#they all make me so inexplicably happy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whosashan · 22 days ago

Note

Hello! I love your writing! I was wondering.. would it be possible to request a sequel to Bitter for all the guys? The angst really got me good, but an end Where they see the Reader move on, whether it be with another LI or another person. Those sorts of fics soothe the angst for me even if they don’t end up together again.

Sour

Pt.1

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: A year has slipped through your fingers like sand, carrying away the sharp edges of bitterness— or so you thought. Yet, the past has a cruel way of resurfacing, and when you stand before your former lover once more, the question lingers: has time truly softened the wound, or does resentment still simmer beneath your skin?

A/N: A lot of you guys asked for a sequel, and I must say - I'm so greatful for all of your support. It feels unreal, knowing that so many people enjoy my writing and get engaged in it. I tried to include every suggestion you gave me in some way. It ended up quite long, because I wanted to make sure they suffer. I really hope it's up to your liking, enjoy!

Xavier

A year had passed—one carved from sorrow, stitched with bitterness. Betrayal, mistrust, insecurities—every fracture in your heart laid bare, every ugly truth dragged into the light.

And yet, in some quiet, inexplicable way, you were grateful.

Grateful for the clarity, for the stripping away of illusions, for the lesson that love—no matter how fervent—could not thrive on longing alone. You had spent so much time searching for a deeper meaning, convincing yourself there had to be one. But sometimes, the truth was simple. Painfully, mercilessly simple.

He hadn’t chosen you.

There had been texts, calls, attempts at conversation. Words typed and deleted, ringing phones you never answered. You knew his tactics too well—the pleading eyes, the soft-spoken apologies, the way he’d paint his regret with honeyed words. But you had learned. This time, you refused to fall.

And so, the city became a vast and empty place, void of Xavier’s shadow. No accidental encounters, no glimpses of golden hair in a crowded street. It was as if the universe had granted you mercy, shielding you from the ghost of what could have been.

And with time, bitter turned to sour. Sour softened into something gentler, something warm. Until one day, you woke up and found yourself unburdened.

You were thriving.

A promotion at work. New friends. Doors opening where once there had only been walls. It was almost absurd, how small your world had been, how much of yourself you had given away for the sake of love that was never truly yours.

Because in the end, one heartbreak wasn’t the end of the world.

And when you finally let yourself step forward, the idea of meeting someone new no longer felt like a betrayal of your past self. It was slow at first—hesitant, uncertain—but why should someone else pay the price for wounds they never inflicted?

You were seeing someone. The phrase alone felt foreign on your tongue, strange in your mind. But it was real. It was different. No silent doubts, no waiting for the inevitable unraveling. Just laughter. Just affection. Just love, in the simplest, most effortless form.

You were distracted by happiness.

And maybe that was why fate decided to test you.

The bell above the café door chimed, a familiar sound that had never meant anything—until now. Until the moment you met a gaze you once knew better than your own.

Blue. Icy, calculating, flickering with disbelief.

Xavier.

He looked different. Sharper somehow, but worn. Dark circles framed those piercing eyes, his golden hair a little unkempt, a crease forming between his brows. There was no laughter in his expression, no easy charm. Just silence—thick, heavy, laced with something you couldn’t name.

Like he was seeing a ghost.

Like, after all this time, he still wasn’t sure if you were real.

He stood from his table, slow and careful, as if you might vanish if he moved too quickly. You straightened your posture, steeling yourself.

"Y/N..."

Your name left his lips like a prayer. Soft. Tentative. As if he didn’t deserve to say it.

And maybe he didn’t.

Still, you had promised yourself you’d be better than bitterness. That you wouldn’t let the past sink its claws into you.

So you smiled. Small, polite, but distant. "Xavier. Long time no see."

Something flickered in his expression, fleeting but unmistakable. Hurt.

"Yeah," he echoed, glancing down for a moment, hands curling into fists before he exhaled, gathering himself. "Long time no see."

A pause. A heavy, unspoken weight settling between you.

And then—"Would you sit with me?" His voice was quieter now, more hesitant. "Just for a little while? I won’t... I won’t nag you, I swear." A ghost of a smile barely touched his lips.

For a moment, you considered.

Curiosity stirred—how had he been? How had life treated him? And yet, you knew better. You had spent too long craving answers that would never change the past. The Xavier who stood before you was not yours to worry about. Not anymore.

So you inhaled slowly, steadying your heart, and said simply, "I don’t think there’s anything left to talk about."

Blunt. Honest. Kind, but final.

And for once, you didn’t feel guilty for choosing yourself.

The bell rang again, the door swinging open, and warmth enveloped you as familiar arms wrapped around your waist, a kiss pressed to your cheek.

"Love," a voice murmured, teasing and light. "You always make me chase after you." They laughed, and you did too, the sound effortless.

Your partner turned, glancing at Xavier with mild curiosity. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing at all," you assured, slipping your fingers into theirs, warmth meeting warmth. "Let’s go."

And as you walked away, hand in hand with the person who had mended what Xavier broke, you didn’t look back.

But he did.

Xavier stood frozen, watching as you disappeared into the city, just as he had let you slip through his fingers once before.

And this time, there was no note left behind. No final words.

Only silence.

And the weight of a mistake he could never undo.

...

But it seemed fate was not yet finished with him. Seeing you again was a wound torn open, an ache that refused to fade. Xavier realized, with the kind of clarity that arrives too late, that he couldn’t let you go.

Not without trying.

And it didn’t matter that you belonged to someone else now—desperation made a man reckless. He would settle for anything. A glance, a word, a sigh in his direction. Proof that he had not become a ghost in your memory.

So he searched. Called. Texted. Every message fell into silence, his words lost to the void. He wandered through the places you once loved, only to find them hollow, emptied of your presence. It was as if you had evaporated, leaving no trace behind.

But then—when he finally found you, sitting on a weathered park bench beneath the fading gold of an autumn sky—his breath hitched. You looked different. Not just in the way time shapes a person, but in the way peace does. It softened you, made you untouchable.

He hesitated. He didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to seem like a desperate man chasing shadows. But wasn’t that exactly what he was? Obsessed, haunted, unraveling beneath the weight of his own mistakes.

And then you looked at him.

His heart stuttered. Your eyes—once a universe he had called home—held no welcome for him now. There was recognition, yes. But it was distant, indifferent. A ghost of a smile graced your lips, polite but hollow, and something inside him withered.

"I need to talk to you," he rasped, his voice raw from all the words he had never said.

You tilted your head, considering him in that quiet, unreadable way. Then, with a small sigh, you gestured to the empty space beside you. An invitation—not of warmth, but of duty. Perhaps you felt he deserved the clarity he had never given you.

He sat, feeling like a man standing at the edge of a cliff.

"I have no right to ask for forgiveness," he confessed, staring down at his hands as if the answers were etched into his skin. "I know that. But I feel... lost. Lost without you guiding me."

There was silence, heavy as the twilight creeping in around you. And then—

"What’s done is done." Your voice was steady, like the final toll of a bell. "You’re right—some things can’t be forgiven. And actions have consequences. I’ve moved on, Xavier. And you should, too. That’s the only clarity I can give you."

Your words struck like a blade, precise and inescapable. He had braced himself for anger, for screams, for the fury he knew he deserved. But instead, you looked at him with nothing but pity.

And that—God, that was worse.

"Y/N, please," he choked out, his resolve crumbling. "Just give me a chance. I’ll do anything. Anything."

He fell to his knees before you, the weight of his regret pressing him into the earth. Once, he had stood tall beside you. Now, he knelt at your feet, pleading for the remnants of something he had destroyed with his own hands.

You blinked, surprise flickering across your face before you exhaled softly. "I’m happily taken…" The words were gentle, but firm. And then, the final blow—"Engaged, actually."

You lifted your hand, and in the dimming light, the diamond on your finger gleamed like the last star in a dying sky.

Xavier’s breath left him in a ragged gasp. No. No, this couldn’t be real.

"Please—" He reached for you, his hands trembling, his world tilting beneath him. "I can’t do this without you."

You smiled then, and for the first time that evening, it was real. Soft, kind, but completely out of reach.

"I’m afraid that’s none of my business anymore."

You rose to your feet, turning away from him, your figure bathed in the golden light of a world that no longer had room for him. He watched, helpless, as you walked away—each step sealing his fate, each breath pulling you further from his grasp.

And when you disappeared beyond the trees, he realized the cruelest truth of all.

Some mistakes don’t come with second chances.

Zayne

A year.

A year since you had stood in the ruins of what you once called love, waiting for something—anything—to make sense. Since the walls of your world had collapsed beneath the weight of neglect, since the name Dr. Zayne had burned like acid on your tongue.

And yet, look at you now.

Thriving.

You had carved out a life that was entirely your own, no longer bending yourself into smaller, more convenient shapes to fit into someone else’s world. Your career—once just a dream, a hesitant whisper in the back of your mind—had become your reality, a space where your talents were not only recognized but celebrated. Your relationships flourished, no longer strained by the quiet loneliness of waiting for a man who always seemed just out of reach.

The girl who once sat by the phone, heart aching for a call that never came, was gone.

And yet, the ghosts of Zayne still lingered.

The recipe he once taught you? You still loved it, the taste laced with a bittersweet nostalgia. The song he always played while driving? Occasionally, you let it slip through your speakers, if only to remind yourself how far you had come. The pain of his absence had dulled into something quieter—no longer a gaping wound, but a faded scar.

You had learned to appreciate what his neglect had taught you.

Because he had shown you exactly what love wasn’t.

And now, you knew better.

...

It was supposed to be an ordinary evening.

Your partner—warm, steady, everything you had once begged for—had suffered a minor accident. Nothing dire, but enough to warrant a hospital visit, just to be sure. And so you stood there, waiting near the reception desk, arms crossed over your chest, glancing at the fluorescent glow of the overhead lights. The air smelled of antiseptic and sterile linens, the faint beeping of monitors a rhythmic pulse in the background.

And then—

You felt it before you saw it.

A gaze. Heavy. Familiar.

You turned.

And there he was.

Dr. Zayne.

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink, narrowing down to the space between you and him. He looked... different. Or maybe it was you who had changed. His sharp, professional composure remained, but there was something wearier about him now. The pristine white coat did little to hide the exhaustion beneath his eyes, the slight furrow of his brows, the way he adjusted his glasses in that meticulous way of his.

And yet, despite it all—he was still devastatingly familiar.

"Y/N?"

Your name fell from his lips like a habit he had forgotten he missed.

There was something almost startled in his expression, as if he hadn’t expected to see you here, hadn’t expected you at all.

"Did something happen? Are you hurt?" He was already stepping forward, concern etched into every line of his face.

There was a time when that look would have unraveled you. When your heart would have stuttered at the mere thought of being the center of his attention.

Now, it felt… strange.

Performative.

Not because you thought he was faking it—Zayne never faked anything—but because it no longer mattered.

You blinked, taken aback for a brief moment before schooling your features into something unreadable.

"I'm alright."

A pause.

Why did he sound as if he had just seen you yesterday? As if a year of silence had not stretched between you like an ocean?

Why was he looking at you like that?

And why—why did it still taste bitter?

His gaze flickered over you, searching for something, before he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "Then why are you here?"

You raised an eyebrow.

"Actually, it’s none of my business," he amended quickly, clearing his throat, adjusting his glasses again—nervous. Zayne never used to be nervous around you.

"But since you’re here," he continued, voice carefully composed, "perhaps we could talk? If you wouldn’t mind, of course."

There was something almost hesitant in his tone. Like he was reaching for something he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask for.

And before you could decide how to respond—

A warmth wrapped around you.

"Sorry I kept you waiting, baby."

A familiar voice. Soft lips pressed against your temple. A presence that felt like home.

Your partner.

Zayne went still.

You didn’t even need to look at him to know. You could feel it—the way the air between you turned sour, thick with something unspoken, something unacknowledged.

You turned to face your lover, melting into the easy affection they offered, their touch grounding you in a way Zayne’s never had.

"Is that your friend?" your partner asked curiously, glancing at Zayne with polite indifference.

You tilted your head, considering the question.

Friend?

No, that wasn’t quite right.

You let out a soft giggle, shrugging as you intertwined your fingers with theirs. "I guess?"

And then—without another glance, without another word—you turned, walking away.

Zayne remained where he stood, unmoving, silent.

He didn’t call after you. Didn’t reach out.

Because he knew.

He knew that if he had any place in your life, it would have been beside you, not behind you—watching as you disappeared into a world that no longer included him.

And now, the only thing he had left—

Was the taste of regret, bitter and lingering on his tongue.

...

Bitterness clung to Zayne like the aftertaste of a drink too strong, too sharp. And so, he sought sweetness in the only way he knew how—in thoughts of you.

Your touch, the gentle weight of your hand on his wrist. Your voice, quiet yet commanding, soft yet certain. Your presence, steady as the tide, once an anchor, now a ghost.

He had spent too long convincing himself he could let you go. That logic could silence longing, that reason could tame regret. But then he saw you again.

And the moment he did, he knew.

You belonged by his side.

So, it began. A pattern. A ritual. Lingering in the places you once adored, slipping into the coffee shop you used to frequent, hoping—praying—that fate would grant him another moment.

And fate, cruel and kind in equal measure, did.

You were alone, sipping your drink, fingers lazily scrolling through your phone. Every now and then, the corners of your lips twitched into a smile—small, fleeting, devastating. Zayne felt something in his chest splinter.

He wanted to be the reason for that smile again.

With a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding, he stepped forward, lowering himself into the seat across from you.

"Y/N."

Your name left his lips like a confession, quiet, careful.

You lifted your gaze, expression unreadable, an eyebrow arching slightly at his sudden presence. But no shock. No warmth.

That alone made doubt creep in. But it was too late to turn back now.

"...That’s unexpected," you said, returning your attention to your phone. "I thought you didn’t like this café."

His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. "I don’t," he admitted, adjusting his glasses with practiced ease. "But I find myself drawn to places that remind me of you. Old habits die hard, it seems."

A pause. Then—

"Nice."

Nothing more. Not a smile, not a flicker of interest. Just a word, impersonal and distant, slipping from your lips with all the weight of an afterthought.

It caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected warmth, but this? This felt like standing outside in the cold, staring at a window where a fire once burned.

Still, he pressed forward.

"So," he began, voice smooth yet hesitant. "Have you been well?"

"Cut the small talk."

Your voice was calm, but your patience was thin, and when your eyes met his again, he saw it—exhaustion. The kind that settles after a storm, after too many words left unspoken for too long.

"What do you want, Zayne?"

He exhaled slowly, as if composing himself. "I see time has made you even more direct," he mused, before his gaze darkened, sharpened. "Very well. I won’t insult you with pleasantries. I came because I needed to speak with you—about us."

A flicker of something crossed your face, too fast for him to name. And then—

"There is no ‘us,’ Zayne."

Your words were soft, but they struck harder than a shout.

"We didn’t work out," you continued, your voice steady, final. "It happens. Move on."

His fingers curled against the table, the faintest twitch of his jaw betraying the emotion he so carefully masked.

"You make it sound so simple," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "As if what we were—what we could have been—was nothing more than an inconsequential mistake."

"Not a mistake," you corrected. "A lesson."

He laughed then, low and humorless. "I see. And what exactly did I teach you?"

"That love is not enough."

It was cruel in its honesty. Devastating in its simplicity.

He looked away for a moment, staring at the swirl of steam rising from your drink, as if it held the answers he sought. Then, quieter this time, he said, "And yet, I find myself incapable of learning that lesson."

You didn’t respond. You only stood, preparing to leave.

That was when he reached for you.

Fingers wrapping around your wrist—gentle, hesitant, desperate. And in that moment, neither of you spoke.

Because you both felt it.

The ghost of what once was. The warmth of a memory neither had fully let go of.

His grip loosened, but he did not let go.

"Tell me," he said, voice softer now, raw in a way he had never allowed himself to be. "Is this truly the end?"

Your gaze met his, unwavering.

And then you nodded.

A single motion. Firm. Certain. Unshakable.

He let you go.

And though every part of him rebelled against it, though his heart ached with the knowledge that he would wake tomorrow with the same longing, the same regret, he told himself it was enough.

Because if you were happy—if someone else had succeeded where he had failed—then who was he to ask for more?

At least, that’s what he tried to believe.

Rafayel

A year had passed.

The seasons had shifted, weaving through time like a quiet symphony, their passage marked by sun-warmed afternoons and frost-kissed mornings. Life had carried on, carrying you with it.

And somehow, somewhere between then and now, you had left him behind.

Not in a single, heart-wrenching moment, not in some grand, dramatic farewell. No, you had left him slowly—like the tide pulling back from the shore, retreating inch by inch, until one day you realized there was nothing left to reach for.

And you were okay with that.

More than okay.

You had built something new from the pieces of yourself he had never cherished. A life that felt like yours, untouched by the weight of waiting, unburdened by the ache of almost-love.

And you had found someone. Someone who didn’t make you wonder if you were asking for too much. Someone who reached for you first, without hesitation.

You never thought about him anymore.

