywhere, you hear the slam of it on the floor as he gets settled. It rocks around the two of you for a moment before it finally starts to settle.

Flesh squeaks against flesh, your breasts pressed against his chest as he holds you still until he’s sat down, you half-cradled into him. A familiar position, although it irritates you a lot more than it did in the saddle. You wiggle, trying to struggle free but it only makes him groan, hands seeking out the expanse of your back to grip, making you still. “This is inappropriate,” you hiss, feeling something twitch on the soft skin of your belly. Animal panic, the kind that makes you want to buck and kick him away but also freezes you in place.

“You’re the one who’s bare in ma bedroom,” he points out, hefting you further up his torso so that your faces are pressed together before you lean back. He almost goes cross-eyed, trying to take in your face as well as the press of your chest against his. The hair on his chest is wet, flattened down but it still tickles when you shift slightly. Fine but dark, plastered to tan skin. A freckle on his shoulder that catches your attention before you drag it back again.

“I was taking a bath,” you try to justify yourself. He hums in response, smoothing his hands up and down your flank. A hand up your side to glance against the side of your breast which makes him groan. “Johnny, we’re not even married yet - this is so inappropriate.”

He laughs at your scolding, dipping his head to press a kiss to your cheek and then bites at the apple of your cheek. Light, more to feel you jump under his hands more than anything. “We’re no’ swiving,” he points out, nose in the wet of your hair. “We’re promised, a reckon the Father wouldnae look too harshly on us fer getting tae know each other.”

“I would,” you snap.

“Ye look like a water nymph,” he murmurs, half-dazed as if he had been struck. Half the water is out of the basin, leaving your back cooling in the air. He's like a furnace, against your will, you instinctively curl into him, try to keep warm. His hands are grabbing at your back, as if he wants to touch all of you at once.

“Johnny,” you start, trying to get up again. Palms flat on his shoulders, try to use this momentum to force yourself up, but he all but yanks you back down. Your hands barely cover the breadth of his torso, small as they curl into his collar.

He sighs against your temple, a groan trapped in his chest. He bucks against you, forcing you still again and you feel him slide against your belly. “Ah, fuck,” he mutters. “C’mon, c’mon.”

You don’t know who it is that he’s speaking to, feel the kick of his leg as he braces you against himself, the rock of his hips against yours. Flesh and water, feel the lap of it around the curve of your waist. His breath is hot against the skin of your cheek, your scalp, your neck. He digs his fingers into your backside until you flinch and whimper which just makes him moan even hotter against you.

You hold tension in your back until you can’t, a twinge in the muscle. You deflate, let yourself sag into Johnny as pants into your ear. There’s a coil in your belly, has you tucking your head into his collar, waiting it out.

The sight of you giving in must be too much, you feel the same wetness from the forest only this morning, kick out onto your belly. The water likely washes it away, but you feel it like it’s branded you. He whines your name out, sounding pained. The sound of his punched out voice has something in your belly clenching, even as you ignore it.

His hands are still rounding over the curve of your backside, but you let him. Decide to save the energy for something else you will need to argue about. There’s a red scratch hidden in the scratch of his beard. You lift your hand and thumb over it. He hisses slightly, but you feel his cock kick at the feeling. “This from those men?” you ask, voice hushed.

The quiet of your voice seems to catch his attention more than you’re yelling does. Attention stretched to you, catching each word in a tight net. “Aye,” he murmurs, turning his head as much as he can without shifting your thumb from the bolt of his jaw. His eyes are half-lidded, but alert when pointed at you. His hair curls into his forehead, dark and soft looking.

You twist your mouth, study that small scar. There had been a fight in your village once, daggers drawn between two men. One of them had cut the other across the throat, you remember the spray of blood, vicious, like it was escaping. A smooth arc in the air before it landed, the horrible choking that had followed. Blood spraying, gurgling as if it had changed its mind and wanted to stay instead.

One of the men must have had a dirk on him, must have caught this a little before Johnny had dealt with them. You imagine if the Englishmen would have cut your throat in the same way, if your blood would jump out of your throat, or stick close by you, dribble down and stain your skin instead.

You sigh, and drop your hand. Evidence of the hurt Johnny has earned himself is enough to quiet you, leave you ruminating over him. It’s distracting, being naked on top of him, everything that has you reeling at the impropriety of it all. Then, there is the scar on his calf, the cut on his jaw. Marks of hardship. For you.

Johnny nuzzles his nose into the space between your ear and your hair, inhaling loudly. “You use my soap?” he murmurs. You nod and he sighs happily again, you ride the wave of his chest deflating beneath you. “You smell like me.”

Even though you had been the one to use his soap, it’s another branding mark. You’re spared having to make some kind of response, another justification for your behaviour, as a fierce shiver shudders through you. Johnny may be a burning furnace under you, but the water is tepid now, and most of your body is left out of the water to the cool draught in his bedroom. He laughs at you, wrapping his arms around more of you as if to catch your shakes. His chuckle is a boisterous thing, starting in his lungs and bursting out. A nice sound, you imagine, if it didn’t always seem to be at your expense.

“Up we go,” Johnny hums, his hands scooping you out of the water like a messy toddler. Water cascades again but the mess was already there, so you barely give it any notice. Your feet almost slip on the stones but it barely matters with how Johnny won’t let you go.

You cover yourself as best you can with your hands, Johnny frowning at the sight as he holds the towel that you need. You frown back at him, one hand holding your breasts from sight, the other crossing your belly to cover the crux of your thighs. You can’t reach a hand out for your clothes without exposing yourself. Johnny seems to realise this and his fists tighten in the cloth, expectant grin. Open maw.

A heat in your cheeks, but you rationalise that he has already seen most of your body anyway. One hand still holding your chest, the other reaches for the towel. Johnny snaps his arms around you again and lifts you against him, something between a snarl and a laugh as he drops his head to your collarbone. “Can I get dressed, please?” you hiss, cold and irritated.

He presses a harsh kiss to your skin, beard catching and scratching at your skin, amused at your annoyance again. “Aye, my dear,” he smarms, letting you take the towel from him. You dart away, but you think that he lets you, more than capable of crossing the distance with a few strides and yanking you back into him. The towel must be his, large enough to cover yourself from view but also catch the damp of your hair as you tousle it dry.

You glance over your shoulder at him, and find him watching you, eyes suddenly sharp, taking you in. “What is it?” you ask, hiking the towel further up your chest. He’s still naked, dripping water shamelessly on the floor, adding to the mess.

He’s quiet, which immediately sets you on edge. Appraises you, eyes darting between yours, then all over. Silent. His size had been an annoyance, but you suddenly understand how those Englishmen must have felt when he came at them. You’re standing, a drenched cat, in the shadow of something much larger than yourself.

He still hasn’t dressed again, just watches you with water droplets all over his chest. The flex of his waist as he inhales, the twist of muscle there, seeming to flex as your gaze drops there. Everything in reaction to you. You refuse to look any lower, drag your eyes up and frown at his face.

Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he takes a step forward and cups your face in his hands. You startle at the heat of his palms but he doesn’t let you go anywhere. Leans down and kisses you before you can stop him.

Strange to think that this is the first time that you’ve kissed, everything is out of order. You have only been kissed once, with the butcher’s boy who was a few years older than you, and had been sweaty. He’d tried to put his hands up your skirt and you had pushed him into the dirt and stormed off. You don’t imagine you could do that to Johnny, likely he would drag you down with him.

The sweat has washed off of Johnny, but you barely have any time to discern the press of his lips before they’re opening and you’re gasping, a revelation. His tongue in your mouth, licking into you like you were meant to be tasted. His thumbs on your temples, the span of his fingers cradling your skull. Held in place as he groans and licks further into your mouth.

There has to be something blasphemous about this, something unholy. There’s nothing appropriate about Johnny’s spit spilling into your mouth until it slicks in the gaps between your panting mouths. Spills down your chin as he tilts your head back to reach more of you. His tongue on the back of your teeth, the space between your gums and your teeth. A place that you thought only you knew about.

You’re frozen until you sway into him, head heavy in his hands. He doesn’t seem to require much reciprocation given he’s in your mouth, but you tentatively lick back, try to slide your tongue against his and you almost shy away from how loudly he moans at that.

He pulls back, just enough to seal his lips around your tongue and suck for a moment, eyes heavy on yours. Filthy. He pulls his head back enough to let you catch your breath, but now he just rests his forehead against yours. You blink at him, bleary. His spit, or yours, on your face. His spend on your stomach. Water everywhere else, but it doesn’t cleanse like you thought it would.

“Ma da wants us tae have dinner wae him, tonight,” Johnny murmurs, thumb smearing the spit across your chin. Pupils blown, swallowing up the blue.

“Alright,” you whisper back. He hums in response, as if considering kissing you again. “I should get dressed.”

His eyes flicker back to yours, silent again. His hands bracket your neck now, hands spanning across your collarbone. A beat. Then: “I’ll see if we can get the priest over here in the mornin’.”

You aren’t left any room to argue, before he’s crowding you into another kiss and pulling back with a smack that disturbs you. A string of spit between your mouths that pulls until it breaks. He’s across the room, yanking on his white linen shirt and is out of the door with his kilt held in hand.