Not really.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Because today, just as laughter spilled from your lips like honey, warm and golden, just as your partner squeezed your hand in theirs, grounding, steady—

You saw him.

Rafayel.

Standing at the entrance of the café, half-cast in shadow, his sharp gaze locked onto you like a man seeing a mirage in the desert.

Your breath did not hitch.

Your pulse did not quicken.

If there was an ache left inside you, it was nothing more than an old scar—a faint reminder of pain you had long since learned to live without.

But he—

He looked frozen.

Like he had walked into a moment he wasn’t supposed to witness.

Like the sight of you—laughing, radiant, untouched by him—was something he had never considered possible.

You met his gaze, tilting your head slightly.

Oh.

He hadn’t changed much. Still dressed in purple tones, still holding himself with that same quiet confidence, still looking at you like he was searching for something.

But he had changed.

His face was unreadable, but his eyes—once filled with amusement, teasing, always dancing just out of reach—were darker now. Heavier.

You knew that weight.

Regret.

Good.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with things left unsaid, ghosts of words that once sat on the tip of your tongue, always swallowed before they could escape.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Y/N.”

Your name on his lips used to feel like the start of something. A promise. A quiet, unspoken longing.

Now, it was just a name.

You blinked at him, offering a small, polite smile—the kind you gave to distant acquaintances, to strangers who mistook familiarity for significance.

“Oh,” you said, as if realizing he was there for the first time. “Rafayel.”

The casualness in your voice was deliberate.

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture did—just the slightest shift, just enough for you to know he felt it.

“It’s been a while,” he said.

It had.

A lifetime had passed in that year.

“Yes, it has.”

You didn’t ask him how he was. Didn’t give him the opening he was waiting for.

The silence stretched between you, long enough to feel like a choice.

The café smelled of coffee and cinnamon, of sugar melting into warm pastries, but the only thing you could taste was clarity—light, crisp, sweet.

Then—

“Who’s this?”

Your partner’s voice, gentle yet firm, cut through the stillness.

You turned to them, your gaze softening the moment it met theirs.

And that—that was what made Rafayel’s breath hitch.

The way you looked at them.

The way you had never looked at him.

“They’re an old friend,” you said simply.

Not a lover.

Not someone who had once left you waiting in the dark, sifting through the scraps of his affection, trying to find something whole.

Just someone you used to know.

And you knew he heard the finality in your voice.

For a second, just a fleeting second, something flickered in his expression.

Loss.

Too little, too late.

You turned back to your partner, your fingers still laced with theirs.

The conversation resumed. Effortless. Unbroken.

And Rafayel—who had once believed you would always be there, lingering like an unfinished story—stood there, realizing he had become nothing more than a footnote in yours.

You didn’t look back.

And the only taste he was left with—

Was bitter.

...

Regret clung to Rafayel like salt on skin—persistent, inescapable, a reminder of tides that had long since receded.

And he remembered—oh, how he remembered.

The scent of your skin, like the last breath of summer before the waves stole the warmth away. The way your hair moved with the wind, as if it carried secrets only the ocean knew. The way your voice curled around his name, a siren’s call that had once lured him home.

How you understood him without words, how you indulged his recklessness, how—for once—someone had seen him for more than his name, his face, his fortune.

He still knew your favorite color, the way your smile tilted just slightly to the left, how every imperfection only made you more devastatingly perfect in his eyes.

And he couldn’t forget.

He tried, but he was a drowning man, reaching for driftwood, for anything that could bring him back to shore. So, he watched from a distance, fingers hovering over your name on his screen, refreshing, searching. Checking where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.

Love makes fools of men. But obsession—obsession turns them into ghosts.

And when he had mapped the rhythm of your days, he found himself drifting into them. Hovering at the edges of your world, waiting for the perfect moment to pull you back into his gravity.

When it finally happened, he caught you off guard.

You were walking, earphones in, humming a tune under your breath, lost in a world where he no longer belonged.

His hand found your shoulder.

Startled, you swung your bag on instinct, and it hit him square in the arm. He winced, clutching it dramatically.

“Ow, cutie! First, you break my heart, and now you try to break my arm?” His grin was lopsided, but his eyes betrayed him—searching, desperate.

You barely spared him a glance before rolling your eyes, turning away.

“No—wait.” His fingers caught your wrist, hesitant but firm.

You turned back, leveling him with a stare. "What? Want to get hit again?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it faltered under the weight of your indifference. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple.

"I would much rather prefer just to talk to you." His voice softened, no longer laced with teasing, but something closer to pleading.

Then, quieter—more deliberate—

“Y/N, take me back.”

You blinked. For a moment, silence stretched between you, the space between each breath vast as the horizon.

Then, you took a step back. And he felt the distance like an undertow, dragging him deeper.

“Absolutely not.”

There was no anger in your voice, no bitterness. Just finality, as gentle as a wave washing over forgotten footprints in the sand.

His throat bobbed. “…No?”

"You heard me."

His fingers twitched at his sides. “Cutie, please reconsider—”

“Oh god, don’t call me that.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing.

He hesitated, but then his gaze turned serious, the teasing stripped away. “I know I made mistakes—”

“You broke us, Rafayel.”

His breath caught. The truth of it cut through him like cold water, merciless and clear.

“Y/N.” His voice was lower now, quiet in a way that made the world around you feel too loud. “I know I ruined things, but you can’t tell me we weren’t great. You can’t tell me what we had wasn’t—”

“It was.” You interrupted, your expression unreadable. “Until it wasn’t.”

Something inside him cracked.

"I've moved on," you said simply, shifting your bag over your shoulder. And then, with a ghost of a smirk—mocking, cruel in its lightness—

"You should too, fishie."

It should have made him laugh. It should have made him tease you back, call you something equally ridiculous.

Instead, it felt like the tide pulling him under.

He said nothing, only watching you, searching your face for something—anything—that might mean he still had a chance.

And then you turned.

He caught your wrist again, more desperately this time. “Tell me,” he murmured, voice unsteady. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Do you want to see me on my knees?”

You looked at him then, really looked at him.

"I just want to see you out of my sight."

The words landed like crashing waves against stone.

His grip loosened, and you slipped away like water through his fingers.

"Have a great life, Rafayel."

And you walked away.

He should have followed. Should have thrown pride to the wind, should have fallen at your feet and begged like a desperate sailor praying to the sea.

But something in your voice—calm, unwavering—told him the storm had passed. And all that was left was the wreckage.

So he stood still.

And for the first time, he let you drift beyond his reach.

For now.

Sylus

A year had passed since you walked away from Sylus, but time had done nothing to erase the ache in your chest, nor the memory of how effortlessly you had disappeared from his life. You had left as silently as a forgotten dream, taking your heart with you, and leaving him behind to rot in the wreckage of his own actions. The decision had seemed like a balm in the moment, a clean cut. But as the days turned into months, the absence had become a ghost. It hovered in the corners of your mind, a constant reminder of the man you thought you knew, the man who had ruined you. And yet, despite it all, you had learned to live again.

You had rebuilt yourself, piece by broken piece. You embraced the ordinary—the quiet routine of your life, the peace that had once seemed so elusive when he was around. Your life was no longer tangled in the complexity of him. You began to explore things you never had the courage to before, tasting freedom in ways that filled you with pride. The world, without Sylus, was kinder—gentler. You smiled more, laughed more, and found comfort in the simplest of things: a cup of coffee on a rainy day, the soft rustle of leaves underfoot in autumn, the glow of a sunset you hadn’t shared with anyone. You had learned to live for yourself.

And yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, a part of you still wondered what he was doing.

The knock at your door shattered the quiet peace you had so carefully built.

You hadn’t expected visitors—especially not him.

Standing there, on the other side of the threshold, was the man who had once been your whole world, the man who had broken it. Sylus.

His appearance was jarring. His usual immaculate self was ruffled, as though the weight of the world had been wearing on him in ways he never allowed anyone to see. His sharp features were drawn, eyes darker than you remembered. There was something unfamiliar in the way he held himself—no longer the man who walked into a room like he owned it, but someone who had been worn down by the passage of time, by regret. And yet, his eyes, the same eyes that had once mesmerized you, still held that magnetic pull. Only this time, they were haunted.

“Sylus,” you breathed, the name slipping out of you before you could stop it.

There was a moment of tense silence, where neither of you moved. And then, his lips parted—just slightly—and a flicker of something like amusement touched his face.

“Missed me, kitten?” His voice was smooth, but there was an unfamiliar hesitation there, something raw in the way he spoke to you.

You couldn’t tell if he was still playing games, or if this was something else entirely. You studied him for a long moment, trying to read him, trying to figure out why, after everything, he still seemed so... familiar.

But you no longer cared.

The words came out before you even thought them. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was soft, there was no venom, no fury. Only confusion. And a quiet indifference that was worse than anything you could’ve said.

His gaze faltered for a second, but he quickly regained his composure, though his smirk was tighter than usual. “I thought you’d be more excited to see me.”

His words were like a knife to the gut, but you felt nothing—not anymore. It was like you had been hollowed out over time, and there was nothing left inside you to give.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes cool. “Ah, where are my manners?” You couldn’t help the sarcasm that slipped out, though it wasn’t playful—more a shield against the weight of his presence. “Oh, how I missed my favorite liar! The one who broke my heart and threw me away like a piece of trash.” You rolled your eyes, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

The words should have stung, but somehow, you found relief in saying them out loud. For so long, you had kept the hurt buried beneath layers of careful silence, and now, here it was—raw, unapologetic.

Sylus’s face flickered, a faint shadow of hurt passing through his gaze before he regained his composure. “The kitten has grown some claws, I see.” His voice was flat, but there was a trace of something in it, something he was trying to mask.

He took a step closer, as if expecting you to let him in, but you quickly moved to block the door.

“Don’t,” you said simply.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at your sudden resolve, but you didn’t care.

“You’re not welcome here,” you said, your tone final.

Sylus’s eyes softened for a split second, and in that brief moment, you saw the desperation that clawed at him. The weight of his regret that he never allowed to surface. “You’re hurting me, sweetie,” he said, though it was far from playful. It sounded like a plea.

Your heart didn’t twitch. It didn’t soften. It just felt... heavy.

“Good,” you muttered, looking him up and down, and for the first time, you saw him clearly—not the man you had once adored, but a man who had lost everything and had nothing left to offer.

Just then, a voice came from inside your home.

“Darling, what’s taking you so long?”

You didn’t need to look back to feel your partner’s arms slide around your waist from behind, their presence warm and secure, a reminder of the love you had found after him.

“Hmm, who’s this?” Your partner asked lazily, looking past you to the man who once consumed your every thought.

Sylus’s gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the newcomer, but you weren’t going to offer him any answers. Not anymore.

“He got the wrong address,” you replied evenly, your voice indifferent as you turned back to face Sylus, daring him to challenge your words.

And just like that, the man who once held your heart in his hands realized the weight of his own failure. The realization hit him like a tidal wave.

Sylus opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, as if he were choking on his own grief.

You met his gaze, and for the first time, you felt no anger—only a quiet, final resolve. “I think it's time for you to leave, sir.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. His heart, once so certain and confident, now shattered under the weight of your indifference.

“Have a good night.” you whispered, the finality of the words slipping from your lips. And with that, you closed the door on him—on the man you once thought you could never escape.

Sylus stood there, staring at the wood that now separated you from him, as though hoping it would open again. But it wouldn’t.

He swallowed, hard. The man who had always prided himself on his control was now nothing more than a broken shell of his former self.

And it was all his doing.

For the first time in his life, Sylus had lost. And he had no one to blame but himself.

...

Sylus was not the kind of man who accepted defeat.

Not when you were so close, so painfully out of reach, like a forbidden fruit dangling just beyond his grasp.

He couldn't—no, he wouldn't—let you go so easily.

His mind clung to thoughts of you, obsessions blooming in every corner of his brain: your laughter, like the chiming of delicate bells, your playful words that always teased, always challenged him, your defiance that had once felt like the spark that kept him alive. You had been his equal, his match—two stars circling in an orbit of shared chaos and fire.

But now? Now you were slipping from him, dissolving into someone else’s arms, and that realization felt like a knife being twisted into his chest. He couldn't bear it. He could never bear it.

Bitterness seeped into his soul, a slow, insidious poison that clouded his thoughts. The feeling of helplessness was foreign to him, suffocating him in ways he had never known before. He had always been the one in control—always the one who commanded the world. And now you were gone, out of his reach, and it tore at him like a storm.

The thought of another touching you, breathing in your scent, seeing the soft glow of tenderness in your eyes—Sylus couldn't abide it. No. Not when he had once owned that gaze, that touch, that part of you that was his.

He needed one more chance.

Maybe it was for the peace of his mind, maybe it was his selfish longing, his desire to reclaim what he believed was his. Or maybe it was because he couldn't let go of the idea that you were a treasure meant for his eyes alone—his to hold, his to keep, like a rare, delicate jewel locked away.

And so, like the predator he was, Sylus followed you, carefully, subtly. With Mephisto keeping watch over you, it was easy to know where you'd be, when you'd be there.

Each time, he approached, his presence lingering just at the edges of your world—watching, waiting. But you rejected him. Rejected him with biting sarcasm, with icy silence that seemed to pierce his skin like a thousand knives.

It drove him mad.

The chase was maddening. The only thing that consumed him was the desire to have you in his arms once more, to feel the heat of your skin, the sweetness of your breath, the intimacy that he had once thought was infinite.

And then one evening, when he could no longer take the ache, he made his move.

You were walking home from work, the weight of the day pressing down on your shoulders. The quiet satisfaction of surviving the day was tempered by the exhaustion that clung to you. But as you turned the corner, a hand suddenly grasped your wrist, yanking you into a shadowed alley. Your heart pounded in your chest, a burst of adrenaline flooding your veins. You opened your mouth to scream, but before the sound could escape, a hand pressed over your lips.

"Relax. It's just me."

His voice—his damn voice—sounded like a lure, familiar and dangerous. Your body froze, not out of fear, but out of recognition. You knew it was Sylus, and despite everything, despite the years of hurt and betrayal, a twisted part of you felt… safe.

When he felt you relax, he let go. You spun around to face him, heart still hammering, but now tempered with anger.

"You’re crazy," you spat, your voice sharp and unforgiving. "What do you think you’re doing?"

His gaze, that unnerving mix of calm and intensity, bore into you. His expression was disturbingly relaxed, too casual for someone who had just dragged you into an alley against your will.

"Getting your attention," he said, his tone smooth, almost mocking. "Seems like it worked."

The words hit you like a slap. Your fists clenched, your anger bubbling over.

"You can’t just pull people into a dark alley, Sylus! You’re actually insane!" You jabbed your finger at his chest, each word punctuating the fury that burned through you.

Sylus didn’t flinch, though you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

"...I apologize," he said softly, his voice taking on a tenderness that was so unlike him. He reached out to touch your cheek, but his hand stopped halfway, as if he was still unsure whether he had the right.

The vulnerability in that simple motion—something so un-Sylus, so raw—stirred something inside you. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You sighed heavily, the weight of everything pressing down on you. "What do you want?" Your voice was laced with frustration, your patience wearing thin.

"I thought that would be obvious by now," he said, a faint smirk curling at his lips, the teasing edge still present despite the darkness in his eyes. "Guess you’re not as sharp as I thought, kitten."

The bastard. Even now, he played with you like a cat with its prey.

"I swear, I’m going to file for a restraining order against you," you muttered, your voice tinged with disbelief.

"You can try," Sylus responded smoothly, his words dripping with a dangerous calm. "But you know well enough that such things won’t stop me."

You clenched your fists, your resolve hardening. The walls you had so carefully built around your heart in the past year came crashing down in a flood of anger and pain. You had moved on, healed—didn’t he see that?

"I want you to come back to me," he said, his voice now serious, his gaze earnest, though still haunted by the traces of his past mistakes.

But you wouldn’t crack. Not now.

"Never in this lifetime," you said, the finality of your words a heavy hammer to his chest.

Sylus’s lips twisted into a small, bitter smile. "Then, in another?" His words were light, but they carried a weight that you both felt. It was his way of hiding the hurt, the pain that had followed him like a shadow.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence hang between you, thick and suffocating.

"I’ll pray that I never have to meet you again," you said softly, the words filled with a quiet kind of sorrow. "Not in this life, and not in the ones after."

And with that, you turned, walking away from him, leaving him shattered in the cold, empty alley.

Sylus watched you go, his chest tight with regret. His heart—something he had long kept locked away, something he had never truly allowed himself to feel—was breaking in ways he had never imagined. The storm inside him raged, but he couldn’t stop it.

You were gone, and this time, he knew—he knew—there would be no coming back.

Caleb

It’s been a year since you last saw Caleb.

Well, not really. Sometimes you caught glimpses of him in the crowd—just a silhouette, a shape that might be his. Your heart would catch in your throat, and for a fleeting moment, you’d swear it was him. But the figure would turn, and it would be a stranger. Your imagination had been cruel to you, conjuring up ghosts from your memories and stitching together faces from your longing. Perhaps it was just your mind showing you what you wished to see, like a cruel twist of fate reminding you of what had slipped through your fingers.

A year filled with growth. You learned to be soft with yourself, to breathe through the pain instead of suffocating in it. You allowed yourself to be bitter—let the sadness claw through your chest and the anger burn through your veins. You let yourself crumble, and when the dust settled, you gathered the fragments and made something beautiful from them. A mosaic of healing. You thanked the universe for the lesson, no matter how brutal it had been. Whether it was God, fate, or simply the chaos of life, you accepted it. You learned that you were the only constant in your own story—the one thing that would always remain when everyone else faded to whispers.

In those months, you blossomed. You breathed in the world with new lungs, filling your soul with every small moment that once went unnoticed. The way sunlight painted golden patterns on cracked sidewalks, the way the ocean waves whispered secrets to the shore, the taste of ripe fruit on a sweltering day. You poured your energy into your work, rebuilt neglected friendships, and found comfort in the warmth of those who remained. You taught yourself that it wasn’t your fault—none of it had been—and that loving him too much was never a mistake. Only, you needed to love yourself first.

And when you finally felt steady enough to open your heart again, love found you. They were calm where Caleb had been chaos, steady where Caleb had been a storm. A lighthouse guiding you back to yourself, reminding you that love wasn’t meant to break you. Their hands held you like you were fragile, but their love made you feel strong. You didn’t compare them—Caleb was a different life, a different story. But maybe that’s what you needed. You were happy, genuinely happy, for the first time in what felt like ages.

The train station buzzes around you like a hive of restless energy, travelers weaving past each other with hurried steps and heavy bags. Your lover has gone to grab snacks for the journey, leaving you alone on the worn wooden bench. The air smells of old books and fresh coffee, tinged with the metallic scent of steel tracks. You lean back, glancing at the faded timetable, feeling content in the hum of life moving around you.

And then, like a phantom stepping through the fog of memory, you see him. Caleb. The world seems to stop spinning, frozen in that singular moment. He’s standing on the opposite platform, hands shoved into his coat pockets, head bowed as if weighed down by the past. A bitter wind pulls at his hair, and for a second, he lifts his gaze. Your breath catches as his eyes meet yours, recognition dawning like sunlight cutting through rain. He hesitates, lips parting, and you see the flicker of regret, raw and unguarded.

The hurt surges up unexpectedly, but it’s quieter than it used to be, muted by time and acceptance. You don’t flinch when he takes a hesitant step forward, his mouth opening as if to call out to you. A thousand words hang between you—apologies, confessions, explanations—but none seem to find their way into the open. You see the yearning in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you as if trying to remember every detail he once took for granted.

Your lover appears at your side, offering a small smile as they hand you a paper bag filled with snacks. Their presence grounds you, pulls you back to reality from the haze of memory. Caleb sees them too, and the pain that flashes across his face is like a knife carving regret into his bones. You watch as he realizes what he’s lost—how you’ve moved on, how you’ve found happiness that doesn’t depend on him.

He lingers there, stranded on the other side of the tracks, unable to cross over to where you stand. You almost pity him—the way his shoulders sag, the way his jaw clenches to swallow whatever plea was forming. But the ache that once ruled you has softened, transformed into something quieter. You’re not angry anymore. You’re not shattered. You’ve built something new from the ruins he left behind.

Caleb lowers his gaze, as if surrendering to the weight of his own choices. And as the train pulls into the station, you take your lover’s hand, intertwining your fingers like roots that hold you steady. You feel Caleb’s stare on your back as you step onto the train, but you don’t look back. There’s nothing left to see—just the remnants of a past that no longer defines you.

As the train moves away, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. It’s not triumph, not victory—it’s closure, as quiet and gentle as a sunset slipping beneath the horizon. You made it out the other side. And that, more than anything, is the proof that you are whole again.

...

But the peace you felt wasn’t the same for Caleb. Seeing you again after what felt like a lifetime was like being thrown into the depths of the ocean—lungs burning, heart pounding, utterly helpless. He hadn’t known he was drowning until he saw you sitting there, your feet dangling off the edge of the bench, lips parted in a soft “o” of surprise. You looked at him with that same curiosity, that gentle tilt of your head, and it struck him just how far away you felt—like a dream that had slipped through his fingers.

It wasn’t his place to feel this way. Not anymore. But he couldn’t help the ache that gnawed at his ribs, nor the desperate urge to reach out and pull you into his arms, to whisper apologies into your skin until his words sunk into your bones. Yet even from a distance, he could see how your shoulders were relaxed, your gaze steady and unburdened, and it only made the chasm between you widen.

When another person’s hands found your own, threading fingers together with the ease of familiarity, his heart cracked open—raw and aching. It wasn’t his business. He shouldn’t care. But he did. Too much. More than he thought he still could.

He wanted to run after you, to say something—anything. But what would he even say? That he missed you so much it hurt? That he had spent a year convincing himself he’d made the right choice, only to realize how profoundly wrong he’d been? It all felt pointless now, tangled in regret and longing.

Endless scenarios crashed through his mind like waves against rock, and somewhere in that turmoil, he decided he needed to speak to you—one last time. He needed your attention on him, just once more.

He waited for you outside your workplace, nerves coiling tighter with every second that passed. He wondered if you’d be angry—if you’d tell him to leave and never come back. But when you appeared, you only offered a small, polite smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You looked at him with the calm detachment of someone who had long since made peace with the past.

“Hey...” he murmured, forcing a boyish grin that looked so out of place on his troubled face. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to wring out the nerves clinging to him.

You smiled again—gentle, unbothered, and heartbreakingly kind. “Hi.” Your voice was soft, like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp, and it was that tenderness—free from bitterness—that made his chest ache. He had prepared himself for anger, for hurt laced in your words. Instead, you were kind. You always had been, like a flower that bent but never broke, even under the harshest of storms.

“I was wondering if we could talk,” he said finally, hesitating as if the words themselves might shatter.

You didn’t move, just nodded your head. “Talk, then.” Your tone was steady, as if he was just another passerby in your life, not the storm that once tore it apart.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke, words stumbling over one another. “I guess... I didn’t realize how much I missed you—until I saw you at the station. I just—” He took a shaky breath. “I wanted to know if you’d ever consider forgiving me. For how foolish I was. For being so... selfish.” His eyes, those familiar, pleading puppy eyes, bore into yours, searching for a sliver of the past warmth.

You glanced at him, and he saw the flicker of something unreadable in your gaze before you answered. “Forgiveness is too much to ask for,” you replied softly, but your voice held a quiet strength that hadn’t been there before. “But I’ve learned to accept what happened. You should too, Caleb.”

His hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to accept it.”

You gave a sad, wistful smile, the kind that hurt more than any cruel words could have. “That’s on you,” you whispered, eyes glistening with a tenderness that had nothing to do with him anymore. “I’m happy now. I’ve built something beautiful out of the pieces you left behind. And I won’t let you take that from me.”

He lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze. “I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered.

Your smile faded, replaced by a quiet, unyielding resolve. “Intentions don’t erase consequences. Live a life without further regrets, Caleb.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You turned and walked away, each step decisive and unwavering, leaving him rooted to the spot—drowning in the knowledge that you were truly, undeniably gone.

And Caleb just stood there, feeling the hollow ache where your love used to be, realizing far too late that he had destroyed the only good thing he’d ever known.

@rubyrubyruuu / @browneyedgirl22 / @valentine-n-ragnarok / @whimsiecat / @esylwen / @crimsonmarabou / @we-rice-boi / @mitchelbr1 / @animegamerfox / @chgumji / @jeondyy / @rafayelridesfisheatsfish

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hanasnx · 1 year ago

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x gon' give it to ya.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: @fuckmyskywalker introduced me to the concept of talking to a pussy i think via an anakin smut post and it changed my life so i'd like to dedicate credit to the idea. WARNINGS: fem reader | sex in the suit | deadpool calls himself daddy ironically and talks to your pussy.

A deep groan reverberates from low in DEADPOOL's throat. "Baby, I can't believe how good you look right now, seriously never looked better." he praises, commending the space between your legs as she's stuffed full of every inch of his dick. Another inexplicable thing about his mutation—he grew.

"'Talking to my pussy again, Wade?" you scoff, amused and breathless as you rock back on him, tossing a glance at him over your shoulder. Your spine is in a deep arch over the bed, and the nine inch heels you're wearing are the only reason you're able to compete with his height bent over like this.

"She needs to know what a good job she's doing otherwise she'll get discouraged. Poor thing needs a lot of love." he refutes your judgement, however playful, lovingly stroking the flesh of your ass with his glove. "Give us some privacy, please. Jesus." he tsks, shaking his head at you while you bury your face in the mattress. If his dick wasn't yanking your brains out along with it, you might have more to say. He turns his attention back where your bodies conjoin. "Thank God I put zipper on this thing. Who knew a onesie would be such a hassle to take a piss in?" The sounds of the room are filled with him running his mouth and your cunt's wet responses when he pulls out and shoves back in. "Now look at us." A particularly moistured sound squirts out, and he laughs knowingly, like your hole's said something entertaining at a tea party. "Zipper makes it too easy, you know? We've gotta stop meeting like this, maybe next time we can just sit and talk—"

"Wade!" you giggle, banging your fist onto the mattress. "Just fuck me, already!"

"Don't worry about her, she's just jealous." he tells your cunt, "You and I have something special, don't we? 'Specially when Daddypool says to christen the suit." A wave of wetness wells up from his comment, and he gasps in pleasant surprise. "Oh, you like that, you dirty thing. Next time I crotch-shot a bad guy he'll smell you all over, is that what you want, you freak? C'mere, I'll give you something real to leak about." Big rough hands grip on your hips, slamming into you so hard your ass ripples from the effect, and your happy pussy gargles around the dick it chokes on.

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mmywanda · 6 months ago

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Pretty When You Sleep — W.M

——

Pairing: Dark!WandaMaximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Nights are lot more dangerous than you think.

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, somnophilia, drugging, blood, murder, stalking, mentions of a knives, strap-on.

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: This is a dark fic, if you find any of the warnings triggering, please do not read. Happy Halloween! men & minors dni.

Beta read by @poulengp <3

——

It started off small.

All the shoes you left in a mess by the door now neatly stacked up, laces undone, just so they were easier to slip on. The lamp you'd accidently leave on before falling asleep, being off when you woke up in the morning. Clothes that were dumped on the floor, suddenly folded up in your drawer.

Then it got weirder.

Your purse being filled with fifty dollar bills on the mornings you worried you wouldn't have enough to afford your groceries. Some of your clothes, specifically underwear, going missing. Your phone being in the other room when you woke up. Waking up with different pyjama bottoms on.

As it got worse, you found yourself confiding in your friend. Well, a little more than a friend, but the two of you had never labelled it. The two of you sat in the corner of a local cafe, coffee warming up your hands. It was a cool autumn day, causing you to wrap up in a scarf and fluffy coat. This crimson coloured scarf had suddenly appeared in your closet, right when you needed it. It should have been wrong to wear something that had inexplicably appeared in your home, but it was cold, and what else were you to do?

"It's just getting weird. Even the leftovers in my fridge that were about to be mouldy are being thrown away. I see it in my garbage bag. And you know me, I don't even throw it out until it's literally gone blue."

Erin laughed, "You're quite careless. And disgusting." Yes, you were, but that wasn't the point!

"Shush. I'm actually worried here. I'm starting to think.. no.. no one can be breaking into my apartment every night, I'd wake up and hear them. God, I think I'm going mad." You mumbled, hand gripping tightly around the coffee mug. It reminded you of the time you'd left a cold cup of tea on the side, and had fallen asleep. When you woke up an hour later, the cup was hot, as if it had just been warmed up again.

"You've added another lock to your door, you don't even have a spare key for it. It's impossible for someone to break in. And you live on the top floor. Honey, you've been exhausted recently, it's not uncommon for people to get forgetful. You probably did those things while sleepy." Erin reassured you, placing a hand over yours.

You sighed deeply, downing the last drops of drink you had left, Erin doing the same. "Yeah, you're probably right. It's just.. strange."

—

As you entered your apartment late at night, instead of throwing your keys carelessly on a table, you decided to tuck them in the nightstand by your bed. Just to be safe, even if it was just for your own peace of mind. You jumped into the shower, cracking open the window so the steam could be let out. You lived on the top floor of your block, no one could look in, which was always a good thing because your bathroom got very steamy, recently the ceiling paper even curling at the side from the condensation. Making a mental note to look up the prices for someone to redecorate.

You really needed a shower today, you and Erin had gotten a little.. excited earlier, and it always made you cringe not showering before bed after an evening of sex. Under the warm water, you hummed a song you'd had stuck in your head all day. It was a song you didn't even recognise, in fact you weren't even sure you'd heard it before. All you knew was that it was in a different language, and it was comforting.

Once clean, you felt overwhelmingly tired, it had been a long day, so you decided to go straight to bed after having your usual cup of camomile tea, with two spoons of sugar. Then you got into bed. Before you could doze off though, you decided to read for a bit, opening up your latest novel of your favourite author. It can't have been too exciting though, because you fell asleep before the first chapter was over.

When dawn broke, the early sun breaking through cracks in your window, you stirred, blinking a few times. Something felt strange, like every morning for the past few months. You felt a stickiness between your thighs, and your pyjama bottoms were definitely not the ones you fell asleep in. You stared down at the light blue shorts, eyebrows furrowed. Were you a sleepwalker? No, your past roommates would have told you. Maybe you'd had a really good dream and just forgotten it? Fuck, this was weird.

Deciding there was nothing you could really do about the situation, you got up, opting to take another shower to get rid of the icky feeling.

It was when you were munching on your chocolate flavoured cereal that you heard your phone ping. Automatically, you put your spoon down, picking up the device you so heavily relied upon. It was a text from an unknown number, causing you to frown. Opening it, you saw there was a picture attached to the text. And when you examined it, your blood ran cold.

It was a picture of you, naked in bed. Your body spread out, intimate area completely exposed.

"What the fuck?" You whispered, reading what had come with it.

Unknown number: Three orgasms in one night, that's your record so far.

You didn't know what to think— someone had.. touched you while you were asleep? They broke in and did this to you? You shivered in fear, your shaky hands typing out a response before you could even think about what the police would say if you went to them; to not engage with a dangerous person.

You: Who the fuck is this?

There was no reply. Not when you left for work, not when you arrived home in the evening.

You were rigid with fear. A sensible person would have called the police, or at least called someone like Erin, asked to stay over, but you just couldn't. Every time you were about to dial a number, something inside you made you stop. You couldn't explain it.

So here you were, sat bolt upright on your couch. It was around eleven, and your eyes were growing heavy. Your camomile tea mug now empty, you blinked a few times, just aching to lay down and rest. No, you had to stay up! You had to see who had been breaking into your home. But.. you were so tired, a sudden wave of exhaustion washing over you. Your eyes closed slowly, slumping down and falling into a deep sleep.

—

The next morning the first thing you did was check your phone, seeing if the stranger had replied, and they had. Two images attached to a message. And what you saw horrified you. The first picture, one of you in bed, with a.. strap-on, buried inside you. It made you feel sick, that someone had done this to you unwillingly. Though the expression on your face, clearly asleep but pleasure in your features. You could even see your own arousal dripping down the toy.

The second image quite literally made you throw up, You ran to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet bowl as the picture burned in your mind. It had been someone laying on a floor, covered in blood, a knife wedged in their chest.

You had to go to the police. There was no choice now. For some reason, you looked back at the picture, and your mouth dropped open. That someone was a familiar.

It was Erin.

You just knew, it was her jacket, her brown eyes wide open in fear, her blue dyed hair drenched in her own blood. It caused you to throw up again.

—

"I—I think my best friend has been murdered."

You whispered in a shaky voice to a police officer who had sat you down in a cold grey room. After seeing what you'd been sent, not even reading the message that had come with it, you rushed down to the local police station, practically screaming for someone to talk to.

"Why do you suspect this?" He asked in a gruff voice. He didn't seem to be all that serious about the situation, upsetting you even further.

"I've got pictures! And texts!" Your fingers fumbled around your pocket to retrieve your phone, opening your messages app.

It wasn't there.

"So?" The officer prompted, clearly unimpressed.

"It was.. it was right here.." You mumbled, opening every contact you had in case it had magically gotten messed up.

But no, the messages had vanished.

"Look, lady, I think you should go home and get some rest. You look tired. Our minds make things up when we're lacking sleep."

"But—"

"Listen, if something happens, come back in. But for now, you're making empty claims."

Hanging your head down dejectedly, you fought back tears. You knew Erin was dead. You just knew it.

—

Tonight you weren't going to fall asleep. Just to make sure, you downed two mugs of strong coffee instead of your tea. You hated it, but you couldn't risk falling asleep. The intruder— the murderer, was going to break in, you were sure.

The time ticked on. Eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, one o'clock..

Until your phone buzzed. Dread washed over you. There was no one else who would be making your phone light up at this time of night.

Unknown number: How am I meant to enjoy you when you don't have your tea? You look so pretty when you sleep.