You shuffle, uncertain, dripping wet in a strange man’s bedroom. The water spreads over the stone floor, catches in the divots and speeds up. There’s the smallest hole in the mortar, the water spilling towards it.

You drop your towel over the gap and step over the mess to get dressed. If the water wasn’t going to clean you out, you weren’t going to let it escape before you could.

[rumeras]

I need domestic Sylus like I need air to breathe.

Oh, you’d done it now. You’d worked on his last nerve and it had finally snapped.

You dodge his outstretched hand with a shriek of laughter, ducking behind the couch as you race from the living room and down the hall.

Sylus is hot on your tail, the thumping of his bare feet against the floor after your own has your adrenaline sky rocketing. The thrill of being chased by your usually patient lover has your heart thrumming.

You just had to tease him, didn’t you? Just had to rile him up enough that when you squished his cheeks together with your hand. When you leaned into his space to ghost your lips over his…you saw his restraint snap.

And he flung forward.

“No,” You shriek as he catches you around the waist, laughing as his right forearm flexes against you. He’s reeling you back into his arms when you cry, “Let go!”

His free hand descended on your side, fingers digging into your hips as he tickled you. You gasp out another shriek, wiggling in his grasp. He struggles to keep both of you standing as you kick out your legs.

With a grunt the two of you fall to the floor, his hold on your waist tightens as he takes the fall to his knees and lowers you to the ground safely. But, he doesn’t relent on the assault. You roll onto your back to look up at him through tears, you’re laughing so hard he’s got you crying.

“Mercy! Please, have mercy!” You cry out, stomach hurting from laughing.

“Oh? You want mercy?” He counters, powerful thighs caging your hips as he moves to tickle just under your arms. “You wound me, kitten. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

You wriggle beneath him, hands batting at his strong fingers, fighting against his onslaught. “No! I was teasing you!”

“I’m a patient man,” He drawls out, finally stilling his torture. “But I can only take so much from my beloved before I snap.”

You bite your lip to hold back the giggle that blooms in your chest at his words, hands resting against his thighs. You suck in a deep breath, and watch him.

He looks at you with such love. With such emotion that you see the way the corner of his eyes crinkle as he smiles down at you. Those beautiful eyes that are only soft for you, that only truly see you.

He leans down, watching as your body stills under him, how you tilt your head up just a bit. His breath fans over your cheeks, your eyes fluttering closed…

Then you feel a wet open mouthed kiss being placed on your cheek.

And the shrieking begins anew.

[moonstruckme]

hi mae!!! i absolutely love your writing and am evidently irrevocably in love with wolfstar. i just got my wisdom teeth taken out, and i know you already wrote something for poly!marauders with that, but could i request something for poly!wolfstar taking care of reader a few days after? so less loopy and more pain with lots of fluff and cuddles! feel free to ignore, love you darling!

Thanks for requesting lovely! Hope you feel better soon <3

cw: allusion to chronic pain

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 627 words

“Hello,” Sirius says when the front door shushes open. He starts to fold over the page of his magazine. He hardly catches a bit of motion from the corner of his eye before you’re flopping down on top of him, forcing a soft oof from his sternum. “Oh, hello. Everything okay?”

You make a tortured groaning sound, forehead pushing into his neck.

“You’re alright, sweetheart.” Remus passes a loving hand over Sirius’ head in greeting, en route to the kitchen. “I’ll get your ice.”

“Aw,” Sirius tuts, letting his magazine lay tented over your back. He palms the back of your head gently. “Hard first day back at work?”

“It feels like it hurts worse,” you mumble into the space below his throat. The tip of your nose is cool where it presses to his skin. “I’m so tired.”

“Oh, I know, baby.” Sirius kisses the top of your head. “It’s not very fair, is it?”

“Pain is tiring,” Remus agrees. He passes Sirius an ice pack to settle against your cheek, holding onto another while he leans on the back of the couch. “It’ll get better over the next few days. Tomorrow should be easier.”

“I can’t think about tomorrow.” Your voice is softer, lips barely moving as Sirius holds the ice to your jaw. You shift your face from his neck, turning your eyes up to his. “Keep me here forever?”

Sirius feels his mouth spread in a grin. “You know I will, gorgeous. And I’ll do you one better, lift your head and I’ll put two ice packs on your cheeks.”

You pick your head up as directed. Remus passes Sirius the other ice pack, and he sandwiches your face between the two with a smile. Your poor cheeks are swollen and bruised, but Sirius thinks you look lovely despite it, even pouting the way you are. You look between your boyfriends as though waiting for them to do something about it.

Remus breaks first. “Oh, my love.” He gives a pitying laugh, folding over the back of the couch to hug your shoulders. “I’m sorry. The pain won’t last much longer, though. Just give yourself some time to heal.”

“Count yourself lucky you had wisdom to take,” Sirius says. “I didn’t have anything they wanted at all.”

“I’m so tired of this,” you sigh, leaning into Remus. “Sorry, I know it’s only been a couple of days, just. It’s just constant, you know?”

Remus hums. He knows better than most, better than Sirius for sure. Sirius feels overcome by a fond protectiveness for you both.

He touches a pinkie to Remus’ forearm where it’s wrapped around your clavicle. “Alright, that’s enough,” he says, rubbing. “It’s cruel and unjust to have either of you ever work again. I won’t entertain it.”

“Oh, you’re going to be our sole breadwinner now?” Remus asks, smiling.

“Quite right. I’ll need the two of you to carry your weight in homemaking, of course, but I’ll manage the rest.”

“And you reckon your income can cover our portions of the rent and groceries and all that?”

“Don’t worry your pretty head over it, darling. It’s well in hand.”

“Let me lie about for the rest of the week,” you sigh. “Then I’ll go back to work and you can stay here, Rem.”

Remus turns his smile into the top of your head, nose denting into your hair. “Yeah? You sure?”

“M’sure.” You shut your eyes. Sirius grins at Remus, thinking that he has about thirty seconds to change positions before you fall asleep and he has to hold you this way all night. “Just need a few days.”

But Remus will indulge you in anything; he stays perfectly still. “Sure, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing your head. “Whatever you need.”

[yellowfics]

“can i leave a kiss on your soft lips, baby?”

it was one of those days. the kind of day where bakugo katsuki found himself in an internal battle, silently questioning what the hell it was about you that had him so damn hooked.

it reminded him of the time his mom used to go on about how she fell in love with his old man, telling that whole corny love story. he thought it was stupid back then, but now, here he was, going through the same damn thing with you.

you weren’t doing anything special, and you hadn’t changed a damn thing about how you looked—you were just you. the way you carried yourself, the way your laugh filled the room as you scrolled through your phone, probably watching some dumb tiktok. and that laugh, all carefree and unaware, drove him crazy. you had no idea how much it was getting to him. hell, he loved every little thing about you, even if it pissed him off sometimes.

katsuki stood by the counter, arms crossed, crimson eyes trained on you. he told himself he wasn’t staring; he was observing. watching. noticing every damn detail about you.

why the hell do you have to look so good doing nothing? he thought, scowling as he clenched his jaw.

it annoyed him to no end. not you—no, never you—but the fact that he couldn’t stop feeling this way. the worst part was you weren’t even trying to be attractive; you just were. the kind of attractiveness that made him feel vulnerable, and katsuki bakugo didn’t do vulnerable.

when you glanced up from your phone and caught his glare, you raised an eyebrow. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“like what?” he snapped, quickly averting his gaze and biting the inside of his cheek.

“like i just insulted your cooking or something.” you tilted your head, amused.

“damn it,” he muttered under his breath, ignoring your teasing.

you set your phone down, curiosity piqued. “what’s up with you?”

he didn’t answer immediately. his gaze flicked back to you, and it hit him again. that look in your eyes, the sound of your voice, the way you stood there like you weren’t making his heart pound out of his chest. katsuki ran a hand through his spiky blond hair, a growl rumbling low in his throat as he closed the distance between you.

when he was close enough, he reached out, his calloused hand cupping your face. his thumb brushed over your cheek, rough but surprisingly gentle. you blinked up at him, caught off guard.

“katsuki?” your voice was soft, questioning his actions.

he didn’t answer right away, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. for a moment, his usual scowl softened, something unspoken passing between you. then, in a voice low and steady, he said,

“can i leave a kiss on your soft lips, baby?”

your breath hitched, and your lips parted in surprise. a shy smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you nodded.

the corners of his lips twitched into a small smirk before he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. the kiss was slow and filled with a raw intensity that made your heart race. katsuki wasn’t often tender—he didn’t think he needed to be—but when he was, it was like the world melted away, leaving only the two of you.

when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his crimson eyes still locked onto yours.

“you drive me crazy,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual. “hate how much i love you sometimes.”

you laughed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “i love you too, katsuki.”