This confused you. Why would they be concerned about what beverage you were drinking? You typed out a response quickly.

You: I'm not scared of you.

It was a stupid thing to say, you knew that really. But the only thing you could think of was to pretend you weren't scared. Maybe that would make them bored and leave you alone. All you could think about what Erin's lifeless body. The blood, god.. all that blood..

Unknown number: See you soon, sweetheart.

Your eyes widened in horror; what the fuck did that mean? This person was on their way? Sickness rose up in your throat, and you ran to your kitchen, grabbing the first sharp object you could find— a medium sized kitchen knife. You clutched it to your chest, running to your bedroom, locking the door and panting heavily. You considered pushing some furniture against the door, but you knew you needed to call the police. Then you realised you'd left your phone in the kitchen.

Fuck! Fuck!

You had put yourself in the worst position possible. But before you could panic over that, you felt a gust of cold air. You frowned, turning around to see the window wide open. You definitely hadn't left it like that before, but it was also impossible for anyone else to have opened it. You lived on the top floor for Christ's sake!

Not knowing what to do first; close the window, get your phone, block the door, or just curl up in a ball and hope it would all just go away. You opted for grabbing your phone. If you could call the police, they'd be on their way, hopefully before your stalker could arrive.

Cautiously unlocking the bedroom door, you stepped out into the hallway. The lights that had previously been on, were off, leaving the whole apartment pitch black apart from the moon shining through the windows and the bedroom light.

Your steps were slow, ears straining to hear anything, but there was silence. The only sound heard was the hammering of your heart in your chest.

Until the silence was broken.

"Seeing you awake is strange. But exciting nonetheless."

The voice came from right behind you. Spinning around in horror, you finally came face to face with the person who had been tormenting you.

"Tormenting? That's a bit harsh, sweetheart."

The woman was dressed in all black, a hood covering most of her face. Light from the bedroom accentuated her figure, but more importantly, the silhouette of a knife and a cloth in her hands.

"W—who are you?" It was an attempt at a shout, maybe to attract the attention of the apartment below you, but your voice could barely manage a squeak.

"I've told you before, baby. You're a forgetful thing when you're asleep, mhm?" She stepped forward, causing you to take a step back.

"You've been taking advantage of me! You've been breaking into my home! You killed.. Erin!" You whispered, backing up against the wall. You had no where to go. You were most likely to die, just like Erin.

"Sweet girl, I'm not going to kill you. I could never hurt you." The woman's voice was almost softer as she approached you, only two feet away now. Was she reading your mind?

"But you killed my friend." The images of Erin's body filled your mind, and how you were going to end up just like her.

"Your 'friend'? Please, she was begging for her own life, not for you to be safe." She let out a cold laugh. "It was so satisfying, the sound of my blade tearing through her flesh and tissue." It almost sounded like she'd gotten pleasure from it

Finally, you got some sense and energy into you as she expressed her fucked up feelings. You let out a shattering scream, "HELP! HELP!"

The woman sighed in disappointment. It took her less than a second to raise the cloth up to your face, covering your nose and mouth. The smell of chemicals was overwhelming. You fought against it, until you couldn't anymore. Body falling limp to the ground.

—

The noise that woke you up was the sound of a squeaking. Your eyes wouldn't open, wondering what was going on. You then felt something inside you, a pressure building up in your lower stomach. What—

Finally, your vision became clearer. You blinked a few times, looking around you. The scene became pretty clear.

The woman was in between your legs, a strap-on buried inside you, just like that photo. The squeaking was the bed as she thrusted into you.

You should have screamed, but the pressure in your abdomen was too intense. You let out a whine, trying to move your tired body, but it was useless. You didn't even want to stop it, it felt too.. good.

"You're awake." She stated, a slight pant in her voice. Her hood was down now, revealing her auburn wavy hair, pale skin and deep green eyes.

"Let me.." You trailed off, because you didn't know whether to say 'go' or 'come'.

She let out a chuckle, holding your hips firmly as she thrusted into you. The feeling was delicious. Something about the fact your body was sleepy, heavy, while being fucked by a woman so dangerous..

No! Why are you thinking like this? It almost felt like your thoughts weren't yours anymore. Were you going insane?

The woman grunted, wet noises filling the room, making it very apparent that your body did not hate this at all. "You can come for me, it'll be your third."

Your third? You couldn't even bring yourself to ask about it, your body just trembled, a pending orgasm taking over, making you whimper in delight.

"Fuck!"

Tears filled your eyes from the sheer pleasure, and the fact that you should have hated this. You were filled with so much shame and guilt. This was the person who had killed your best friend, who'd stripped you of your dignity.

"Shh, darling, you don't have to feel guilty. You're allowed to feel pleasure. And your friend, well, she was just in the way."

Her twisted words made you feel sick again, but you didn't have time to dwell on that because the woman's hand suddenly reached down and started to circle your clit while simultaneously thrusting into you. A loud groan escaped your throat, eyes practically rolling to the back of your head.

"You're going to beat your record, four times will be an achievement." Her accented voice was hot and heavy, turning you on even more.

"I— mhm!" You tried to speak, but you didn't know what to say.

"Let go, detka, show me how good I make you feel." She gripped your waist with her spare hand, red manicured nails digging into your skin.

Without warning, you came hard, spilling all over the strap. The woman moaned, slowing down her thrusts and eventually pulling out, leaving you unbearably empty. She slipped the strap off and went to straddle you, leaning her head down to kiss your neck. You felt utter bliss, forgetting how incredibly fucked up and sick this was.

"Seeing as this is the first time we've met while you've been conscious, I'll introduce myself. I'm Wanda." She giggled, as if nothing had just happened, and had been happening for months. Your head spun, recognising that name somehow, as if it had been spoken in your dreams.

"Relax now, sweet thing. I'll be here when you wake up." Wanda said softly, lying beside you, wrapping the duvet around your naked body. Her arm laid loosely across your stomach, hearing her breathing slow down to something calmer than before.

You didn't say anything, too busy feeling a wave of satisfaction, as awful as that sounded. It was like your mind was used to this, and that it was something you'd always wanted.

The last thing you remembered was a soft lullaby, in a language you didn't recognise. You'd heard it before, in your dreams. And it brought you great comfort.

——

Tags: @rezwrites @hatdog96 @ion-news @esposadejoyhuerta @moimmmm @grimlygoblin @lizziesflower @yandereloverb312 @beggingonmykneesforher

——

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fanfic #elizabeth olsen #lgbtq #lesbian #wanda x reader #dark!wanda maximoff #dark fic #marvel smut #sapphic smut #wandavision #smut #dark fanfiction #mommy!wanda

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sinfulspencer · 6 months ago

Text

Twisted fantasy

Prompt: Reader asked her boyfriend Spencer to dress up as Ghostface and he obliged.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: light dom/sub dynamic, dom!Spencer, sub!Reader, dirty talking, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, hair pulling, breath play, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie

Words: 4.1k

A.N.: Thank you to @vampireids for beta-reading this!

“I can’t believe I agreed to do this.”

I could hear the faint sound of Spencer pacing around the room on the other side of the door, along with grunts as he tried to put on the tightest pair of black trousers I had managed to find.

When October started, I knew it was time for me to make my demand. Even though I had no reason to complain about the many different ways Spencer and I celebrated Halloween, I had one more fantasy to fulfil. Just a little idea that had been stuffed inside my brain for too many years.

I knew Spencer wouldn’t have denied me anything, so I wasn’t surprised to find a Ghostface mask in my Amazon cart a few days after our conversation.

“You did it because you love me!”

Spencer huffed and I saw the lights flickering inside his bedroom. “I don’t have to prove my love to you by wearing a Ghostface mask.”

“No, but it would certainly be a nice thing to do!”

The door opened with such force it smacked against the cold wall. I took a step back and I almost collapsed to my knees when Spencer walked out.

I couldn’t even see his eyes, but I knew he was hiding that damned cocky smirk he had on his face every fucking time he understood what was going on in my brain. It wasn’t difficult to imagine, because I knew exactly how my face looked at that moment.

Spencer looked absolutely stunning in total black.

The shirt was tight on his chest and his sleeves were rolled up at his elbow, making him appear even more delicious to my eyes. His waist was perfectly hugged by those tight black trousers he didn’t want to wear, but did it for me, and his thighs made me want to drop down on the floor and nibble all over him.

And then, of course, the Ghostface mask.

Sure, it wasn’t the real Ghostface with the black cape and whatever, but it didn’t matter.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” Spencer asked.

His eyes were covered, I could barely see the outline underneath the mask, and that turned me on more than I could describe. I could barely think straight. And his voice… shivers ran down my spine.

“Damn,” was all I could say.

Spencer chuckled in amusement, but the sound of his laugh was toned down by the mask covering his mouth. I had no idea why the outfit turned me on more than I could explain to myself, but it did - and I was glad we had no parties to attend that night, because I wouldn’t have let him leave his house.

There was something inexplicably exciting in not seeing his face, but allowing him to touch me as he pleased.

I had every right to drag him back into his bedroom and use him for my own pleasure, finally making my fantasy come true - and also put an end to my miserable desire for my boyfriend.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Spencer asked again.

I whined, staring at him. “Why, do you want to ask me out on a date?”

Though I could not see Spencer’s face, I knew that he was smirking. He was enjoying this probably as much as I was, which made me happy.

“Maybe. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

I took another step back to admire every inch of my boyfriend and sighed. I covered my mouth with a hand when Spencer leaned on the doorstep of our bathroom.

“You never told me your name.”

He didn’t move from where he was standing, but I was squirming either way. Spencer hadn’t laid a finger on me yet, but I was ready to jump on him at any minute.

“Why do you wanna know my name?”

“I wanna know who I’m looking at.”

Spencer opened his arms so that I could look at every detail, but before I could say anything to him he grabbed me by the waist. He pulled me closer to his body and I gasped, pressing both my hands on his chest.

I was sure that my eyes were in the shape of hearts. I had never felt this turned on before in my life, not even during our first time together and the first time we slept in the same bed - which led us to fuck on basically every surface of his bedroom.

“You look like you’ve seen a Ghost.”

I brought both my hands on his chest, grasping his shirt. I was positive my eyes were shining, staring at my boyfriend like a starved woman in front of a delicious buffet. After all, Spencer looked like a snack and I was craving something sweet.

“You’re so fucking hot.”

Spencer leaned closer to me and I struggled to look at him, or at the mask. His hands moved from my waist up to my neck, forcing me to keep my eyes on him the whole time. I hated that I couldn’t really see him, but that turned me on either way.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand your obsession with this mask but if it turns you on this much” Spencer dug his fingers into my waist, “I will wear it every night.”

I slid my hands up his chest, tugging on the black tight shirt. “I could eat you.”

“That’s my job, darling. Let me eat you.”

And who was I to deny such a thing?

Spencer helped me to lay down on the bed with my hips on the edge of it, trembling with anticipation. It didn’t take long for him to spread my legs with his large hands, admiring the already wet spot on my panties.

“Already wet?”

Despite his face being hidden by the mask, I could feel the smug grin just forming on those damned plump lips.

“Shut up.”

Spencer ran his hands all over my thighs, dragging my panties down my legs. He threw them somewhere and quickly brought his thumb over my clit, massaging it so slowly that it almost made me cry. Spencer knew how much I hated teasing, but he loved it so much - probably more than sex itself.

“My sweet girl. Shouldn’t you be scared of me?”

A part of me wished I could be able to see his face, but the irrational part of me thought the mask was incredibly hot. I didn’t know what part of my brain was attracted to it, especially if it was worn by my FBI boyfriend, but still - I was thankful that Spencer brought my fantasy to life.

“Fuck, just finger me. Please?”

Spencer hummed, teasing my entrance with his finger. “Should I?”

“I’ll be good for you. Please?”

I whined under his ministrations, following the rhythm of his hand as soon as his index finger slipped deep inside of me. I knew Spencer could never deny me anything and him wearing that fucking mask was the proof of it.

The squelching sound of my wetness against Spencer’s palm made me shiver as I gripped the bedsheets underneath me. His finger brushed against my sweet point and I found myself gasping for hair when Spencer’s other hand pressed down on my throat.

I was caged between his slim body and the soft mattress underneath me, spiralling in warm pleasure that washed over me. My toes curled and I felt myself drifting off to that state that I craved each time I was underneath my boyfriend’s body.

Spencer was staring down at me, I could feel it even though I couldn’t see it. He squeezed my throat again with his fingers, digging them into my skin - I was going to have bruises the next morning, but did I truly care?

“Always such a good girl for me. Look at you.”

Spencer’s condescending tone made me clench around his finger and he quickly added another one, stretching me out gently as my wetness coated him. The more he squeezed my throat, the more I could feel my soul disappearing from my body and the pleasure taking control of every inch of me.

My knuckles were white and my whole body was tensing underneath Spencer’s, his fingers working in and out of me at a quick pace that rendered me breathless. His hand was still pressing down on my throat.

It was difficult to explain the state of peace I felt myself drifting off to, but I felt like I was floating above air. The white clouds caressing my skin ever so gently while my body was carried far away. The lack of oxygen made it easy for Spencer to gain control of me, my body and every sensation that he brought me with his fingers inside of me and his thumb on my clit.

“You wanna come for me, my special girl?”

His voice was loud and clear in my ears, but I could not find the strength or the will to answer him. I just stared at him with my eyes wide open, gripping his forearm to release some of the tension that I felt building within my body.

“The last time you were this turned on, was when you saw me shooting with my gun. Should I pull that out?”

My whole body was trembling as his fingers quickened their pace inside of me, making a mess all over the bedsheets - I could feel my own wetness and Spencer’s saliva dripped down between my thighs.

“Spencer, p-please.”

Spencer didn’t waste any time in cooing at me. I knew that if I ripped that mask away at that specific moment I would’ve found a sly smirk on his lips - and God, did that fucking turn me on.

“You can’t speak, my special girl? Too stupid to think right? To even speak right?”

When he pulled his fingers out of my wet cunt and removed his hand from my throat, I gasped for air and stared at the ceiling with a shocked look on my face. I was not expecting him to remove all the sources of pleasure at once, but somehow it turned me on even more.

I knew what was about to come.

Spencer’s leather belt came undone quickly as he adjusted the mask on his face.

“I need to be inside you. Now.”

Spencer didn’t need to announce what he was about to do to me because I knew it; I had a feeling that everything was turning him on too much, I could feel it in his hands and the way his grip was so firm on my thighs. It felt like Spencer was trying to anchor me to a moment, to a feeling, to the promise of giving me an amount of pleasure that would keep me satisfied the whole night.

“Please,” was all I could whisper.

Spencer grabbed my forearm, forcing me to sit up for a moment. My head was spinning so hard I barely registered my shirt being removed as Spencer left me completely naked in front of him. He was still all dressed up, despite his shirt being slightly crumpled.

I didn’t know why, but knowing that he was still dressed while I was naked made me even more desperate for the man in front of me. And Spencer knew it as he pushed me down on the bed again.

He grabbed my ankles and dragged me closer to the edge again, while he pushed his breeches down enough to free his waist.

“So desperate for me, aren’t you?”

I whined, not really in the mood for more teasing. “You have no idea.”

“I’ll take good care of you now, my special girl.”

I closed my eyes and reclined my head back, waiting for Spencer to just end my misery and give me exactly what I was aching for. My thighs were trembling, my lips were quivering and my heart was beating so hard against my ribcage - if we were silent, I would’ve heard it echo through the walls of our bedroom.

And then, a second later, I felt Spencer’s cock teasing my entrance. I gasped at the delicious feeling, immediately looking at my boyfriend - that fucking mask was preventing me from seeing his pretty face, but didn’t it look fucking perfect on him.

“Just fuck me, Spence. Please!”

I supposed Spencer didn’t like the tone I used as I spoke to him, because he leaned on top of me and grabbed a handful of my hair. He pulled on it so hard that it brought tears to my eyes, but I wouldn’t have changed it for anything in the world - it felt deliciously good.

Spencer must’ve noticed the tears.

“Oh, are you crying?” he asked, his voice dangerously sweet, “I’ll give you something to cry about.”

Spencer tightened his grip on my hair and tugged on it again, forcing me to get up from the bed. He was controlling me through the painful grip he had on my hair and I swore I had never felt his fingers keeping me close to him so harshly before. I didn’t know if the mask had switched something inside of him, but I did not complain once.

The fine line between pain and pleasure was subtle, and Spencer was allowing me to ride it.

Spencer used his free hand to bend me over the bed without laying on it, while the other was still tangled in my hair. I had no idea what Spencer had in mind, but I was ready to follow him through everything - hoping that he would just fuck me at someone point.

“You’re dripping. Are you enjoying what I’m doing to you, my special girl?”

His voice was so fucking hot.

I nodded my head, hissing when he pulled my hair again. “Yes. Always.”

Spencer moved his free hand down between my thighs, slowly bending over with his chest pressed to my back, and found my entrance again. He slowly sunk his ring and middle finger inside of me, not finding any resistance, and started fucking me again.

I wanted his cock inside of me, not his fingers, but I remained quiet.