[sturnlsstuff]

PLEASE WRITE A ONESHOT OF CHRIS OVERSTIMULATING Y/N AND FUCKING HER WITH A VIBRATOR OR SOMETHING LIKE DOM!CHRIS BRAT!READER PLEAAASEEE

CHRIS PUTS YOU IN YOUR PLACE AFTER BEING A BRAT ALL DAY

[smut, dom!chris, sub!reader, mdni]

chris's cock is buried deep inside you as he pounds into you mercilessly, the sound of skin slapping against skin fill the room. his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing slightly every now and then, the bed creaking, headboard hitting against the wall from how hard he was fucking you.

you didn't really mean to be a brat today. the attitude you would give him all day was driving chris insane. he would let it slide if you two were alone, but talking back to him in front of his brothers and friends? hell no.

you knew you're screwed when he practically dragged you out of his friend's house, pushed you into the car and in total silence drove home.

did you expect him to get annoyed with you? yes. did you know exactly what the consequences would be? not really.

your pussy constantly clenching around him as you gasp for air after another orgasm you just had. "fuckin' squeezin' me so tight.... wanted to act like a brat, huh?" he pants, "couldn't fuckin'.... behave— this what you wanted? still think you're so clever now?" his thumb presses firmly against your neck when you shake your head desperately, his other hand digs into your hip hard enough to bruise.

"c-clever... no, i don't— i... oh—" stumbling over your words, another moan leaves you when he keeps hitting your g-spot perfectly, overstimulating you on purpose.

"no, huh?" his gaze is intense as you lock eyes with him, his face a mixed mask of annoyance and lust. "then shut the fuck up and take it—" he squeezes your throat a bit harder, cutting off your air supply slightly as he pounds into you relentlessly.

you're seeing stars when the knot in your belly keeps growing again, completely going dumb on his dick which causes him to twitch inside you. "close again? f-fuckk, such a good fuckin' girl takin' my cock this— should i let you cum? after you were so— fuckin'— annoying all day—?"

"i'm sorry! i'm sorry c-chris—"

"sorry? now you're fuckin' sorry?"

"please—" that's all you're able to choke out, gripping the sheets as your orgasm crashes down over you like a wave. he groans at the feeling of you creaming around him again.

his composure shatters, with a shuddering growl he presses fully inside you, his knot starting to swell "shittt, ma... stay still... don't... fuckin'... move—"

he rides out his high, eyes locked on the way your eyebrows knitted together and mouth is slack open, whines and cries out of pleasure leaving your lips.

you're pretty sure he's done and you're able to get some air especially when his grip on your throat loosens. but oh, how much you underestimated your boyfriend sometimes.

as the aftershocks of his release fade, chris glances at the vibrator lying on the nightstand, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. still buried deep inside you, he reaches for the device with a mischievous glint in his eye. you're fully oblivious to his plan, laying with your eyes closed until he picks up the vibrator and turns it on, the high pitched whine filling the room. he presses the device against your clit, the vibrations making you jerk and twitch despite being so thoroughly fucked. "open your eyes, brat. see what else we got... your favorite little toy, hm?"

a muffled scream escapes you, eyes fluttering open to look down at what he was doing. breath hitches in your throat, "chris—" you try to sway his hand away too overstimulated, but not trying hard enough when it hurts so good.

he ignores your whines, pressing the vibrator more firmly against you, his other hand reaching out to grab your thigh and throw your leg over his shoulder, opening you up even more. "too sensitive?" his tone mocks you, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you squirm.

chris leans forward and captures your mouth in a rough, dominating kiss, biting down on your lower lip, then tugging it gently as he continues to press the vibrator against you. "look at you, so pretty and overwhelmed..." you moan against his lips, feeling his hips slowly start moving, thrusting in and out as the toy continues to assault your swollen bud.

"t-too much, chris... please— oh!"

"too much, huh? but you're still so fuckin' tight.... m'not stoppin' until you can't take anymore." he pulls back from the kiss, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he observes your trembling legs and flushed cheeks. "gonna cum f'me again? seems like your greedy pussy can't get enough, hm?"

"i— i can't—" your hips twitch upwards to press more against the toy, feeling his cock moving hard enough to make your toes curl.

"yeaaah, you can, c'mon gorgeous... where's that attitude you were giving me all day?" he punctuates his words with a deep thrust. as you clench around him and grind against the vibrator, he presses it harder, stimulating your clit, the buzzing driving you wild. "thaaaat's it, brat... fuckkk—"

the stimulation with him repeatedly hitting your sweet spots has you coming undone again, you let out high pitched moans, your whole body shaking. "holy shit— hurts so... s-so good—"

he smirks, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you flush against his chest as he continues to thrust gently and keep the vibrator pressed against your swollen bud. "y'love it, though.." he growls in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "maybe this will— mmmhm, teach you how to behave—"

your fingers tangle into his hair to hold onto anything, nails digging into his back what only spurrs him on.

his thrusts becoming a little more forceful as he drives himself deeper inside you, feeling his release building again at the way you clench around him like a vice. the toy keeps buzzing against you at the same time, the combination of sensations overwhelming your poor, overstimulated pussy.

"chris if you— don't stop— oh! m'gonna— cum again—" your eyes rolling back, back arching upwards. "go ahead, baby." he pants in your ear, his voice hoarse from holding back his own release. he can feel your inner walls starting to spasm, ready to convulse around him again, your body tensing up getting closer to another release that you clearly can't handle. "gimme one more, c'mon..."

"i'm— fuck... cumming— chris, i'm—" you cry out, your body shaking uncontrollably as euphoria consumes you, completely overpowering your other senses. he watches you with satisfaction, keeping the vibrator pressed against you, prolonging your orgasm. it makes you squeeze around him so tight, he barely can move, "goddamn—"

he keeps you flush against him as he finally lets out a groan and releases inside you, flooding your already overworked pussy with his seed. you gasp for air, eyes fluttering open as you weakly mutter, "too much chris—"

he smiles against you, finally turning off the vibrator and gently pulling it away from your swollen, quivering flesh. "yeah?" he asks mischievously, nuzzling into your neck and biting gently at the sensitive skin there. "gonna keep being a brat?"

you shake your head just as he lifts up his, looking at your fucked out expression. then he captures your lips in a sweet kiss, his ego boosted at the way he clearly wore you out.

"can i get cuddles tonight?" you mutters against his lips, a chuckle escapes him. "obviously."

taglist: @certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @sturnioloslutttt4 @ashlishes @mattsbitchh @hi-people-who-are-alive @stellward123 @inssanely @matts-girlfriend @imnotalive420 @emely9274 @shadowthesim @yunkilm @sophiaxsblog @namelesssav @demyackerman @fratbrochrisgf @lvrsturniolo @chrisweetheart @chrisfavoritewhore @sturnslutz @ncm9696 @certified-sturniolo @mattsobvimyfav @swagalicious260 @giannalovessturniolo @sophand4n4 @brazyturtleneck @jocelyncsblog @sophand4n4 @giannalovessturniolo @alesturniolos @ilovenmcs

[justhereforsubsevika]

Inexperienced!Sevika scissoring for the first time (implied Sevi is maybe early 20s here, modern au)

"So um.. hello," Sevika comes in with her laptop and opens it to pornhub. "Uh. Hi Sevika? Why am I looking at 'British MILF BBW takes STEP-SONS COCK real FEMALE ORGA-'"

"Shut up that video autoplayed!" she huffs, scrambling to try and find her original video. She flushes hard when she gets to the tab she was looking for, looking extremely offended when you cringe. It's a 'lesbian' brazzers video, two women wriggling their pussies together in a way you're sure barely feels like anything. "What! I thought.. do you not?.." she trails off and looks away, thumbs twiddling. She grunts and shuts the laptop. "Whatever, whatever forget it."

"Aw honey. I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing at the video," you reopen the laptop and find the part where one of the girls is screaming while her pussy grinds on air, "look. It's really fake baby. That wouldn't feel good." Sevika pouts and looks down. "I'm sorry, I thought it looked hot, and she was making so much noise I just thought.."

You pick up her chin between your fingers and rub your nose against hers, instantly igniting a little grin from your pouty girl. "Nothing to be sorry about, just something to learn."

*

Sevika lay nearly-naked on the bed, lazily dragging her fingers through her folds, her breasts spilling out of her white lace bra. She watched you, blushing, as you took off your clothes, letting her pull down your panties. She whined at the sight of your pussy, dipping the tip of her middle finger into herself momentarily when you dripped onto her thigh. "Okay Sevi, stop touching." You demanded. Ever the obedient puppy, she puts her hand above her head. You grope at her tits over her bra, biting your lip when her brown, hardened nipples peek over the lace. You lean down to kiss her chest, her hand coming down to rest on your hip.

"I want you on top for this, okay?" You whisper, soothingly running your fingertips along her muscular arm. She gasps and her eyes widen, "what? But I don't know what to do!" She whines as you switch positions. You lay back against the pillows, legs spread, giggling when she gawks at the sight of your pussy. "It's okay. I'll guide you," you reassure, holding her shaky hand in yours.

"Spread yourself open, like this," you demonstrate by spreading your pussy with two fingers, Sevika eagerly cooperating by doing the same. "Now sit, try and get our clits to touch, got it baby?"

She nods and bites her lip, the corners of her mouth flitting up in a goofy smile. She sits and her eyes roll back, the feeling of your clits pressed against eachother making her go insane. "Oh fuck, now what?" She groans out, eyes white, head thrown back. You grip her cheeks and force her to look at you, a whimper escaping her lips when you grind up onto her. She grabs the wall, the bed, your thigh, anything to keep herself up. Her pussy's so needy, so sensitive from the size of her clit. She looks down and sees how your mess strings against her thighs, meshes into her bush.

"Please, please help I need more," she begs, her words muffled from the way her cheeks are smushed together. You grip her hip with your other hand, guiding her to roll herself against you. She moans and drool hangs out her mouth, unable to shut it from your clutch.

"Can you go faster for me Sevi?" You gasp out, putting one of your legs over hers for a better angle. She nods feverently, snapping her hips in an ameteur but still-so-fucking-good way, sliding messily against you. She feverishly rubs your pussies together, crying out your name every other thrust. You take your hand off her face and grip her hips hard, forcing more pressure down onto yourself. You moan at the fact her muscles dont fight you despite the fact you're weaker: her body completely surrenders when you touch her, knows who controls it.

"Can-mmph-can I cu-uh, uh uh baby please,"

You laugh breathlessly at her pathetic attempt at begging to cum, the fact she can't get through a sentence without moaning making your stomach twist deliciously.

"Cum for me Sevika, give it to me," you moan, your own orgasm fast approaching. The way her pussy seems to swallow yours up, drowns you with how wet she is, heightens her frenzied and disorganised thrusts to no end. "G'nna cum, cum on baby's pussy, mmph, ah shit, fuck me-" she babbles out before going silent, save for some hiccups and shallow breaths as her cum spills onto you. She gets over the initial shock of pleasure and topples over, still rutting against you, your lower stomach getting painted in her mess. You groan and bite her shoulder, shaking as you grind your pussy against her clit, your own cum leaking out of you.

"Did so well Sevika," you mutter, petting her hair as she whimpers and collapses her weight against you. "So well princess."

for @vampcubus !!

[eggyrocks]

DRUNK WALK HOME

chapter seven: introductions

masterlist

"and i don't want your pity, i just want somebody near me / guess i'm a coward, i just want to feel alright," nobody by mitski

It’s Tuesday, and Akaashi’s studying, sitting at the university coffee shop with his notes splayed across a table, an empty seat across from him. 

He can’t focus. He couldn’t focus at his apartment, he couldn’t focus at the library, and he can’t focus here. Noises keep making his head turn, and he keeps thinking that he sees her out of the corner of his eye, and each time it tenses him up, makes his adrenaline spike. 

He keeps rereading the same sentence over and over, and going to drink from a coffee that’s been empty for about twenty minutes now. He’s not retaining any information, each word he reads turning into dust on his head. 

It’s making his head split. And as much as Akaashi does not want to admit it, the thought creeps into the back of his mind that she’s right: he is obsessed. It makes his grip on his pen a bit tighter. He tries, but he can’t stop thinking about her. Everything he does, she’s in the back of his mind. He wonders what she’d say to him if she could see him, what she’d do. He wonders what she’s thinking about, and if she’s thinking about him. 

He wonders if she would’ve been his friend, if he had given her the chance. 

This is what he’s thinking about instead of his studies, and it’s driving him insane. He grinds his teeth together, and tries to force himself to understand the content in front of him. 

A heavy leather purse drops down on top of the table, and he jumps. Akaashi looks up, and sees an older woman there, taking a seat in the empty chair across from him. She stares directly at Akaashi as she does so. She looks familiar. This scowl she has on her face feels like one Akaashi knows. 

“I’m sitting here,” she says, matter-of-factly, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her seat. “There’s no other place to sit, and I’m waiting for my kid to show up. She’s late, go fucking figure.” 

Akaashi tries not to let it show how immediately uncomfortable he feels. “Um, okay. That’s fine with me,” he says stiffly, nodding his head. 

She has wrinkles around her eyes and heavy frown lines around her mouth. “What’s your name?” she demands. 

“Akaashi Keiji, ma’am,” he answers, because he feels like he has to. Like he’ll get in some kind of trouble if he doesn’t.

“You look like a smart kid,” she comments, eyes briefly tracing over his collection of books and notes. “You get good grades?” 

“My grades are decent, yes.” 

She snorts. “That’s a humble way of saying yes. You look smart, studying here. Wish my kid was smart like you. But she’s a fucking dumbass.” 

His discomfort makes him squirm. Akaashi doesn’t know what to say, so he settles on, “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“You got a girlfriend, Akaashi?” she asks bluntly. 

“Um, no,” he says, and for some reason his face gets hot. “No I don’t.” 

“Do you want one? My daughter’s dumb as rocks but she’s at least pretty. Gets it from me,” she says, and grins proudly. 

Akaashi looks over his shoulder, like he’s looking for someone to save him from this conversation. The last thing he wants is to date this random woman’s random daughter, especially if they’re anything alike. “Oh, well, I’m just trying to focus on my studies now.” 

“Well if you change your mind, let me know. Maybe you’d be a good influence on her,” she says, and then perks up in her chair, looking over Akaashi’s head. “Look, here she comes now.” 

Akaashi turns, and he sees her. For a moment, he tries to pretend that he doesn’t see her, and instead looks for the woman’s daughter, before it dawns on him.

It makes sense, once Akaashi realizes. They look alike. The way the frown is the same. The way they spit out words is the same. Akaashi feels something that is akin to satisfaction. 

She must see her mother sitting there, speaking with Akaashi, and feel dread, because this awful expression works its way across her face once she sees the two of them together. Her mouth screws up, her fists ball by her side, and she takes quick, urgent steps towards the table in the middle of the cafe. “Mom?” she questions, voice half horrified and half enraged. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“I’m talking to this nice boy, Akaashi,” her mother responds, leaning back in her chair as if she has no intention of leaving, and is in fact just getting comfortable. Smugness blossoms in Akaashi’s chest, and he can’t help but smirk. 

She is deliberately not looking back at Akaashi. She has her head turned to face just her mother, shoulders tensed. “Yeah, I can see that. Why are you talking to him?” 

“Because I want to,” her mother replies, and then turns back to face Akaashi. “Akaashi, you know this scrub?” 

“No, I don’t know him, Mom,” she rushes to lie. 

“Actually, we do know each other,” Akaashi corrects her, voice level and cool. “I’m her writing tutor. All students on academic probation have to see a tutor twice a week.” 

It’s then that she finally turns to face Akaashi, and it’s not what he was expecting. He was expecting more of her rage, twisted up anger and some kind of rude remark. But instead, she looks horrified, eyes wide and jaw slightly dropped. It makes him shift. He’s never seen her look like that. 

“Akaashi,” she whispers, and he thinks it might be the first time she’s said his name since their reintroduction. It makes his spine straighten out. 

“Academic probation, huh? What a deadbeat kid you are,” her mother spits out, voice low and harsh. She stands, grabbing her heavy bag and swinging it over her shoulder. “Let’s go,” she commands of her kid. 

And, in a move that Akaashi doesn’t expect, she obeys without another word. Her head hangs and her shoulders slump, and she follows her mother out the cafe. Neither one of them say another word to Akaashi. 

Akaashi sits there for a moment, left with the impression that he’s done something wrong, just then.

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @causenessus @kawaii-angelanne @thatonecroc @v1oletfury @lonesomedrive @nnnyxie @crownj1min @frvppe @mollyrolls @karasyuu @ciderscape @phoenix-eclipses @s1ckntw1st3d @cnnmairoll @soobin1437 @worldgyu @snail-squasher @dragonictears @ferntv @reignsaway @Lisoozi @staygoldsquatchling02 @gsyche @yuminako @spicana @hermaeusmorax @shoyostar @whorefornoodles @hqsimprevival2024 @atsumuenthusiast @lemonocityyy @itsdragonius @robinphobia @aboveasphodel @savemebrazilhinata @lllaw @dreamingofyeo @milesmoralesluvs @miliondollagirl @kitnootkat

taglist is open, complete this form to be added

[syoddeye]

Price as Davy Jones from POTC. Comes back every ten years to track down reader no matter where they are

the timing of this ask is bananas, because i was just discussing a similar premise with friends. (except davy jones!ghost, purely to describe him prying a barnacle off of his face and eating it in front of reader.) but this works so well with price, too.

prefacing this by admitting I haven't watched any potc movies since they came out. so this is based on what i remember, and we're going to be forgiving lol. this spun out into 1.9k.

cw: implied/referenced noncon/rape, body horror, stabbing/shooting/violence in general, implied/referenced breeding, largely unedited all vibes no brakes.

Clinging to a scrap of what was once a passenger ship, choking on smoke and seawater, you whimper as bits of wreckage and bodies bob around you, lifeless limbs brushing against your legs.

The wreckage still burns, providing just enough light to keep the nightmare well within sight. You see too much: the ship’s carcass, curious dark shadows, a woman in the distance gradually being sucked beneath the surface, her dress pulling taut like an anchor.

You barely register the ship until you hear the whipping of its sails.

Its silhouette is monstrous. A ghastly thing, every bit of it disfigured by time and violence. Its lights blur in your salt-stung eyes, and you blink hard, certain it isn't real. It's a hallucination, a cruel trick of exhaustion.

Yet, it is instinct to call out, to raise your voice. A very human thing, the desire to survive.

Minutes pass, and you're sure that your voice is lost among the waves, but the slap of a dinghy hitting water jars you. Voices call out, searching. Hope stirs in your chest, but as the small boat nears, its crew shoving wreckage and bodies aside, you see the figure at its bow.