Struggling to breathe and with my thighs trembling, I moaned his name and leaned my head on the soft pillow on top of the bed. His fingers disappeared inside of me as my wetness coated his palm, dripping onto the bed sheets.

“My special girl,” he pressed open-mouthed kisses all over my naked back, “Am I making you feel good? You like my fingers fucking your aching cunt?”

I saw stars when I heard him speak in such a dirty way and my body reacted as I clenched around his fingers. Spencer must’ve felt it because he chuckled, the sound of his amused laugh muffled by the mask - I was tempted to just take it off and throw it away.

“Please…”

My brain was dizzy, I could not form a coherent thought. All I could think about was just Spencer fucking me with his fingers, with his cock, his hands all over me, bruises and bites decorating my skin.

I was desperate.

Spencer couldn’t care any less, though. He enjoyed the loudness of my moans, the way my body trembled each time his fingers bottomed out, the squelching sound of his palm against my weeping cunt.

Spencer curled his fingers, pressing his digits on that spongy spot inside of me, and I found myself almost crying from the amount of pleasure my body was forced to experience. My legs were on the verge of giving out and my hands gripped the bed sheets so hard my knuckles became white.

Still fucking me with his fingers, Spencer took off the mask and threw it somewhere - I saw it flying on the ground and I almost laughed. Spencer bit the skin between my shoulder blades - one of my favourite places he’d bite. The sharp pain radiated through my body immediately and I whined his name, pushing my hips back to reach his.

“Spence… please.”

His cock pressed against my thigh, but his fingers were relentless. All I could think about was the stabbing pleasure that his cock would’ve brought to me - how wet I was for the man behind me, how desperate I was to feel his balls slap against my buttocks each time he thrusted into me. I was out of my fucking mind with neediness and Spencer was basking in it.

“Do you want my cock, my sweet girl?”

I nodded my head, my tongue felt heavy in my mouth. The pleasure was building slowly but steadily in the pits of my stomach, my trembling thighs an obvious sign of that.

“You can have it, then.”

Spencer removed his fingers all at once and I groaned, disappointed but not surprised. His cock rested heavy on my inner thigh before he dragged it through my wet folds, coating it. I knew that he was admiring the sight and how much I was squirming because of him - Spencer was a sucker for my devotion and my obsession for him.

“Give it to me. Please?” I begged

Spencer cooed, biting the back of my neck again. “Want it all inside of you? Want me to paint your walls with my cum?”

I nodded with my eyes closed, feeling tears of frustration pricking at each side. “Yes. Yes, yes.”

Spencer tapped the tip of his cock against my clit, then teased my entrance with it. He slipped in for a single second and I thought my whole world exploded. The pleasure flashed behind my eyes, but disappeared as soon as Spencer pulled away.

My hands were twisting the sheets. “Fuck!”

Behind me, Spencer laughed at my pathetic complaint. It wasn’t a fun laugh, it wasn’t a cute laugh. No, it was a cruel laugh that reverberated through every inch of my body and turned me on more than it should have. Spencer sounded exactly like Ghostface, if it even made sense.

“So desperate,” Spencer whispered in my ear, biting my earlobe, “Such a whore for my cock.”

I protested again with another whine and Spencer pushed his cock inside of me again, but removed it as soon as I wiggled against him. Each time I would move, he’d pull out - and that made my heart tremble in my chest. He was teasing me so cruelly, without a care - but I didn’t blame him.

Spencer put on a mask for me. I deserved to be tortured a little.

“Oh, stop crying,” Spencer grabbed my hair again, pulling it hard, “I fuck you every chance I get, you’re not going to die if I don’t fuck you now.”

Actually, he was wrong - I was a hundred percent positive that I was going to die if Spencer wasn’t going to fuck me rough, hard and fast in less than five minutes. I wanted to answer him, to beg him again but the tone he used did not admit any talk back.

I stayed quiet, simply wiggling my hips in order that he’d just give in to his own desire.

“Good, be quiet for me and I’ll give you my cock.”

Spencer used his free hand to caress my waist, dragging his fingers over the curves of my buttocks. His other hand was still gripping my hair, but slowly loosened his grip until he brought both hands on my hips.

And when he finally pushed his cock inside of me, meeting no resistance, he started to rock his hips at a painfully slow pace. I didn’t know if Spencer wanted me to die at that moment, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of having me cry because of him - despite the hot tears streaming down my face.

“That’s my sweet girl. Your cunt feels so fucking good.”

I clung to the bed sheets with both hands, trying to meet his hips but Spencer stopped me. He didn’t say anything; instead, he enjoyed the way my body sucked him in so fucking good that his soft whimpers echoed through the walls of our room. I knew that Spencer loved to watch how my body reacted to his touch, to his painfully slow thrusts and I let him - there was nothing better than knowing he was turned on because of my body.

“Please, please, please.”

No other word came out of my mouth.

Spencer started thrusting into me slightly faster, but not fast enough to make me come. It was a slow torture that I knew he was basking in - and what made it even more frustrating for me was the light slaps that he gave to my buttocks.

“Feels so good, sweet girl.”

Spencer muttered to me, caressing my buttocks before slapping both with his palms. Over and over, I could feel my skin become hotter and I wiggled away each time he struck me - it hurt, but I enjoyed it far more than I should have.

When I felt myself losing the train of thoughts running through my mind, Spencer reminded me that he could read me like a book and he picked up the pace of his thrusts. I barely had the time to fix the position I was in because Spencer started to pound into me harder and harder. His balls were slapping against my buttocks and his hands were digging into my skin, leaving bruises that I would admire for the next few days.

“Take me so fucking well. So proud of you, sweet girl.”

My knees were sore as they scraped against the bed sheets, but I wasn’t going to complain. I kept my mouth shut and leaned my forehead on the pillow, stretching my back with my arms gripping the headboard of our bed.

Spencer moaned at the sight and his thrusts became even harsher. I knew he was desperately close, I could feel it in the tension of his chest pressed to my back and the quick gasps that fell from his lips.

“Wanna cum?” he taunted me.

I nodded, my lips twitching into a smirk. “Yes, please. Make me come, please.”

Spencer seemed determined to make me cum first, his left hand still dinging into the soft skin of my waist. His right hand moved between my thighs and his thumb pressed over my clit, eliciting a long unexpected moan.

“Show me how good I’m making you feel, sweet girl,” Spencer whispered in my ear, his voice low, “Cum on my cock like the whore that I know you are.”

My toes were curling, the pleasure becoming intolerable. Every inch of my body trembled because of his ministrations; I was a puppet in his skilled fingers and Spencer knew it, as he finally pushed me off the edge of my desire.

With his left hand Spencer pushed my head into the mattress, cutting off the air supply as he buried his cock deep inside of me - I felt him breaching my cervix and it hurt, but Gods.

I did not want Spencer to stop.

I needed that pleasure to keep coming in waves through me as it exploded over and over again. I had no idea if I was breathing, I had no idea if I had died and went straight to Hell.

Spencer groaned in my ear, a sound that I wish I could’ve recorded, and I felt his warmth fill me up deeply. More tears fell from my eyes as I struggled to lift my head up, exhausted and trembling like a leaf in the middle of a storm. I did not expect to have an orgasm so earth-shattering. And I did not expect Spencer to take off the mask like that, with a disrupting anger that did not belong to him. It was endearing and incredibly hot.

I collapsed onto the bed with Spencer’s body on top of mine, his lips peppering my back with light kisses.

“Sorry about the mask.”

I hissed when he pulled out of me, the sudden loss stinging. “Fuck the mask.”

Spencer chuckled at my response. “But I thought you loved it.”

“Oh, I do,” I replied, rolling on my back, “But I love seeing your face way more.”

He got off the bed and went straight to the bathroom, bringing me a warm washcloth so that he could clean himself off me and then himself. I was too weak to move and my thighs were still trembling - I wouldn’t have been able to walk to the bathroom without waddling.

“Right, so I should keep the mask on in the beginning and then take it off.”

I nodded my head, sitting up on the bed. “That’s a good compromise. Next Halloween I’ll bring one of your fantasies to life. Deal?”

Spencer scratched his chin with his fingers, humming. “I’m not really sure if I want to fuck a character from a movie or a book, though.”

“Okay, then I’ll dress up like myself.”

He chuckled, laying back down beside me. “Oh, that I love.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid halloween fic #spencer reid smut fic #spencer reid smut imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid nsft #spencer reid nsft fic

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ddarker-dreams · 2 months ago

Text

A Deal's a Deal II.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, descriptions of anxiety and emotional/mental manipulation. Word count: 4.1k.

You met Chrollo at an old hole-in-the-wall bookstore that housed archaic texts.

There was little information on your condition, but what material did exist hid itself beneath allegory and ciphers. The best leads came from high strangeness circles. They expanded on Jung’s concept of the collective unconscious, drawing parallels between historical records across cultures and periods that all implied some system that transcended physical limitations. Whether it came from alchemists like Paracelsus, mystics like Crowley, or authors like William Blake, hints of this system can be found sprinkled throughout history.

Chrollo informed you that this system is commonly called ‘Nen.’

Before him, the nomenclature eluded you. You simply regarded it as a phenomenon best kept to yourself. The world’s a weird place, filled with inexplicable things that the human mind can’t always comprehend. This handheld device, which you nicknamed Instant Replay, is the foremost example.

You were always aware that you knew things you shouldn’t have. As a child, it perplexed you. Why do people sometimes sound weird? A few trips to the audiologist proved your hearing is perfectly fine. When this avenue didn’t provide answers, you ended up in counseling, where you reenacted the dilemma with dolls. For a while, you insisted that what you heard was real. It frustrated you to no end that the adults in your life either dismissed you or offered bromides.

As an adult yourself in the present, you can’t blame them for being at a loss.

You smartened up eventually. What you once blabbed about to anyone who would listen, you kept to yourself. This eased the tensions at home. Your parents seemed happy that the issue had ‘resolved’ itself and you maintained the illusion. Playing pretending could only do so much — the core problem remained. Your mind made the connection that when another was being dishonest, that’s when their voice would sound strange. After you realize that, there’s no going back. The epiphany changed how you interacted with others for better and for worse.

“You want to get rid of your ability?” he sounded surprised when he asked.

“How could I not?” you replied. “People lie… a lot. Friends, family, strangers. And, okay, that might not seem bad, but imagine always being aware of it. It— It eats away at you. Wears down your ability to trust. I have to act like I’m none the wiser, knowing full well someone just lied to my face. I don’t want to know! I’m tired of knowing!”

“You’re unable to control when it’s active?”

“Instant Replay lets me ‘review’ audio, both in real-time and after it’s been recorded. I have control over the latter, but that’s it.”

Your antagonistic relationship with Nen fascinated Chrollo. According to him, most people were intentional when it came to crafting their Hatsu. There are very few cases like yours where Hatsu is subconsciously given shape and form. You wish your subconscious had created something more useful, like a sword. That would’ve been cool.

“Could I learn a new ability to oust Instant Replay?” you wondered.

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way,” Chrollo dismissed. “In theory, it is possible to learn different abilities, although your inexperience would make that difficult. There’s no way to erase an ability either. You can, however, lose access to it. For instance, there’s my predicament, or…”

He leaned in close and whispered:

“... Someone could steal it.”

Chrollo looks out of place in your apartment.

It’s a cozy, lived-in space, full of trinkets that he thoughtfully examines as if he were in the Louvre. Meanwhile, you prepare two cups of tea. Chamomile with honey for you and Earl Grey for him. After setting the timer for five minutes, you realize there’s not much else to do but wait. The silence is unusual and unnerving. Anticipation thrums through the air like an electric current. You feel it coursing through your blood; tingling along your skin.

The barstool you’ve chosen as your perch groans against the wooden floor as you pull it out.

Chrollo picks up a picture for closer inspection. You crane your neck, curious about which snapshot captured his attention. It’s from a night out with friends. Empty plates and drinks littered the table and each of you crowded in close to fit into frame. Since the restaurant was high-end, you were dolled up, adorned in an outfit that rarely saw the light of day.

“Swarovski?” He sounds amused.

“I’ve been known to splurge on the occasion,” you huff. “The necklace was on sale and the earrings were—”

You cut yourself off, although you’re unsure why. It shouldn’t be a taboo topic. Nonetheless, beneath the weight of his gaze, you couldn’t get the word out.

“—From an ex?” He offers.

You nod.

He returns the picture to its proper place, a cryptic smile on his lips. “So even you aren’t above materialistic impulses, hm?”

“There’s a difference between rampant consumerism and buying yourself something nice on occasion,” you retaliate, disliking the edge of mockery in his voice. “I don’t need to hear this from the dude wearing a silver Rolex watch.”

“It’s white gold.”

You roll your eyes. “A camel through the eye of a needle.”

“‘First cast out the beam out of thine own eye.’”

“Do you seriously have the entire King James version of the Bible memorized?”

“It was one of the most accessible texts in my youth,” he says, his smile softening into something pensive. “The missionaries were far more generous with those showing signs of ‘progress.’ I tried helping my companions memorize the more significant passages, but they weren’t what you’d call ideal pupils.”

Missionaries? You purse your lips and consider the implications. Had Chrollo grown up in destitution? Come to think of it, you know very little about him or his background. Unlike you, he never volunteered the information. He skillfully maneuvered around any inquiry into his past. The most you’ve gleaned is that he’s a traveling antiquarian who, in pursuit of valuables, made some enemies along the way.

The shrill shriek of the timer rips you from your thoughts.

Chrollo accepts his mug with a “thank you” and sits on the rightmost side of your coach. After plopping two ice cubes into your concoction, you join him, leaving ample room between you. The nerves from earlier return. He’s an easy man to converse with, but when his mind is preoccupied — as it most certainly is now — you’re at a loss. Do you try reinitiating banter? Opt for a completely different topic? Or should you let him initiative, squirming around until he breaks the thickening tension?

“Have I held you in suspense long enough?” Chrollo asks while holding his hand out. A book with a handprint on the cover appears, the pages flipping too fast for you to gauge their contents.

The quality of his aura temporarily stupefies you. This must be the difference between a novice like yourself and a genius. You can muster up enough aura to summon Instant Replay, but that takes considerable effort. To him, managing the flow of aura comes as easy as breathing. You scooch closer to study his technique. How long would it take you to match his expertise? Years? Decades?

“I’ll get bashful if you keep staring at me like that.”

“Liar,” you accuse without any real malice.

He chuckles.

“Give me your hand.”

Heat rushes to your face as you recall what happened when you last parted. “D-Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

Hesitantly, you do as he requests. He maneuvers your hand against the conjured book’s cover. You gnaw on your bottom lip, trepidation brewing inside your soul. You thought you’d feel relieved when this moment came. There’d be some butterflies, yes, but that would quickly give way to relief and exhilaration. The thorn that’s been in your side all these years is finally coming out. Your quid pro quo has reached its conclusion; this is your reward, your ticket to a normal life.

“I like you too.”

“I’ll be there whenever you need me.”

“It’s okay if you come.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“We’ll always be together.”

Yes, people lie a lot. Sometimes, you’re unsure if they’re even aware of it themselves. They lie to you, the people they love, the people they hate, and themselves. Fate decided you’d be made witness to their folly, sewing your lips shut and eyes wide open. The wounds it left behind are intangible and incurable. How do you heal what you can’t explain knowing to others? How do you explain your hesitation, shift in demeanor, and inadequate coverup?

The sound of Instant Replay whirring reverberates throughout your skull.

Chrollo speaks your name softly. You startle, realizing that you’re blinking back tears.

“I—”

“It’s alright,” he reassures. The words sound crisp — genuine — soothing your budding concern that you’re inconveniencing him somehow. In an instant, the hardcover dissipates, leaving your hand flat against nothing. Chrollo takes the opportunity to come closer. When you don’t protest, he completely closes the distance, until you’re thigh to thigh.

He smells good. Intoxicatingly so.

“Show me the ability you despise so much, dear.”

Dear? You think to protest the emergence of this nickname, yet you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you follow his order, mechanically lifting your arm and summoning your ability much like he had.

“Good. It’s almost over with,” he brushes the wetness away from your eyes with his knuckles. Your heart leaps at the contact. “Finally, I have to ask about your ability. There are so many possibilities… what to choose, what to choose… ah.”

With the same hand that wiped away your nascent tears, he cups your cheek.

“Do you trust a man like me with such a dangerous ability?”

“I have my reservations,” you respond. You don’t miss the amusement he derives from your candidness. “This sounds bad, but… at this point, I guess I just don’t care.”

For a moment, all is still. There’s no odor of sulfur, maniacal cackling, or declaration that the ritual is complete. You didn’t have to sign a contract in blood or swear an oath to an infernal being. Your overactive imagination ran numerous scenarios through your head. The lack of flair over this life-defining moment is almost underwhelming. You frown, fearing that there was an error somewhere along the way. If there was, he’s given no indication, yet you’ll remain restless until the results are confirmed.

“Chrollo?”

“Hm?”

“Did it work?”

“It did, love.”

“Could you, um,” you lick your lips, a motion that draws his attention. “Make something up so I can know for sure?”

This request amuses him.

“How will you know if I’m being honest to mess around with you or not?”

At this, you give him a light shove. Given his apparent playfulness, you expected him to move back, but he doesn’t budge an inch. It felt like trying to move a concrete building.

“Make it an obvious lie, then.”

“An obvious lie, hm?” He mulls over your suggestion. “Very well. How about this: I don’t want you beneath me.”

You gape at him, dumbstruck.

“I find it easy to control my urges around you.”

He keeps going.

“I’m unmoved by your beauty…”

He gently pushes your shoulders until you’re lying down.

“... Your wit…”

He hovers above you, tracing the outline of your lips with his pointer finger.

“... And boundless charm.”

Chrollo tilts your head up by your chin. “Well? Do you believe me now?”

Slowly, as if in a daze, you nod. Your heart lurches, the organ beating loud enough to hear in your ears. You feel uncomfortably warm, like your heater’s been cranked to the highest setting. Gradually, the violent joy you expected to accompany your liberation abounds, starting at your chest and overflowing outward. You’re smiling, breathless, your corporeal form barely able to contain the glee. You see your reflection in Chrollo’s eyes. There’s a manic quality to your countenance; you barely recognize yourself.

You’re free, you’re free, you’re free—

His lips find yours. Your cognition short circuits, leaving you in a reverie where you can barely understand what’s happening. He handles you so carefully that it’s easy to forget you’re physically trapped. He carries on, either failing to notice your apprehension or disregarding it.

On some level, you’ve always sensed this underlying attraction. You remained purposefully obtuse. There was too much at stake — jeopardizing your aims for a fling felt counterintuitive. On paper, he’d make for the ideal partner. He’s devilishly handsome, charismatic, and intelligent to a fault. Aside from some dubious morality, you couldn’t ask for a better suitor.

And still, hesitation prevailed.

Every now and then, there’d be glimpses of some great, existential threat, beneath the fissures of his porcelain mask. These glimpses gave you pause. You think he could’ve tried harder to hide these damning qualities, yet chose not to. Where’s the fun — the thrill — in always playing nice? You needed his help more than he needed yours. His connections spanned continents, whereas yours were shallow and easy to uproot.

How many of your convictions would you compromise?

How far would you let the poison spread to cure another affliction?

How can you look down on him if you’ve fallen to the same level?

When he pulls away, you avert your gaze, fearing what stares back.

“... So you are afraid of me, then.”

Chrollo lets you wriggle out from underneath him. When your eyes make brief contact, it feels like he’s inspecting you, as if you were a specimen in a petri dish. It isn’t the reaction you’d expect from a rejected man. Nonetheless, you’re on edge and longing for a menial task to occupy yourself with. Recalling the state of the kitchen, you decide that will suffice.

He remains seated as you wash and dry the implements used to make your tea.

This uncharacteristic silence unsettles you further. The only audible sound in your apartment is your faucet, the water running over silverware that’s plenty clean. You scrub at it harder, wondering what you should do next. Originally, you intended to thank him for his pivotal role in removing your burden. You never would have made it this far without his assistance. Even with this strange atmosphere, your gratitude remains unwavering.

You’ll be able to live life like anyone else now. It’s an accomplishment worthy of celebration, regardless of the twists and turns along the way. Maybe he misinterpreted your body language or acted on an impulse. These mistakes can happen when emotions run high.

Okay, you think, psyching yourself up. This doesn’t have to be weird. I can—

“Have you given much thought over last week’s unpleasantness?”

Your heart skips a beat and your shoulders droop.

“I assume you haven’t,” he says. “That’s fair. It must’ve been frightening… I wish I could have spared you such an experience.”

The appreciation he previously instilled in you desiccates, drop by drop.

“Will you please get to the point?”

Under different circumstances, you would’ve been more patient with his preamble, but this is a sore subject. A buried corpse like that shouldn’t be exhumed. His reasoning, though elusive to you now, doesn’t inspire warm sentiments.

“That incident won’t be the last of its kind.”

You turn around as he approaches, sipping his tea. He leans against the counter and eyes you over the cup’s rim.

“In truth, we should’ve left hours ago, but I was feeling sentimental.”

“‘We?’ Chrollo, what are you talking about?”

“Had it not been for your role in getting my Nen back, Hisoka would’ve killed you,” Chrollo says this so casually that you question if you’re hearing him right. “Now that you’ve done your part, he has a vested interest in doing so.”

You no longer have a way to verify if he’s telling the truth or not. It’s so stupid, so unfair, that you almost laugh. Instant Replay no longer heeds your call. You surrendered it to a new master, who, before taking it from your willing hands, all but told you he was the worst person you could’ve picked.

Chrollo continues, “He’s a peculiar case. All he cares about is fighting formidable opponents, and, with my Nen returned, I am one.”

You take a step back.

“That business is between you two. I fail to see how this involves me.”

“I have preparations to finish before I face him,” Chrollo explains. “He doesn’t feel like waiting any longer. Harming you is an excellent way to speed things along. Even I don’t know what I’d do if you were fatally injured.”

You shake your head. “I— you’re not serious. There’s just no way. I’m moving past all of this bullshit. Nen, Hatsu, whatever; that has nothing to do with me anymore. I’m done.”

“I’m sorry, dear.”

“No, you aren’t!” Your voice raises in pitch, pulled as taut as a bowstring. “You knew, didn’t you? That this would be a problem? Oh, oh, you had to, why else would you have acted all weird when you saw him? Stop looking at me like you care, like you’re sorry, 'cause this is the best-case scenario for you!”

You pace back and forth, your mind racing. This was a mistake. Walking up to him because you recognized the book in his hands was a mistake. Is he bluffing? And if he is, does it matter? You can’t put up a fight. You don’t think you could even make it to the door. If he was a regular man, you’d have options. You could yell for help, call the cops, and inflict some damage, minor as it may be. All those tactics turn to ash before an oppressive, incomprehensible force like this.

You snap your head in his direction. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

“I don’t see how that will help.”

You prepare to spew vitriol his way, when a dreadful thought shoots through you like a bullet.

“My family. What about them? Won’t they be in danger too?”

“They aren’t on his radar.”

“How do you know that?”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Chrollo sets the cup down. “The suffering of your loved ones wouldn’t elicit a reaction from me, so he won’t bother. Targeting you is the wisest option.”

Words fail you. Is this it? The depravity he kept subdued finally let loose, so dense in its quality that it threatens to suffocate you? All you wanted was a semblance of normalcy. Normal relationships, interactions, and problems. Has the path you’ve treaded brought you further away from this humble aspiration? Or is there still a way, some faint silver lining that you must find and latch onto?

“What about after?”

“Hm?”

“After Hisoka is dealt with,” you clarify, tapping your foot repeatedly. “You’re not going to let him live, are you?”

“That’s rather dark.”

“Chrollo,” you implore.

“No, I won’t,” he confirms. “As for what comes next — I intend to persuade you.”

You regard him with suspicion. His tone and the implications sink into you like a venomous bite. He exudes quiet confidence, indicating that nothing you’ve said will influence him in any meaningful way. Dread sticks to your stomach, making your body feel heavy. You hug yourself, clenching your upper arms with shaky fingers. Any lingering excitement from earlier has vaporized, leaving behind a profound hollowness.

“I suppose this can go a few ways,” you murmur. “I could cause as many headaches for you as possible, or, I could be decent enough.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’d like to have Instant Replay back,” you say. He quirks an eyebrow. “Just for a bit. What? I’m assuming if you can steal something, you can give it back, right?”

“You’d be correct. Still, that begs the question; what are you intending to accomplish with this little scheme?”

“Nothing that’ll inconvenience you in any major way.”

Chrollo falls silent. You dig your nails into your flesh as the seconds drag on, awaiting his verdict. If he had your ability activated, he should’ve been able to discern your honesty. Then again, he’s aware of the workarounds. To ensure your words wouldn’t register as untrue, you had to remain vague and subjective. What you consider an inconvenience could differ drastically from him.

“I’m sure I won’t regret this.”

Your eyes widen. That dissonant timbre is unmistakable, he returned your ability! Filled with newfound resolve, you stride toward him, your eyes blazing. This is your chance. You need to make the most of this opening before it’s gone forever. He could choose not to answer any of your questions, but something tells you he won’t, like it’d injure his pride. You issued him a challenge and he’s intent on meeting it.

“Did you have anything to do with what happened last week?”

“I didn’t.”

“Did Hisoka?”

“No, he just happened to be observing you from afar.”

“Why?”

“For his personal amusement, I’d wager.”

“He’d really kill me just to… agitate you?”

“It’s in line with his character.”

You swallow thickly and press on.

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’m wrong. Regardless, you’ll be alive and well.”

“Can you win against him in a fight?”

“Yes.”

“And if you somehow lose, what happens next?”

“My companions will hunt him down and kill him.”

Now that you’ve gotten your most pressing inquiries out of the way, you decide to wade through dangerous waters. Chrollo likely saw the benefit in assuaging your doubt, these next questions provide him nothing substantial. His willingness to humor you is undoubtedly finite. Keeping this in mind, you consider the possibilities. You may never have a chance like this again. Is there anything that can give you an advantage? You’ll take anything, no matter how small, even if all it offers is an illusion of control.

Chrollo glances at his watch in a not-so-subtle motion.

“Who sealed your Nen?”

“Now this is more what I expected,” he hums. His eyes take on a bright, unsettling shade. “An individual with a longstanding grudge. Your paths will not cross, I suggest adopting another plan of attack.”

He saw right through you. You knew it was a long shot, but collaborating with this mysterious figure would have proven advantageous. They must be powerful in their own right to have bested Chrollo. Should you try pressing for more information? Then again, Chrollo doesn’t seem keen on sharing more, much to your chagrin.

What does that leave you with…?

“How do you plan on ‘persuading’ me?”

“You’re better off not knowing until we get to that point.”

You frown. If that didn’t register as a lie, it must be what he genuinely believes. Curiosity plagues you, dredging up anxiety. You have but a few grains of sand left in the hourglass remaining. It’s suspended midair, poised to drop at the most ill-timed moment. The approach of the end is worse than its inevitable arrival. You now have the chance to hasten its onset, at the risk of being debilitated by the impact. What lows would he resort to? Are you actually better off remaining ignorant?

“Alright, let’s—”

“Does it hurt to know I’ll never love you?”

Up until this point, he’s fired back with a near instant response. This time, however, he hesitates, the invasive nature of the inquiry necessitating careful thought. You finally found an effective ‘attack.’ It’s too late to do you any lasting good, but you greedily devour it nonetheless. When dealing with a person of Chrollo’s caliber, it’s easy to forget he possesses the same human qualities you do. You might be unable to stop his heart from beating, but you can make the organ ache.

“I can live with it, dear.”

You pinch your eyebrows together, thrown off by his voice’s clarity. Is the knowledge that inconsequential to him? Have you misjudged his attachment? While considering this, you flex your fingers, concentrating your aura there. You can’t repeat his words back since Instant Replay wasn’t recording, but you still decide to conjure it. You’ll record what remains of this conversation to ensure you don’t miss anything else.

The flow of your aura halts at your wrist, refusing to take form. Frowning, you try again, only to realize he must have reclaimed your ability.

When did that happen? Was it before or after his response?

Chrollo says your name, regaining your attention. “I fulfilled my end of the bargain. Will you do the same?”

After playing the role of the interrogator, you’re back to being an inmate. You meant what you said — when you said it, that is. This is yet another loophole to subvert Instant Replay. What’s true to you in one instant can change in the next. It’s frightening how fast he’s learned these nuances that took you years to test and discover. He’s already making the most of your ability, turning what was a thorn in your side into a full-fledged dagger.

“What choice do I have?”

“There’s always a choice,” Chrollo asserts. “You just have a habit of making the wrong ones.”

A delirious laugh leaves your lips.

"... I suppose you're right."

#chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #chrollo brainrot #my stuff

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sevikaslatinawife · 2 months ago

Note

Hii! I love your writing :)

I wanted to ask, can you write something about Sevika putting on a bit of weight in a happy relationship? Like a small reverse of scenario people usually write for reader?

It's okay if you don't want to

Yes, yes I can. :’) Also @amortentia05 bc you had asked for one as well! Thank you for requesting and enjoying my writing, love! 🥹

Pinch of Love

Warnings: fucking fluff fluff fluff

“What the —“ Sevika grumbles as she looks down at her stomach.

For the first time in all her life, she can see the softness her body has taken. Nothing too noticeable if someone were to look at her with nothing to compare to, but she can tell.

Her abs are much less defined, sides and thighs soft and face slightly fuller.

“I’m getting fat!” She had told you one evening while you got ready for bed.

You had blinked and looked at her naked form — because yes, she sleeps in the nude. You furrow your brows and shake your head, finding nothing wrong in the curves she’s gained since your relationship began.

“You look fine,” You tell her, stepping up to cup her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” She huffs but still nuzzles into your palm.

“You look beautiful,” you insist, leaning up to press a soft kiss to her lips.

“My abs are gone,” she complains after you pull back.

“I can see them fine.”

“They’re not as defined.”

“You’re eating, that’s not a bad thing,” you giggle, bringing your other hand up to cup her other cheek. “You barely ate at all before we met.”

“So it’s your fault,” She grumbles but there’s no malice behind it. In fact, her eyes are practically sparkling as she looks at you, a barely-there smile tugging on her lips.

“It is, I take complete blame,” You laugh, pressing your thumbs into the apples of her cheeks. “I am so very sorry for making you so happy.”

“That’s awfully confident of you.”

“But you didn’t say I was wrong,” You muse, a playful smirk at the corner of your lips.

She narrows her eyes at you. “You aren’t wrong. You do make me…happy,” she almost whispers.

You smile at the words, knowing how hard it was for her to admit it when you first began seeing each other. How long it took her to find out why she was drawn to you in such an inexplicable way.

“You make me happy, too,” You assure, hands going to wrap around her waist. Hers wrap around your shoulders and bring you closer to her. You hum at the heat of her body and the newfound softness of her body.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” She teases, squeezing you tighter.

“Mm, I am. You’re very comfortable.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she kisses the top of your head. “And that I love you so much.”

You smile and look up at her, kissing her bare collarbone. “I love you, too.”

#sevika headcanon #sevika arcane #sevika #sevika x y/n #arcane #sevika x you #sevika x female reader #sevika x reader #arcane sevika #sevikaslatinawife #sevika fluff #sevika comfort #sevika my love #sevika my wife #sevika x f!reader

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solxamber · 5 months ago

Text

Trash Novel Chronicles: Get Me Out of Here || Rook Hunt

You’re isekai’d into a trashy novel and stuck as a tragic side knight character. All you want is survival, but your boss is Rook Hunt—a poetic, eccentric duke.

Now you’re caught in his chaos and, worse, you kinda don’t mind.

Series Masterlist

You’re a completely normal person. You eat normal meals at normal times, sleep the normal amount of hours (give or take a few, who needs all eight anyway?), and hold down a regular, soul-crushingly normal job. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills and lets you indulge in your one true love: reading web novels for five hours straight like some kind of feral literature goblin.

Your current obsession? The Lady’s Tragic Love. It’s the sort of story that you can’t put down—not because it’s good, but because it’s so excruciatingly terrible that it loops back around into comedy. The heroine has all the personality of a wet tissue but somehow manages to ruin everyone’s lives with reckless abandon. It’s almost impressive.

You rub your temples as you skim yet another chapter. “Oh my God, this woman has the moral compass of a black hole,” you mutter.

The plot makes less sense the deeper you go: the heroine starts off as the daughter of a down-on-their-luck noble family. Her father racks up an unholy amount of debt, so she’s forced to marry a viscount who—get this—is actually a nice guy. Like, genuinely kind. He agrees to marry her in name only to protect her from debt collectors, even offering to fund her hobbies.

And what does she do? Poison him. Poison him!

"Okay, maybe she's misunderstood," you think, in the kind of delusional optimism only a web novel enthusiast can muster.

Nope. She poisons him because she "can’t stand looking at his face," which is only mildly unattractive and not the ogre-like monstrosity the text implies. Also, he was literally helping her stay alive.

“Oh, sure, let’s kill the only decent male character in this hellscape. Why not?” you hiss, scrolling furiously.

After committing literal murder, the heroine sets her sights on an archduke, who is tall, handsome, and very much engaged to the so-called villainess. The villainess is stunning, kind, intelligent, and inexplicably hated by everyone because—checks notes—she’s too perfect?

At this point, you're gripping your phone so hard that it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in half. “Why is the villainess the villain? This should be the heroine’s title! She’s practically speedrunning how to be the worst human being alive!”

But no, the heroine gets rewarded for her nonsense. The archduke doesn’t fall for her (because he has taste), but the crown prince does. The prince, apparently a sucker for chaos, marries her. Instead of being happy with her new title and riches, the heroine spends her days scheming to ruin the villainess’s life because, in her words, “How dare the archduke choose someone that isn’t me?”

You pause and reread that line. Then reread it again.

“WHAT?!” you yell so loudly that your downstairs neighbor bangs on the ceiling.