A man. Not a man.

A lantern swings in a fist. Light and shadow spill across the figure. Wet skin like pale wax, cloudy eyes set beneath a furrowed brow—and that is where his humanity ends. 

Protruding from his beard, claws arc from his face, ridged and brown like a crab's shell, melding seamlessly into the flesh of his jaw and temples. His lips, blackened and peeling, purse together in a line. A line that slowly tips upward in its corners as your eyes grow wider and wider.

A scream works its way up your throat, but it sticks. The last thing you see is his hand, reaching, before the world spins, and darkness swallows you.

You come to, tucked in a bed, with a callused and damp hand holding your own, like a nurse would. Humming a quiet song.

It's him.

When you scream, he waits. When you cry, he says nothing. He watches you recoil, your breath catching and shuddering on your panic, and he permits it all. But when exhaustion drags you back to the pillows, he moves. A canteen pressed to your lips. A piece of bread on your tongue.

"Consider this is a second chance," He rasps, voice like the ship he plucked you from, charred and waterlogged, bubbling and burnt. "A survivor, but only alive because I decreed it so."

He names himself Captain Price. Gestures around you: this is his ship, his crew. You'll find no disloyalty here, no soft hearts. Then, with a flex of his claws—gleaming, articulated things jutting grotesquely from his skin—he acknowledges what you've already guessed. 

"You've heard the stories, I'd wager."

You have. Cursed ships. Drowned men who don't stay dead. When you booked your passage, the name was muttered like a bad omen, then dismissed with soothing reassurances: That ship's just a tale to scare the children and womenfolk.

But the proof sits in front of you, chest heaving in watery breaths, clouded eyes watching your every move.

"I've invoked my privileges as captain," He informs you as you stare, dumbstruck. "You'll be under my protection. Mine alone."

The implication is clear, as sharp as the claws on his face. Companion. The word sticks in your throat. The roof of your mouth.

When the fear overwhelms you again, your body shaking with what he means, he doesn't let you cry or scream. His grip tightens into a vise until you gasp, a warning. His spare hand, an even more disfigured mangle of fingers and claws, drum against the bed frame. 

"If that doesn't suit, you can bunk with the crew tonight. And come morning, I'll see you back to the sea."

It isn't much of a choice. Not one at all, really. You let the silence speak for you, and he releases your wrist. Rising to his full height, he tells you to finish the bread, drink, and sleep. 

"Unfortunate thing like you, you'll need it."

The next day, you're allowed more time to rest, though don't dare sleep. You're terrified of the Captain. Of him reconsidering his so-called mercy. Worse still, when you do think of the crew, you almost wish he'd let them have you. At least it would afford you an end to this torture. Peace at the bottom of the sea.

The cabin door is locked at all times, of course. Still, you're surprised to find yourself free to roam its cramped confines. You rifle through maps and logbooks, though the latter might as well be written in a foreign language. The room offers little else: no paintings, no books, nothing of sentiment. A space for planning and sleeping, nothing else.

You listen instead. The voices above deck, the crash of waves. Through the porthole, you see no land, discern no direction. The hours crawl by, and it's only when the sun disappears that he returns.

He brings food. Your dress, dried. You take the meal reluctantly, your appetite thin but you do not think he'll allow you to starve. You don't question the food's origin. From what little you've gathered, he doesn't need it.

When you're finished, the Captain takes the plate and utensils without a word. Alone again.

And so it continues. Breakfast. Dinner. Hours of silence in between. Days pass, melting into one another. You lose yourself in the monotony and isolation. You're certain this is hell: locked in a cabin surrounded by monsters, the devil himself tending to you.

Eventually, the thought comes, sprung from the desperate prayers you whisper every night. Clear and unshakable. Kill the devil. Free yourself.

When the moment arrives at dinner, you do not hesitate. The dinner knife fits perfectly in your hand as you swing it, the blade aimed at his chest. You expect resistance, struggle—but there's none. The steel sinks in easily, the sound wet and horribly soft, and the grin on his face only deepens.

He laughs. Your blood turns cold.

"Was waitin' for this," he chuckles, grabbing and pressing his pistol into your hand. He adjusts your grip, tilts the barrel toward the vulnerable stretch of his throat where carapace gives way to flesh. His claws click against the weapon as he steadies it.

"C'mon, darling. See what happens."

The shot rattles your teeth, and then it's everywhere. Blood, bits of tissue, saltwater spraying out in a burst. It coats his chest, slick and shining, and splatters up your hands, your arms.

For a heartbeat, you think it worked. His head rests against the back of his chair.

But his skin, ceral and dripping, slowly knits. Wet threads reach for one another and tie themselves together, leaving a shallow ridge. It's as if you did nothing at all. His head tips back up, gaze heavy-lidded and glinting. He spits the ball of lead out, a dark sludge dripping from the corner of his lips, and his good hand finds the back of your skull. He reels you in for a kiss. Defeat tastes like salt and iron. 

The routine changes. 

An unholy wedding occurs. You know God averts his eyes.

The man leading you down the aisle wears a skull as a mask, its hollow sockets fixed forward, fluttering gills at his neck. It is the first taste of fresh air you've had in weeks. Gruesome creatures crowd the deck, clawed hands and tendrils reaching to tug at your makeshift veil of netting and lace. Their jeers fill the air, delighted and mocking.

You are wed.

But Price admits to you on your wedding night, his deformed clawed hand cradling your head, buried within you, that he knows you can't stay. There are places he must travel, places you cannot go.

You do not believe him until he finds you an island, which, unbeknownst to you, lies on the path of a trade route. It hits you as he lifts you from the dinghy and sets you down in the shallows. This must be the end of it. This is the last you will see of him and his crew, his cursed ship. You will starve, die, and rot in freedom.

Before you take a single step toward the beach, he seizes you by your dress, turning you back to him. His eyes scour your face as if trying to memorize it. Every feature, every detail.

He leans in close, whispering in the salt-sweet air, "I'll find you again. I can promise you that."

Time blurs into a haze of hunger and thirst before you're found. It's hailed as a miracle: you survived. The sentiment haunting as you limp your way back to what remains of your life. 

Years pass and wear the edges of memory down, turning them almost bearable. Captain Price's promise fades into the background, like the echo of a bad dream.

You take a husband. You find a new home. You vow to never touch the sea, again.

Until the storm.

It comes howling, ripping through the harbor, swallowing ships whole, and splintering docks. The air is charged, furious. You cannot put words to it, but in your bones, it feels personal. You watch from your window, mesmerized, until you see it—a figure in the rain.

The lantern's light swings with his steps up the hill to your cottage. The whistle from his blackened cuts through the roaring wind, and your stomach knots with the memory it drags from the depths of your mind.

Your husband goes to ask if the stranger requires shelter from the storm. Frozen in fear, you cannot stop him as he greets his death with open arms.

Through the window, you see it unfold. The moment of recognition, him stiffening as he takes in what he sees. Then he screams, the sound ripped straight from his chest, raw and panicked, the same way you screamed all those years ago.

You try to hide, of course. Try to bar the door, arm yourself with whatever you can find. But it doesn't matter. The door groans, then gives. It crashes open, shoving back the table, and in he steps. Captain Price. Rainwater and the blood of your poor husband dripping from his hands. 

"Who was that, love?"

His grip is cold and iron-tight as he pulls you from your corner. "Not this again," He chuckles, plucking the kitchen knife from your hand.

The Captain drags you to bed, chest heaving, eyes moving over you like he's deciding where to start. How to make up for lost time. He speaks softly, almost tender. Husbandly.

"Ten years is long for you, I know," He peels your clothes off, marveling. He studies the changes in your body with reverence, dragging his fingertips along every line and wrinkle. "I do not fault you for your loneliness. But…a husband?" His tone hardens, eyes locking to yours. "Did you forget you were already a wife?"

Your mouth opens, then closes, nothing coming out but shallow, desperate breaths, like a fish gasping on the deck.

"This time," he murmurs as he shrugs free of his coat, then his shirt, "I'll give you something to remember our vows by."

The Captain leaves with the storm. The town counts its losses, buries its dead, and you stand by your own pile of dirt behind your cottage, a hand pressed over your belly.

Dread already quickening.

Ten years isn't that long at all.

[gardenwons]

The road to rejection

SYNOPSIS: Three miles, a pocket full of poems, and one stubborn poet knocking on the same door, hoping that no might eventually rhyme with yes. PAIRINGS: poet!jungwon x hard to get!reader GENRE: fluff just fluff, angst (if u squint), literally hopeless romantic vibes also lowk loser!jw i lovv A/N: inspired by henry wadsworth longfellow’s story with his wife, it was too sweet to not make jw a lovesick puppy. anws i highly suggest u guys read about his life lol

It started with a wrong turn.

Jungwon had been walking home from his poetry class, his head full of verses and not enough sense to look up from his notebook. The ink on the page was still wet when he crashed straight into you- books flying, curses slipping, and a coffee cup spilling down the front of your perfectly pressed blazer.

"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me" you hissed, stepping back as the dark stain spread across your perfectly pressed blazer, the smell of cheap espresso filling the air like a bad punchline to a joke you didn’t find funny.