It’s a spiral of nonsense that drags you through emotional whiplash until you finish the last chapter with a migraine and a full-blown existential crisis. You stare at the screen. "Why...why did I do this to myself?"

You stumble out to your tiny balcony to clear your head, phone still in hand. The cool night air washes over you as you lean on the railing, your brain buzzing with rage and confusion.

“Why does she get a happy ending?” you grumble. “She’s a walking red flag factory! The villainess deserves to be queen, and the prince deserves a lobotomy for his taste in women!”

In your frustration, you kick the balcony railing. Unfortunately, your landlord hasn’t exactly been diligent about repairs. The rusted screws holding it in place give way with a terrifying screech.

“Oh, come on,” you say, deadpan, as the railing collapses beneath you.

You plummet ten stories down, bouncing off an awning like some kind of cartoon character before landing face-first in a suspiciously placed fruit cart.

As darkness creeps in, your final thought is not of regret, nor fear, but of pure, unfiltered pettiness:

“I hope my next life is more exciting… and I never have to read about this heroine again.”

With that, you pass out, blissfully unaware of the absurd fate that awaits you.

You wake up, groggy and disoriented, and immediately ask yourself the first logical question: Why the hell am I alive?

The last thing you remember is gravity betraying you and a suspiciously convenient fruit cart breaking your fall. But when you sit up and look around, it’s very clear you’re not in your crappy apartment anymore. For starters, this place is way too clean, smells faintly of vanilla, and—oh, is that sunlight streaming through those beautiful glass windows? Not the dim, depressing flicker of the streetlight outside your old place?

Something is very wrong.

You scramble out of the bed, which is definitely not your rickety twin-sized monstrosity held together with duct tape and misplaced hope, and start poking around. The furniture is elegant, the carpet is plush, and there’s an oil painting on the wall that practically screams, Welcome to Generic Medieval Europe™!

The realization slams into you with all the subtlety of a freight train: You’re in that garbage web novel.

You pause, frozen, your brain throwing up a million red flags at once. Your knees almost buckle. "Nope. No. Absolutely not. This is some kind of cosmic punishment," you whisper to yourself, clutching your temples.

You creep towards the ornate mirror on the other side of the room, your reflection getting clearer with every step. “Please,” you mutter, “if there’s a single merciful entity out there, don’t let me be the heroine. Or the villainess. Or, God forbid, one of the male leads.”

You finally reach the mirror, squeeze your eyes shut, then crack one open. And there you are: just some random face.

“Oh, thank God,” you exhale, slumping against the wall. You’re not the heroine. You’re not the villainess. You’re not one of the tragic walking disasters that make up the main cast. You're just… some person. A total nobody.

But just as you’re about to bust out your victory dance of mediocrity, something catches your eye. You lean closer, squinting.

Wait.

No.

NO.

You’re that nobody.

You’re the tragic commoner knight who gets blackmailed by the heroine, coerced into doing her dirty work, and ends up assassinating the villainess for her. The same commoner knight who dies in three chapters because the heroine throws them under the bus as soon as the villainess's fiancé finds out what happened.

You stagger back from the mirror like it’s cursed. “Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. I did not reincarnate into this medieval soap opera just to get unalived in the dumbest way possible,” you say, pacing the room like a lunatic.

Your character’s life flashes before your eyes: the abusive father, the crippling family loyalty, the gambling debts. This poor soul had it rough even before getting turned into the heroine’s personal murder minion. And you? You’re not about to pick up that torch.

So you grab some parchment and pen what might be the most passive-aggressive resignation letter of all time.

“To Her Highness, the Crown Princess,

Kindly do your own dirty work from now on. My father can gamble himself into oblivion. I’m out. Good luck with your reign or whatever.”

Satisfied, you sign it with an unnecessarily large flourish, slap it on the desk, and prepare to bounce.

You’re halfway down the hall when you almost walk face-first into him.

Rook Hunt, the walking embodiment of “this guy doesn’t belong in this novel but here he is anyway,” stands there with his golden hair and overly dramatic smile. He’s loud. He’s eccentric. He’s dressed like he’s about to break into a musical number about the beauty of life. Oh, and he’s also the duke whose household you served in as a knight before you quit.

“Mon ami!” he exclaims, throwing his arms wide like you’re long-lost lovers. “You’ve returned to me! What an exquisite twist of fate! Shall we celebrate the beauty of reunion?”

“No,” you say flatly. You attempt to sidestep him, but Rook doesn’t just let things go.

“You cannot leave me again! Do you not wish to resume your role as my loyal knight?”

“Absolutely not,” you snap on instinct, because why on earth would you willingly dive back into this mess? But then it hits you. Wait.

Rook isn’t part of the main plot. He’s not the crown prince, not the archduke, not the villain, and definitely not one of the doomed love interests. He’s just… there. A minor character. A colorful extra who pops up to sprinkle poetic nonsense into the plot and then wanders offstage.

Your brain kicks into overdrive. If you stick with him, you’ll be close enough to the action to keep tabs but far enough to avoid the heroine’s nonsense. Plus, salary. And minor characters like him rarely die!

Your decision solidifies. You plaster on a winning smile and nod. “Actually, on second thought, yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Magnifique!” Rook practically beams as he grabs your arm. “Come, let us bask in the splendor of returning home!”

You follow him, letting his endless stream of poetic babble wash over you. Is this the best plan? Probably not. But it beats getting murdered for a heroine who couldn’t find her moral compass with both hands and a map.

You make it back to the duke’s grand estate—because of course it’s grand. Every aristocrat in this godforsaken novel seems to have a mansion the size of a small country. Rook practically floats through the gates, his dramatic energy causing every passing servant to give him the “not again” look. You follow, still trying to process the reality of your current situation.

After an unnecessarily flowery tour of the place (you’ve been here before in this body, but you let him talk because it’s easier than interrupting), he finally stops in the courtyard. He turns to you, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Now, mon chevalier, reclaim your rightful position as my trusted bodyguard!” he declares, flinging his arms wide as if inviting the heavens to applaud him.

You blink. “…Respectfully, sir, why do you need a bodyguard?”

He pauses, staring at you like you just asked why water is wet. Then, with an infuriatingly serene smile, he says, “Ah, but the shadows are filled with secrets, my dear knight! The beauty of life is in its mysteries, n’est-ce pas?”

You squint at him. “Okay, but that doesn’t answer the question.”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because the wolves, mon ami. The wolves.”

You freeze. “…What wolves?”

Rook straightens up, tilting his head as if contemplating the meaning of the universe. “Ah, they are everywhere and nowhere. In the forests, in the halls, in the hearts of men. Who can say where danger truly lies?”

This man just said a whole lot of words without saying anything.

“Right,” you say slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “But you’re, like, ridiculously strong. I’m pretty sure you could take on any wolf—metaphorical or not—by yourself.”

“Ah, mon chevalier,” he says with a wistful sigh, placing a hand on his chest like he’s reciting a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Strength alone cannot protect one from the unexpected, the unseen, the poetry of peril!”

You stare at him, trying to figure out if this is some sort of elaborate prank. But no. This man is completely serious.

“So… wolves. Poetry of peril. Got it,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “I’ll, uh, just… go patrol or something, I guess.”

Rook claps his hands together, beaming. “Ah, magnifique! I knew you would understand! Truly, you are a gem among knights!”

You slink off, still scratching your head. You’re 90% sure the wolves are a metaphor for absolutely nothing, but who are you to question the logic of a trash novel? At least the pay is good.

You quickly realize this trash novel is trying to trash you right back. It’s like every corner you turn, fate has decided you don’t deserve a peaceful life.

Walking through the garden to calm your nerves? Someone leaps out of the hedges with a dagger. You narrowly dodge, trip over a decorative fountain, and the attacker runs off, cackling.

Trying to enjoy the roses because you’re starting to think, “Hey, if I gotta die, at least let it be aesthetic?” Nope, arrow. Right past your ear.

By the fifth assassination attempt (some guy “accidentally” dropping a potted plant from a balcony), it clicks. The heroine must’ve decided since you’re not doing her dirty work anymore, she needs to eliminate you before you spill the beans. But, unlike her, you have brains.

So, you write a letter.

Dear Villainess and Esteemed Archduke,

I hope this letter finds you well, though considering the general chaos surrounding us, that feels optimistic.

I am writing to inform you of an unfortunate situation involving a certain someone (cough the crown princess cough) who has, shall we say, less-than-noble intentions toward your continued existence.

To clarify: she asked me to assassinate you. I know, shocking. However, as someone who values integrity, personal safety, and not being murdered by shady royalty, I’ve decided to step down from my position as her unwilling assassin.

This does mean she may hire someone else to handle the job, which is unfortunate for you but also none of my business anymore. I’m not sure how you typically handle murder plots, but I suggest taking precautions, like perhaps not smelling your roses or standing under precariously placed flower pots.

Lastly, while I am admittedly a pawn in this chaotic mess, I felt it was only fair to let you know what’s going on. I wish you both a long, unassassinated life.

Warm regards,

Your Local Retired Assassin

P.S. Please don’t kill me. I’m just the messenger.

You thought this letter would buy you peace. Instead, it bought you an invitation.

And by “invitation,” you mean you’ve been dragged into a private meeting with the villainess and the archduke, who are both sitting across from you now, looking like they’re deciding whether to thank you or strangle you.

“So,” the villainess says, her voice like ice. “You’re telling me the crown princess is plotting to kill me?”

“Uh, yes,” you say, your palms sweating. “But, like, not me anymore! I’ve retired. Permanently.”

The archduke raises an eyebrow. “Why would she want to kill us?”

You glance at the villainess. “Uh… because you exist?”

Before the villainess can stab you (she looks ready), the door swings open, and in saunters Rook.

“Ah, my friends!” he says, grinning ear to ear. “How serendipitous that we are all here. I believe I can shed some light on this matter.”

You gape as Rook launches into a detailed explanation of the heroine’s convoluted scheme—exactly what she’s planning, who she’s hiring, and even the color of the dress she’ll wear while gloating about it.

The villainess and the archduke exchange a glance, then rise, thanking Rook for his “invaluable insight” before sweeping out of the room, leaving you and Rook alone.

You turn to him, your jaw still on the floor. “How do you even know all that?”

Rook just winks at you. “Ah, mon chevalier, the shadows have ears, and I am their maestro.”

He struts out, humming a jaunty tune, leaving you sitting there, more confused than ever. At this point, you’re half-convinced Rook is either a genius or just making stuff up as he goes. And honestly? You’re too tired to figure it out.

You’re stationed at the edge of the garden, trying your best to blend into the scenery while the tea party unfolds. Rook, as usual, is the life of the gathering, passionately chatting with Vil and Epel, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You’re in your usual "bodyguard mode," which mostly consists of staring off into the distance and trying not to fall asleep. It’s peaceful—for once—until Epel casually drops a comment loud enough for even you to hear.

"Rook, you finally got them back, huh?"

Your brain screeches to a halt.

Got you back? Back? What does that mean? What is there to get back? Was there something to get back in the first place?

You barely have time to process any of this before Rook, in the most Rook way possible, interrupts with a flurry of poetic nonsense.

“Ah, young Epel, the winds of fortune have indeed graced me with their bounteous song! But let us not dwell on the past, for the present blooms before us like a radiant garden of opportunity!”

You blink. Did… did that mean anything? Epel seems to think it doesn’t, judging by the way he rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath. But you’re too busy processing the odd look on Rook’s face to care.

Because, for the first time ever, Rook looks nervous.

His usual serene confidence is still there, but there’s a hint of something else—a faint pink dusting his cheeks, an almost imperceptible shift in his tone. And why the hell is your heart fluttering at the sight?

You squint at him, trying to decode whatever is happening here. Is he… embarrassed? Flustered? Can Rook even be flustered?

Before you can spiral further into overthinking, you notice Vil’s sharp gaze cutting through the moment like a knife. His violet eyes lock onto yours, and an infuriatingly amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Oh no. He knows.

Vil, of course, pretends like nothing’s happening, smoothly pouring himself another cup of tea and joining the conversation like the consummate aristocrat he is. But every so often, you catch him glancing at you with that same entertained expression, like he’s just discovered a juicy secret.

You try to shake it off, refusing to let yourself be dragged into this nonsense. But Rook’s flushed face lingers in your mind, and every time he smiles at you for the rest of the party, you feel the heat creeping up your own cheeks.

Great. Just great. Whatever this is, it’s going to haunt you for days.

It started with an uproar in the palace—a desperate, urgent call for help sent to Rook, Duke of Hunt.

"The wolves are attacking!"

You were mid-sword practice when the messenger arrived, breathless and frantic. He handed the summons to Rook, who took the parchment with an amused smile.

"Wolves, you say?" he mused, tapping his chin dramatically.

"Yes, my lord!" The messenger practically collapsed from the effort of delivering the message. "They’ve breached the outer gardens, and the prince and heroine request your immediate assistance!"

Rook looked at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah, mon chevalier, do you recall what I told you once about wolves?"

You blinked, frowning. "You mean the thing about being surrounded by wolves one day? I thought you were joking."

Rook’s grin widened. "Oh, I never jest about wolves."

You opened your mouth to demand clarification, but Rook waved the parchment dismissively. "Alas, I must decline."

The messenger froze. "W-What? But…you’re the Duke of Hunt! The greatest tracker and marksman in the kingdom! Without you, the palace is doomed!"

Rook leaned forward conspiratorially. "Tell me, mon ami, what makes you think I’d risk life and limb for the likes of the heroine and her precious prince?"

The messenger stammered. "B-But—"

Rook held up a hand, silencing him. "No, no. I simply cannot. My schedule is far too packed. Why, just this morning, I promised my chevalier here that I’d help reorganize their weapons rack." He turned to you with a wink. "Isn’t that right?"

You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Yep. Super busy."

The messenger left, looking utterly defeated. You figured that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Over the next two hours, messengers kept arriving, each more desperate than the last. Rook refused them all with increasing flamboyance.

One messenger was sent away with, "Alas, the stars are not in alignment for such a hunt!"

Another was dismissed with, "The winds whisper that this is not my destiny today."

Finally, a personal plea came from the heroine herself. She barged into the estate, dramatically throwing herself at Rook’s feet.

"Oh, noble Duke!" she wailed. "You are the only one who can save us! Please, I beg of you!"

Rook tilted his head, pretending to think it over. Then he glanced at you, his expression suddenly sharp beneath the veneer of cheer.

"And what of my chevalier?" he asked.

The heroine frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You’ve made quite a nuisance of yourself lately," Rook said lightly, though there was an edge to his voice. "Why, only yesterday, you sent someone to ambush them in the gardens, did you not?"

Her face paled.

"I might reconsider," Rook said, his tone taking on a singsong quality, "if you promise to leave them alone from now on."

There was a long, tense pause. The heroine’s expression flickered between rage and fear before she finally forced a smile. "Very well. I promise."

"Splendid!" Rook clapped his hands and stood. "To the hunt, then!"

You stood there in stunned silence as he walked out the door, bow in hand. When he turned back to flash you a grin, you couldn’t help but mutter, "What the hell just happened?"

Rook’s laugh echoed through the halls, and you were left wondering yet again if you’d ever fully understand this ridiculous man.

It’s payday, baby.

You’ve never been more excited to hold a pouch of jingling coins in your life. Your day off couldn’t have come at a better time, and you’ve already decided to treat yourself. No assassination attempts, no cryptic poetry, no Rook yammering about beauty—just you, the market, and sweet, sweet retail therapy.

After wandering for a while, you stumble upon a fruit stall, and your eyes light up. The produce is incredible—vividly colored, juicy, and nothing like the waxy, suspiciously glossy stuff you’d get in your original world. You don’t even know what half these fruits are, but they smell amazing, and you’re buying them all.

As you carry your haul back to the manor, an idea hits you like a freight train. You’ve been craving dessert—specifically, something you can’t get in medieval Europe. Something simple, sweet, and utterly anachronistic.

And that’s how you end up in the kitchen, surrounded by fresh fruit, flour, sugar, and whatever else you’ve managed to scrounge up. You’re determined to make crêpes. Yes, you know they weren’t invented yet, but the cooks don’t even seem to know what a waffle is, so they’re not going to stop you.

It takes a bit of trial and error—because, shocker, medieval kitchens are not equipped for finesse—but eventually, you’ve got a plate of soft, golden crêpes filled with fresh fruit and drizzled with honey. It’s so beautiful it almost brings a tear to your eye.

You’re mid-bite, mentally congratulating yourself, when Rook materializes out of nowhere like some kind of dessert-seeking missile.

“Mon chevalier! What marvel have you crafted here in this humble kitchen? The scent alone rivals the sweetest perfume!”

You freeze. This is fine. He’s just curious. There’s no reason to panic. Subconsciously, you scoop up a bite on your fork and offer it to him, your body on autopilot.

Rook doesn’t hesitate, leaning in and accepting the bite with the elegance of a prince at court. “Magnifique! Truly, you have woven magic into this creation, mon cher!”

You relax slightly, pride swelling at the compliment—until he takes your hand and licks a stray drop of honey from your finger.

Your brain short-circuits.