Jungwon’s mouth fell open, eyes darting between the puddle on the pavement and the damage on your clothes. His heart stuttered, embarrassment rising faster than the heat in his face. He fumbled with clumsy hands, patting down his pockets for something..maybe a napkin, an apology, or even a way to reverse time. Nothing.

“Some tragedies are best written in stains” he blurted out before his brain caught up with his mouth. The words hung awkwardly between you as his eyes squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to erase them from existence.

Your brows shot up, and your lips curled with scorn. “What?”

When he dared to look again, his gaze landed on your face, memorizing every curve and crease, the sharp arch of your brow, the twist of your lips as you exhaled in disbelief. Heat prickled the back of his neck, and his heart raced as if his own words had betrayed him.

You wiped at your ruined blazer with a resigned sigh, shaking your head as if dealing with a hopeless case. "Then I hope you’re a better poet than a pedestrian" you snapped, brushing past him with quick, purposeful steps.

He turned to watch you walk away, the words lingering like a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. The sound of your voice echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgettable

The next morning, a poem sat crumpled in his hand as he knocked on the door he’d seen you vanish behind.

And so began his journey walking three miles, one heart, endless rejection,  and a muse who never made it easy.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

For weeks, Jungwon walked.

Three miles from his dormitory to your corner of the city, each step a steady rhythm against rain-soaked pavements and autumn leaves that crunched beneath his worn sneakers. The crisp evening air carried the familiar scent of jasmine from your mother’s garden, a fragrance that marked the final stretch of his journey, a pilgrimage guided by longing and stubborn hope.

He knew you would not answer. He knew you would not say yes.

Yet he knocked.

Every time, without fail, you opened the door. Your brow lifted in amused curiosity, and a slow, knowing smile tugged at your lips. You stood there, a picture of untouchable grace framed by the golden glow of the porch light, looking as if you belonged to a world far beyond his reach.

“Still here, Poet?”

“Still here.”

The ritual remained unchanged. He asked if he could walk with you to the market, along the riverside, or anywhere you might let him follow. And, as always, you refused, laughter slipping from your mouth like soft, mocking music, as though he were nothing more than a foolish boy chasing impossible dreams.

“Try again tomorrow, Jungwon. Maybe I’ll say yes when the moon turns green.”

—-----------------------------------------------------

His friends called him mad.

“She’s never going to say yes” Sunghoon sighed, his voice heavy with the kind of exasperated sympathy reserved for fools in love. He slung an arm over Jungwon’s shoulder as they trudged back from your house yet again, the scent of jasmine still lingering faintly on Jungwon’s clothes, as if the very air mocked his persistence.

Jungwon’s gaze remained fixed on the ground ahead, eyes burning with quiet determination as he stepped over fallen leaves and cracked pavement. “Some flowers bloom only in the wild” he muttered, the words low and resolute, as if willing them into a truth he alone believed.

Sunoo, walking just behind them, let out a sharp laugh that bounced between the streetlights. “You’re writing poetry for a wall, my friend” he said, shaking his head, his grin filled with amusement and pity. “She doesn’t even read it. What’s the point?”

Jungwon’s lips curled into a small, stubborn smile. His fingers tightened around the frayed edges of a folded poem resting in his pocket, ink smudged from too many readings, too many dreams scribbled into desperate verses.

“Then I’ll carve it into stone if I must” he whispered, as if confessing a secret only his heart could hear. His voice was soft, but his resolve was unshakable, each word heavy with the weight of devotion that no rejection could crush.

—-----------------------------------------------------

The next day, he walked again.

Three miles stretched out before him, step by aching step, each one an echo of his unshakable devotion. The autumn wind bit at his cheeks and tangled in his dark hair, but he didn’t slow. His feet knew the path as intimately as the lines of his own hands, worn smooth by repetition, driven forward by a longing that lived too deep to name.

In his pocket, a new poem lay folded and creased, the edges softened from the restless grip of his fingers. Ink smudged the corners where he had touched it too many times, tracing words meant for you alone. His heart was a raw, beating thing as he approached your door once more, a fragile offering wrapped in stubborn hope.

When the door opened, it wasn’t the jasmine-scented air or the golden light that stole his breath. It was the sight of you, effortless and unreachable, with eyes that seemed to dance between amusement and something he could never quite catch.

Jungwon drew in a slow breath, his chest tightening as he met your gaze. He spoke before you could beat him to it. “I know you’ll say no.”

You leaned against the frame, crossing your arms as if this were all a game you had already won. “Then why do you keep coming?”

For a moment, silence hung between you, taut and heavy. His eyes held yours without flinching, and in that stillness, the weight of his soul stood bare- raw, unguarded, and fierce with a feeling too vast to contain.

“Because you’re the only answer I want.” His voice was steady, low, and sure, each word cutting like the edge of a blade. “And if I have to write a thousand verses, take a thousand steps just to hear one yes, I will.”

The wind stirred the space between you, cold against his skin, but he felt nothing except the pounding in his chest. His truth had been spoken, a prayer and a promise laid at your feet.

—-----------------------------------------------------

That night, you sat by the window, the dim light of the moon casting long shadows across the room. The stillness of the evening wrapped around you like a quiet secret, and yet, your thoughts raced, unsettled and restless. A strange, unfamiliar warmth had settled in your chest, a warmth that felt like it didn’t belong to you, something uninvited, a quiet stirring that wouldn’t be ignored.

You thought of him. The boy with ink-stained fingers and weary shoes, whose every step seemed to carry the weight of his unspoken feelings. His face, flushed with both embarrassment and determination, came to mind, the way he held himself, always so sure of his purpose, even when you shut the door in his face. You thought of his poems, the ones left unread on your doorstep, crumpled by the cruel wind but still clinging to the faint hope that you might one day read them, might one day understand. You had ignored them, tossed them aside with the same coldness you had shown him, but now, they lingered in your thoughts like the trace of an unanswered question.

His words echoed in your mind, cutting through the silence like a quiet thunder. "Because you're the only answer I want."

You bit your lip, looking out at the darkened streets. The thought of him, the persistence, the belief that something in you was worth the fight, made the warmth inside you grow, unfamiliar but undeniable. What would it feel like to stop turning him away? What would it be like to open the door, to let him in, to finally answer him in a way he hadn’t expected?

For the first time, you wondered if you were the one who had been running all along.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Jungwon went away, seeking peace of mind and space for his scholarly pursuits. The quiet of distant places was a balm to his restless soul, a necessary separation from the world he had tried so hard to win. His letters, once frequent, became infrequent, each one carrying the weight of his thoughts, his poetry, and his quiet heartache. In the last one he wrote to you, he poured his heart onto the paper, the words raw and unguarded, as if he knew this would be the last time he would try to reach you this way.

The letter lay unopened for days, then weeks, and finally, months. You never meant to ignore it, but life had a way of slipping by. The rejection had made it easier to push him aside, to lock away the words that might force you to confront something you weren’t ready to face.

But one evening, after so much time had passed, you finally sat down and read it.

"I leave, not because I want to, but because I need to. I need to find my own way, not as the boy who walked miles to see you, but as someone who can stand on his own, who can breathe without the weight of unrequited love on his chest.

I will never regret these steps, these words, or the way I believed in something that, in the end, was only meant for me.

But perhaps, in time, you will come to understand that my poetry was never about you. It was about me. And even if you never say yes, I will still be the poet who writes, who walks, who lives.

I hope one day, when the moon turns green, you will find yourself ready to say what I long to hear. Until then, I’ll be walking my own path, where I can finally stop chasing after something that can never be mine."

You read those words, and for the first time, you understood. The sting of his absence, the weight of what he had carried all along, settled deep in your chest. You had been too afraid to open your heart, to let him in, and now it was too late. The quiet, stubborn boy had walked away, not in defeat, but in hope for something he had never been able to find with you.

But now, with the words in front of you, you wondered if it was truly the end.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Seven years.

Seven whole years had passed, but the weight of those years felt more like a single breath than the stretch of time they represented. Jungwon had left, chasing peace, running from the ache that had clung to him for too long. In his absence, life had moved on, his friends had changed, she had changed- but he remained tethered to a past that refused to loosen its grip.

When Sunghoon had called for a reunion, Jungwon had agreed without much thought. It wasn’t so much about reconnecting with old friends as it was a quiet test for himself. How much had changed? Had those seven years reshaped him, or had they only deepened the parts of him he’d tried to forget? He hadn’t expected her to be there, not really. But when the door opened and he saw her standing in the room, everything stopped.

It was her- the same face, but sharper, a little more guarded, like she had learned how to protect herself from whatever weight the world had put on her. The smile she gave him was thin, more of a polite gesture than anything else, and it didn’t reach her eyes. For a moment, he was paralyzed by the recognition of everything he had left behind, everything he had lost.

"Jungwon" she said, her voice tentative, as though unsure whether they were still familiar to each other.

He didn’t know what to say. He was supposed to have words for this moment, but all that came out was a soft, “Hey”

Her gaze flickered over him, and he felt the tension coil between them. There were no pleasantries, no casual laughter. Only silence that seemed too loud for everything they had once shared.

"I didn’t expect you to be here" she said, and there was something fragile in her tone, something he hadn’t expected.

Jungwon managed a wry smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his heart. “I could say the same thing.”

The air thickened between them. The years felt impossibly long, but somehow, the moment felt like they were standing in the same place they had been seven years ago. The gap between them wasn’t just time; it was everything they hadn’t said, everything that had been left undone.

“You’ve changed” she said, her voice careful, almost as if she were trying to figure out if he was still the person she remembered.

Jungwon looked at her and shrugged, the faintest surprise pulling at his features. “Yeah, I guess I have. But I think you’ve changed too.”

There was a pause, a beat where neither of them knew what to say, but both of them felt the weight of everything that hadn’t been spoken over the years. Jungwon had rehearsed this moment in his mind countless times, running through apologies and explanations, but now that he stood before her, those words felt foreign, as if they had been left behind in the past where they belonged.

“I never meant to hurt you-” he blurted out, the words slipping from him before he could stop them. “I thought... leaving would be the only way to find peace, but it wasn’t. It didn’t fix anything.”

Her gaze softened for a moment, and for the briefest instant, it felt like she was seeing him again, like the years hadn’t erased everything they once had. Jungwon’s heart twisted. Maybe it was too late, maybe the distance was too wide to cross, but he couldn’t help the flicker of hope that burned quietly in his chest.

“Maybe we’ve been walking in circles all this time” he muttered, almost to himself. “Maybe this is where we’re supposed to be.”

She didn’t answer immediately. She just stood there, looking at him like she was weighing the possibility of what he had said. Her lips quirked, the faintest smile touching the corners of her mouth, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was a smile full of questions, of hesitation, as if she wasn’t sure if they could move forward, or if they even should.

“Maybe” she whispered, barely audible. The word lingered between them, suspended in the air like a promise that could either be broken or fulfilled.

Jungwon stood there, a quiet storm brewing inside him. He couldn’t tell if it was a sign of hope or just the end of something that had never really started. But as they stood there, inches apart and yet a lifetime away, there was something in the silence, something fragile but undeniably real that told him maybe, just maybe, this was worth fighting for.

—-----------------------------------------------------

The soft murmur of the café wrapped around them like a blanket, a comfortable hum that masked the quiet tension between them. The table was small, just a few inches separating them, but it felt like a world apart, the kind of distance that could either keep them apart forever or draw them closer. Neither of them could tell which.

She stirred her coffee, her fingers delicate around the spoon, her movements slow as if she was trying to draw out the moment. Jungwon watched her, his eyes tracing the curve of her fingers, the way she absentmindedly traced the rim of her cup. It felt so familiar, so heartbreakingly normal. Yet, everything about this moment was different, charged with something neither of them was willing to name.

"So, you still write?" she asked, her voice quiet, but there was a softness in it that hadn’t been there the last time they spoke, a gentleness that made his heart skip, just a little.

Jungwon nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips. "I do. Sometimes. Though, I think my poems are a little less hopeful than they used to be."

She met his eyes then, her gaze steady but searching. "What do they say now?"

"Mostly about missing things I didn’t even know I wanted," he said with a half-laugh, the words escaping before he could stop them. His fingers tightened around his cup, the weight of the admission heavier than he expected.

Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she might say something, maybe something sharp or maybe something sweet. Instead, she simply nodded, her gaze flickering away to something outside the window. "I guess we’re all writing those kinds of poems now" she murmured.

Jungwon’s heart ached, but he couldn’t look away. "I never stopped thinking about you" he said, the words slipping out before he had a chance to think about them.

Her eyes snapped back to him, wide and unreadable, but there was something softer in them, something more open than before. The way she held his gaze, the way she didn’t look away felt like everything had led to this one moment, the space between them shifting, the distance slowly closing.

"I thought you were gone for good" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought... I thought maybe I was better off without you."

Jungwon’s chest tightened at the honesty in her words. He leaned in slightly, his hands clasped on the table, feeling the heat of her presence like it was burning through him. "I thought the same. But I guess some things are harder to forget than others."

There was a long silence after that, a silence that felt thick with everything they had left unsaid, everything they hadn’t been able to say in all the years that had passed. She looked down at her cup, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and for a moment, Jungwon wondered if it was because she was remembering something, too.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was light, but there was a certain warmth to it that made his heart beat faster. "You know, you always did have a way with words."

He smirked, the familiar teasing glint in his eyes. "I think you liked it better when I was just a poet."

Her gaze softened, and she let out a soft laugh, the kind of laugh that only came from long, shared memories. "Maybe... But now? I think I like it better when you’re just here."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the words hanging between them like the unfinished lines of a poem, both beautiful and unresolved. Jungwon couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way, like something was on the edge of being real, but still so fragile that it could slip away at any moment.

When she stood up to leave, Jungwon didn’t move, not right away. There was something in the way she smiled at him that made his chest tighten. She seemed like she might say something more, but instead, she simply glanced at him with that same half-smile he remembered so well.

"I’ll see you again, right?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she wasn’t sure if it was okay to ask.

He nodded, his heart in his throat, and smiled. "Yeah, I think you will."

She turned to walk away, her footsteps soft against the floor, and for a moment, Jungwon didn’t move, his gaze lingering on her retreating figure. He could feel the pull between them, the gravity of everything they had yet to say. But as he stood and made his way to the door, he knew one thing for certain:

Maybe they weren’t together yet, maybe they weren’t even sure what they were. But somewhere in that café, in that unspoken moment, there was something real between them, something neither of them was ready to walk away from.

And for the first time in years, Jungwon allowed himself to believe that they were walking toward something worth waiting for.

[startaegi]

ON THE RUN, cho hyunju. 【 CHAPTER 02 】

⤑ pairing, cho hyunju x fem!reader

⤑ synopsis, where secret-not so secret lovers, hyunju and yn find each other in the unlikely of places.

⤑ series masterlist, on the run.

⤑ chapter three, coming soon!

⤑ notes, i’ve never written in this point of view before, i usually always write in a third person pov so please excuse how bad this is, i’m still learning 😓

⤑ taglist, @etta-huracan @littlegirlmin @mysatnin @taemin93 @ryoiii @sann1e @alexisabirdie @maiznamai @marsyay78 @learninglinesintherainn @noxitsnox @relaps3 @dbj444 @kiss-es (if you would like to be added let me know)

The bedsheets are scratchy against your legs. Your bare feet tangled in the ends keeping in the warmth. The lamp to your right lit up a small part of the room, just enough for your eyes to focus on the book in your hands. You couldn't afford a television or laptop, anything that could give you any form of entertainment but books came cheap, sometimes free and you quite enjoyed loosing yourself within the pages.

The door clicking open pulled you from the magical world in your lap. Hyunju entered the apartment, her coat flaked white with snow as was her hair. She looked at you with a bright smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. "Hi baby" She smiled in your direction, setting the small paper bag on the kitchen counter.

You instantly shut the page in your book, focused on nothing but her. She somehow looked more beautiful than when she left, not that it was possible because she looked beautiful every day. Her bangs where brushed to the side, most likely from the wind and the little bows you had added to her hair that morning - that she finally felt brave enough to wear in public, you almost cried tears of joy, had become loose.

"You look pretty" You said, eyes following her every movement. She reached for the bag, hands stopping mid air. You caught a faint blush making its way onto her cheeks before she turned away from you.

She refused to turn back, quickly going to what she was doing before. "I look the same as always" She replied, a little embarrassed.

This happened often you had begun to notice. Hyunju never accepted a compliment, she always found a way to brush it off or to turn it on you. She was pretty but you were prettier. Her outfit went together well but yours fit you better. It was a learning game, one you knew you couldn't rush. In time she'd learn to love herself as you did but in the mean time you'd be there to remind her.

"And you always look pretty" You assured her.

Hyunju doesn't reply but you can see a small smile forming on her face, aswell as the tips of her ears turning red. She shrugged off her jacket, hanging it with yours on the dainty clothing rack.

Her eyes shined when she turned to face you, fingers clutching the little brown bag she'd arrived home with. "I bought strawberries" She beamed. "I thought we deserved a treat" She took a seat next to you, placing the punnet of fruit between you both.

You giggled at her excitement, taking one of her cold hands in yours and pressing your lips against her palm. "I missed you" You said softly, tilting your head up at her. She was already looking at you, the same silly smile on her face. Your cheeks burned at her stare.

"Hmm" Hyunju hummed, reaching down for you. "I missed you too" She pressed her lips against yours, they were cold and cracked from the December air but you smiled into it nonetheless.

"Let's eat" She said against your lips, pecking them once more. "You can tell me about your book"

You didn't waste any time in pulling back, one hand reaching for the strawberries and the other your book. You flipped to the last page you had updated her on, strawberry half in your mouth. She laughed softly beside you, cupping her hand under your chin to stop any juice from spilling onto the pages.

Your eyes reluctantly opened, the brightness of the room stinging them. You'd been dreaming of her again, this time a memory from one of the first winters you'd spent together. Your mind felt foggy, all of the days suddenly muddling together. A raging headache was slowly forming in the base of your skull, a heavy thudding pulsating against your head. You lifted a hand to touch the area only to realise your entire body felt the same, as if someone had weighed you down with a ton of bricks.

You sat up slowly, dazed and confused as to where you'd ended up. Your eyes widened in surprise, only now noticing the green sleeves on your arms you hadn't been wearing before. You hurriedly kicked away the thin blanket, a puff of air escaping your lips at the green pants on your legs. Someone had changed you from the jeans and coat you'd been wearing. You frantically scan the room, mouth falling open. Countless people were gathering in the centre, all in matching outfits. The beds were one too many, piled high on top of one another. You shook your head in disbelief, of course it was too good to be true, you'd practically led yourself right into the kidnappers arms.

The doors pulled open jolting you backwards. You took a long shuddering breath, bravely pulling yourself from the bed and to the crowd. The same masked guard who had taken you from Hangang Bridge was there but now there was 8 more of him. You noticed the different shapes on their masks, mind swimming in confusion. What had you gotten yourself into?

"I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you" The masked man called. This one with a square printed to the front. "Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days, those who win all six games receive a handsome cash prize"

You don't have a moment to think, not when her voice is calling out from across the room. "Excuse me?" She asked. Your heart beats against your rib cage threatening to break free. She was here. She was okay. She was alive. But she was here? Of course she was. Your mind is scrambled, a million emotions passing through. "You said i'd be playing games, but you practically kidnapped me, so how can I believe that?" She called out again, you hear everyone murmuring in agreement.

You follow their line of eyesight, in search for her but too many people block your view. You need to get to her, the game now forgotten, you just have to see her face. You don't hear or see anything going on around you, only focused on the fact Cho Hyunju, the same girl who has ignored you for weeks was here in the same room as you.

You're lost in your thoughts when a girl steps into your path, touching your arm lightly. "Are you okay?" She hesitantly asked, an anxious smile on her face.

"Oh, uh-" You stuttered.

She takes your arm gently, sitting you on the bed. "You don't look okay" She keeps a soft grip on your arms. "Do you think you're going to faint?" She questioned.

You shake your head. "No, i'm okay" You replied, meeting her eyes. "I get these headaches sometimes, just the stress of everything going on I think" You awkwardly laughed, brushing her off.

She looked you over, not fully believing a word you'd said. "Let's just stay here for now" She smiled, taking a seat beside you. "I get the same way so I understand"

You raised your head at that, fully facing her. "You do?" You asked.

She doesn't open her mouth to reply instead her eyes land on her stomach. Only then do you notice the obvious bump she hadn't done well in covering. You let out a gasp, looking from her stomach to her face. She giggled softly, caressing her swollen stomach.

You don't get the chance to reply as the unknown girls attention focuses on someone else. A boy in the crowd currently shouting at the masked guards. You only see the back of his head from where you're sat, countless others surrounding him. His voice is loud and clear. "Do you know how much i've invested?"

"Player 333, Lee Myunggi" The square masked guard replied.

The screen above the doorway changes from the number of people in the room to a scene you notice all too well. A train station, ddakji and too many hits to the face.

"Age 30, used to run a Youtube channel called MG Coin. After convincing subscribers to invest in a new crypto coin called Dalmatian, causing losses of approximately 15.2 billion won, you shut down and disappear"

Your eyes widen at the number. Your debt seemed silly in comparison.

The guard continued. "You're wanted for fraud and for violating telecom and financial investment laws." They paused. "Current debt levels, 1.8 billion won"

You hold in a breath as the screen changes, you hope not to see your own face. The embarrassment of your debts was already enough for you to face never mind a room full of people, no matter if they're in the same situation or not.

It changes once again and you see an all too familiar face. You recognise the day it happened because she's in a shirt you'd picked for her. It was the same day she'd left you the goodbye message. All the missing pieces were starting to fall into place.

"Player 120, Cho Hyunju, 330 million won in debt"

Taking a deep breath you sit up straight, hands reaching for the necklace around your neck. She was wearing the same one on the screen. Your first couples item.

The next half hour passed in the blink of an eye, you don't register anything, your mind is still focused only on one thing. You know you should be listening, you can tell from the reactions of the crowd you're missing out on important information but your brain doesn't allow you to concentrate.

You blinked back to reality at player 222 tapping your shoulder. "We have to move" She said, gesturing towards the crowd. Everyone had slowly begun to form lines of four, a table and guard at every end.

It was a fast process, the lines moved with ease each player signing a consent form - which you had come to learn from who you now knew as Junhee.

PLAYER CONSENT FORM.

1. A player is not allowed to voluntarily quit.

2. A player who refuses to play will be eliminated.

3. The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. In case of a tie players will vote again.

4. If the games are terminated, players will divide the prize equally.

SIGNATURE _________.

The pen in your hand hesitated for a moment, hovering ever so slightly above the paper. You faltered but in the end it wasn't a difficult decision, you hadn't a clue how much the prize money was but anything was more than you had now. You had to win it.

𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𐙚 ⊹ ‧₊˚

You moved quickly through the crowds, bumping into countless people on the way, their faces scowling in your direction. You ignored them, on a mission to find Hyunju. You abruptly came to a halt, face to face with a queue of people and pink screens. You heard the clicks of a camera, noticing the people dressed like you smiling into them. They're taking ID pictures? You thought. This situation couldn't get any stranger.

"The first game will begin momentarily. After having your picture taken, follow the staff's instructions and proceed to the game site" A woman's robotic voice echoed through a speaker.

Your eyes flickered around the bright coloured room while you fidgeted in your spot. You raised on your toes, looking out for that familiar short haired girl but to no luck. The man in front of you smiled for his photo, then walking off to the side. The guard ushered you forward. You furrowed your brows, staring at the camera, unsure what to do.

"Please look into the camera and smile!"

The corners of your mouth upturned awkwardly. You were glad to not have seen a preview after the machine beeped, you didn't need to see how you looked right now. You dragged your feet off to the side, turning back to see if you could yet catch a sight of Hyunju. Again no luck.

You pressed your fingers against your eyes in frustration. Your teeth bit into your lip as you followed the direction of the other players, the woman's robotic voice still blaring through the speakers. The stairs seemed to be never ending, every corner was a new staircase until finally you came face with an open door leading outside. You felt the breeze against your face, breathing in a deep breath of fresh air. Your feet scuffed against the sandy floor, sticking to your white shoes.

Only when you weren't actively searching for her, she found you. "Y/N?" Hyunju's voice called across the yard, surprised.

You looked up from your shoes, relief flooded your veins at the sight of Hyunju's face. You swallowed back your tears, throat feeling tight.

She reached you, hands grabbing your shoulders then moving to caress your face. You couldn't quite tell how she was feeling. Scared, shocked, confused and happy. Her face was a mix of emotions. She quickly dropped her hands at the scoff of an older man passing you by.

"What're you doing here?" She questioned softly, tone still full of shock.

You chuckled bitterly. "What are you doing here?" You bit back.

Hyunju flinched. "I deserved that" She admitted. "I deserve a lot worse"

You took a deep breath trying to regain your cool. "So, this is where you ended up?" You questioned, disappointed and hurt.

She reached a hand towards you, not expecting to be ignored. Hyunju's face fell, her eyes glistening. "Please, you have to understand, Y/N" She begged. "I did it for us" You know she's right, you'd already come to terms with that after seeing her on the screen. You were here for the same reason. But that didn't excuse what she had done, leaving you without an explanation for so long.

You're interrupted by a manic males voice. You both turn to look at where the commotion is coming from. Player 456 is pushing his way through the crowd, arms waving wildly. "Everyone" He shouted. The silence between is uncomfortable, everyone's focus turned to the unknown frantic man. "Everyone listen up! Pay attention!"

You look at Hyunju, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Her expression matched yours.

"Listen carefully! This is not just a game, if you loose the game, you die!"

The silence doesn't last very much longer, laughter echoes across the courtyard. "Hey!" A woman's voice called, somewhere from the front. "What are you talking about? We're going to die playing red light green light?"

You're playing red light, green light? You asked yourself. You hadn't been paying attention too busy in conversation with your missing, now found, girlfriend.

"Yes that's right" He replied. "If they catch you moving, they will kill you. They will shoot you from somewhere! Stay on your toes, if you get caught you die. That dolls eyes are motion detectors" He pointed to the massive doll behind him adorned in an orange dress and pig tails. "Stay on your toes" He repeated.

Your chest tightened. Surely he was lying, there was no way any of you would die playing red light, green light, it sounded ridiculous. You eyed Hyunju, her lips pursed clearly in the same battle with herself, to believe him or not.

"What the hell are you talking about?" The same man who scoffed at you earlier, questioned.

"I think he's trying to scare us so he can win the prize money" The man beside him said confidently. Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Don't pull any tricks, asshole" Another man called out.

Player 456 desperately pleaded, "You have to believe me"

You look at Hyunju again, you can tell she's also feeling the same way. He seemed too sincere to be lying, the panicked look on his face was chilling. The doll behind him began to turn, the creaking sound scraping against your ears.

"Don't be alarmed or panic. No matter what happens, don’t panic and start running" He bellowed, voice strained.

The same woman's voice came from another speak once again, "Let the game begin"

"What do we do?" You whispered to Hyunju.

She faced you, voice a little shaky when she spoke back. "Stay beside me, just in case"

You nodded, moving closer to her. The older girl looked down at you, eyes full of sorrow. She sadly smiled with a nod turning back to face the doll, you followed her eyesight. A five minute timer was now displayed on the wall and the game began.