Before you can even form a coherent thought, Rook grins at you with that infuriatingly charming smile of his, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

“You are as talented in the kitchen as you are with a blade,” he says, his voice warm and soft, as if he hasn’t just dismantled your sanity.

And then he’s gone, striding out of the kitchen with his usual jaunty step, leaving you standing there like an idiot, replaying the sensation of his lips on your cheek and his tongue on your finger.

You slowly sink to the floor, crêpe in hand, trying to process what just happened.

“Why,” you mutter to yourself, taking another bite of your crêpe for courage, “does this keep happening to me?”

Life had been…dare you say it, pleasant recently. No assassination attempts, no tea parties and no surprise arrows whizzing by your head. You were almost convinced this world might not be so bad after all.

But like clockwork, the plot reared its ugly head.

You were outside, basking in the rare serenity of a quiet afternoon, when the shouting began. You knew the voice instantly. It was grating, furious, and way too familiar.

Your abusive father—the original you’s deadbeat excuse for a parent—had somehow crawled out of the woodwork.

“You useless brat!” he snarled, stomping toward you. “How dare you stop sending money? Do you think you’re too good for your family now?!”

Oh, for the love of—

You crossed your arms, already done with the theatrics. “First of all, family implies mutual care and respect, neither of which you’ve ever provided. Secondly, kiss my ass.”

The man’s face turned a deep shade of purple, veins bulging in his forehead. He raised his hand, and you didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared of him. You were just irritated that he had the audacity to show up and ruin your vibe.

But before his hand could even swing down, an arrow whizzed past, slicing through the air with deadly precision. It nicked his cheek, leaving a shallow cut, and he yelped like a scolded dog.

You turned, and there he was.

Rook.

But this wasn’t the poetic, flowery Rook who praised sunsets and waxed lyrical about everything under the sun. No, this was Duke Hunt. His bow was clenched tightly in one hand, his expression colder than you’d ever seen. His eyes locked onto your father, sharp and unyielding, and for the first time, you truly understood why people called him a hunter.

Your father stumbled back, clutching his cheek. “Y-you’ll regret this! I’ll get my revenge!” he spat, turning tail and running like the two-bit villain he was.

You didn’t even watch him go. You were too busy staring at Rook, your heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the fact that, dammit, he looked good like this.

You silently scolded yourself. Really? Now? This is when you’re going to have a revelation about your feelings? Pull it together.

Rook’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and without a word, he closed the distance between you. Before you could process it, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a firm, steady embrace.

You stiffened for a moment, but then it hit you—you were shaken. You hadn’t realized it until now, but the encounter had left your hands trembling. And Rook…he didn’t say a word. He just held you, radiating warmth and reassurance, as if he knew exactly what you needed.

Slowly, you relaxed, leaning into him, letting the tension bleed out of your body. For once, there were no witty remarks, no poetic musings, no cryptic riddles. Just Rook, steady and solid, and the quiet comfort of his presence.

You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Maybe life here wasn’t so bad after all.

It was the hunting competition trope—the bread and butter of every third-rate villainess novel ever written. Noblemen rode out in droves to massacre innocent wildlife in the name of prestige, while the women gathered on the sidelines to swoon over who could kill the most majestic creature.

Normally, you'd find this whole affair ridiculous, but today? Today, it was a strategic opportunity.

Rook and you had cooked up a plan. After bagging his game, Rook would publicly gift it to the villainess, cementing the stance of his household against the heroine. A subtle yet unmistakable message to everyone present: this duke’s house wasn’t here to play politics; it was drawing battle lines.

Rook was, predictably, ecstatic about it all. “Ah, mon chevalier, what a splendid opportunity to honor beauty and justice with the art of the hunt!” he proclaimed, twirling dramatically as he readied his bow.

What you didn’t anticipate was his strange fixation on a handkerchief before he left.

Throughout the day, noblewomen approached Rook, each one batting their lashes and holding out dainty, embroidered handkerchiefs. It was practically a parade of desperate peahens.

“Oh, Lord Hunt, a token for luck!” cooed one particularly persistent lady, pushing her frilly kerchief toward him.

Rook clasped his hands to his chest with exaggerated reverence. “Ah, mademoiselle, your thoughtfulness moves me beyond words, but alas, I cannot accept. To carry such a treasure into the wild would be to risk its loss, and I could never bear such tragedy!”

Another woman attempted to loop her kerchief around his wrist directly. Rook gracefully dodged, as though she were offering him a live snake. “My dear lady, your artistry is unparalleled, but the only adornment fit for this hunt is the pure, untainted spirit of nature herself!”

By the third rejection, you were practically biting your tongue to keep from laughing.

But then came the curveball.

“Ah,” Rook sighed as he approached you. “If only I had a handkerchief imbued with sincerity. A simple, honest token to guide my aim and steady my heart!”

You blinked at him. “What, like…this?” You pulled out your completely ordinary, unembellished handkerchief and held it out.

Rook’s eyes lit up as though you’d just handed him the Holy Grail. “Mon chevalier! How perfect! How divine! This humble square of cloth shall be my guiding light!”

Before you could protest, he tied it around his arm with a flourish and rode off, looking like he was ready to star in his own personal opera.

From his place in the pavilion, Vil Schoenheit took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with a glint of pure amusement. The smirk tugging at his lips seemed to say, Oh, I know exactly what’s going on.

Meanwhile, Epel squinted between you and Rook, his expression shifting rapidly as though he’d just cracked the secret to immortality. He whispered something to Vil, who nearly choked on his tea before regaining his composure.

What the hell is going on? you thought, baffled.

Fast forward to now, the present, where the plan was supposed to culminate with Rook triumphantly presenting his prize to the villainess. Simple, elegant, strategic.

So why, why, was Rook standing in front of you holding a literal griffin?

“Uh, Rook,” you whispered through gritted teeth. “What are you doing? This is supposed to go to the villainess.”

But Rook was having none of it.

“Ah, my loyal chevalier,” he declared loudly, drawing the attention of every noble in the vicinity. “It is only fitting that such a prize goes to the one who inspires my steadfastness and resolve!”

Your jaw dropped. “Rook. No.”

He turned his radiant smile on you, looking like a proud schoolboy showing off a crayon drawing to his teacher. “Yes!”

The gathered nobles erupted into murmurs, and you could already feel the weight of every single judgmental stare. This was not part of the plan. But despite your internal screaming, a small, annoying part of you couldn’t help but feel…flattered. This was a duke, and you were just a knight. A very confused, very underqualified knight, sure, but still.

Vil, still seated with his ever-present cup of tea, took another long, pointed sip, his eyes glimmering with amusement.

This was the drama he’d signed up for.

The hallway leading back to the room where Vil, Rook, and Epel were sitting felt oddly silent, the muffled voices of their conversation barely filtering through the door. You weren’t one to eavesdrop—but when you heard your name, well, curiosity got the better of you.

"Just confess already," Epel was saying, his tone exasperated. "We’ve all seen the way you look at them."

Vil chimed in, his voice tinged with amusement. "Epel is right for once, Rook. Love is about timing, and yours is abysmal."

"But love is an art, mon ami," Rook replied, his tone unusually hesitant. "It cannot be rushed. It must unfold naturally, like the petals of a flower in spring."

"Okay," Vil drawled, clearly unimpressed. "But what happens when someone else plucks your ‘flower’? Say, the gardener they’ve been spending so much time with?"

The silence that followed was deafening. You leaned closer, your heart pounding, hoping—no, needing—to hear Rook’s response.

Instead, you heard nothing.

The stillness stretched unbearably until you couldn’t take it anymore. You shoved the door open, startling all three occupants. "What are you talking about?"

Vil raised an eyebrow, the picture of nonchalance, though the corners of his mouth twitched with mischief. "Perfect timing, as always. I’ll leave you two to sort this out."

He grabbed a very reluctant Epel by the collar and dragged him toward the door. "Wait, I wanna see what happens!" Epel protested, but Vil shut the door behind them with a decisive click.

Which left you and Rook alone.

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a look that you hoped masked the frantic hammering of your heart. "So…what’s this about a confession?"

Rook’s usual composure faltered. For once, the poetic, perpetually self-assured Rook you knew looked…unsure. Vulnerable. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his gloves, and he avoided your gaze, staring instead at the floor.

"Rook," you said softly, stepping closer. "Please, just tell me what’s going on. I need to know."

He finally looked up, and the raw emotion in his eyes was enough to steal your breath.

"Mon chevalier," he began, his voice low and trembling, "I have loved you from the start. At first, it was the camaraderie of equals, a kindred spirit I admired. But when you returned from the heroine’s side, defying expectations and staying true to yourself…you captured my heart completely."

You blinked, stunned. "Rook, I—"

He continued, the words spilling out as though he’d been holding them back for far too long. "You never treated me like I was strange. You accepted me as I am, even when others mocked my passions or dismissed my eccentricities. I never truly needed a bodyguard. I just needed you. Near me. Always."

His voice broke slightly on the last word, and you felt your resolve crumble.

You sighed, but it wasn’t from exasperation. It was the sound of relief, of something clicking into place. "Next time," you said, stepping even closer, "just tell me your feelings directly. It’ll save us both a lot of trouble."

Before he could respond, you reached up and pulled him into a kiss.

It was everything a first kiss should be—long, searing, passionate. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you flush against him as though he never wanted to let go. You melted into him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, and for a moment, the world outside that kiss ceased to exist.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Rook’s lips quirked into a smile as he whispered, "Your lips are the sweetest arrow, mon amour, and they have pierced my heart beyond repair."

You burst into laughter, burying your face in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound. "Gods, Rook, only you could ruin a moment like this with something so cheesy."

He chuckled softly, his arms still secure around you.

And as you stood there in his embrace, you couldn’t help but think that this ridiculous, trashy novel world was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

The parlor was warm with the golden light of afternoon sun filtering through the windows, but the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. You stood near Rook, his arm casually draped across the back of your chair, as Vil and Epel looked at you expectantly.

“Well?” Vil prompted, raising a perfectly arched brow.

You glanced at Rook, who smiled encouragingly, as if to say, go ahead. Clearing your throat, you announced, “We’re…together.”

Vil sighed dramatically, setting down his teacup with a soft clink. “Finally. I was starting to think I’d have to intervene.”

Epel, on the other hand, froze mid-sip of his cider. Slowly, he set the glass down, stood, and walked over to you. His expression was a mix of grief and dread, like someone had just informed him of some terrible, life-altering news.

He placed both hands firmly on your shoulders and looked you dead in the eyes. “Good luck,” he said, solemn as a funeral bell. “This is a life sentence, y’know.”

Rook chuckled, clearly amused. “Mon cher Epel, you wound me! Surely being with moi is more of a treasure than a trial?”

Epel turned to him, unimpressed. “Treasure? You follow people for fun. You recite poetry to wild animals. You can’t even eat pie without analyzing its existential meaning. I mean, who does that?”

You were already laughing, shaking your head as you patted Epel’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Epel. This is a sentence I’m more than happy to serve.”

Vil smirked behind his tea, watching the scene unfold with obvious amusement. “Frankly, I’m just relieved we won’t have to endure any more of his tragic sighs every time you left a room.”

Rook clasped a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Oh, Vil! My sighs are poetry incarnate!”

Vil didn’t even blink. “Your sighs are the sound of unspoken melodrama. Spare me.”

Epel plopped back into his seat with a long groan, running a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I guess congratulations or whatever. At least now we can all stop pretending we don’t notice him staring at you like some love-struck puppy.”

“That’s rich,” you shot back, grinning. “You’re the one who looks like your pet rat just died every time we get close.”

Epel huffed. “I’m just saying! Now you gotta deal with him being even more poetic! And clingy! You thought the prince and heroine were bad? Wait till you see Rook when he’s in love. You’re doomed.”

At the mention of the prince and heroine, Vil made an exaggerated sound of disgust. “Speaking of those two… Honestly, has anyone ever been so painfully predictable? The prince has all the charm of wet cardboard, and the heroine—don’t even get me started on her hair ribbons.”

“Ah, the heroine,” Rook sighed wistfully, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Always so delightfully transparent. Her schemes are like open windows to her soul.”

You snorted. “If by soul, you mean her desperate attempts to turn everything into a sob story, then yeah, sure.”

Epel leaned forward, grinning. “Did you see her crying at the hunt competition? Like, girl, it’s a competition. What did you think would happen? That the griffin would apologize and hand itself over?”

Vil smirked, tapping a manicured finger against his chin. “Or how about the prince declaring his ‘eternal devotion’ to her at the banquet last week? I nearly choked on my wine.”

Rook chuckled, turning to you with a soft smile that was far more genuine than his usual theatrics. “Ah, but let us not waste all our words on such trivialities. This moment, mon amour, is one of joy.”

You leaned into him, your laughter subsiding into a contented smile. His arm slipped around your shoulders, holding you close as Vil and Epel continued their playful bickering in the background.

For the first time since you’d been thrown into this absurd world, you felt completely at ease. If this was the result of being trapped in a trash novel, then so be it. You were exactly where you wanted to be.

Trash Novel Masterlist

Complete Masterlists

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #rook hunt #rook x you #rook hunt x you #rook #trash novel chronicles

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marauroon · 8 months ago

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A Remus fic where the reader and him just can't stand each-other but she is literally the only person who calms him when the full moon is near?? (Or just straight up can calm 'Moony')

Like, they both hate being around each other but the reader doesn't fight his proximity around that time?? She lowkey knows

Like; "can you stop that?"

"Breathing?"

"Whatever it is, yes."

But around the full moon they are suddenly soft on eachother

B E S T F R E N E M I E S — REMUS LUPIN!

remus lupin x gn!reader | fluff | 0.9k | masterlist!!

You hate each other. You despise each other. But there’s three or so days every month when you’re a little less antagonistic.

a/n — i love this type of relationship, thanks for the request ml <3

You don’t need a phase calendar to know when the full moon is coming up.

You don’t need a lunar tracker, or a magical device.

Heck, you don’t even have to look at the moon.

No, none of that matters. You know when the full moon is coming up, because all of a sudden, almost inexplicably, Remus Lupin decides that he wants to spend time in your presence instead of ripping your throat out.

You can’t say you’re exactly sure when it started, when you mutually agreed to cease your incessant bickering just for those few days over the full moon before returning to your previous hatred.

Just as you couldn’t quite remember how you figured out his little ‘problem’ in the first place.

But here you were nonetheless, sat in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, with you on one end of the sofa and him on the other.

There was no glances, no conversation, but his foot was extended far enough across the cushions to brush against your knee as the two of you sat in parallel, books in your hands and silence in the air.

“Will you stop doing that?”

Remus looks over the rim of his book with furrowed eyebrows. “Doing what?”

“I can hear you breathing, it’s annoying,” You turn the page of your own book with an exaggerated sigh.

“Guess I’ll just suffocate to death then,”

You give Remus a short hum, and he scoffs.

“And stop moving your leg,” You elbow his calf passively, not hard enough to actually prompt him to move, but enough to act as a reprimand.

“I’ve got pins and needles.”

Don’t sit like that then,” You spare him a glance, he’s already looking at you.

You know he won’t move, he never does.

“I’m fine,”

And you’re always right. Especially this close the full moon.

“No you’re not,”

“No, this is uncomfortable as fuck,” Remus agrees with you pretty easily, tugging the decorative pillow from behind his back with a groan. “Why is this sofa so shit?”

“It’s not the sofa, it’s your joints,” You roll your eyes, turning the page of your book. “You’re built like an old man,”

“Oh, wow, thank you.” His expression matches his tone, deadpan and flat, and very clearly unamused.

“You’re welcome,” Your reply is just as enthusiastic.

“I’m too hot,” Remus complains. You’re sure he’s just doing it for the sake of it.

“Move away from the fireplace then,”

“You’re in the way,”

“Oh for Godric’s—” You exhale exasperatedly, shutting your book harshly on your lap and standing up, making a show of gesturing to your, now vacant, spot on the sofa. “Go on then,”

Remus groans exaggeratedly as he stands, his eyes narrowed in an exaggeration of his frustration with your attitude, and he collapses into your spot like a grandpa into an arm chair.

“Happy now?”

He opens his book with one hand. “Chuffed,”

“Wonderful.”

You grit your teeth with a sigh as you watch him sink into the corner cushions, biting any more unsavoury comments on your tongue as you move to sit on the side by the fireplace.

Although there’s really no point, because he stops you before you can even get two steps away.

“Sit down, don’t let me get in your way,”

“That’s what I’m doing?” You gesture almost sarcastically towards the slowly disappearing indentation on the sofa cushion where he’d previously been sat.

“Don’t sit by there. Like I said, it’s too hot,”

He reaches out his arm without looking away from his book, blindly grazing your side until it lands on your wrist, then he’s tugging you back towards him until you’re basically stumbling into his lap.

“Oh, and this isn’t going to be too hot?” You grumble as you land against his thighs. Even those are bony, and not very comfortable either.

“Just be quiet.” Remus shifts underneath you, pulling your legs over his lap until you’re sat perpendicularly to each other, although occupying the same space.

There’s a few moments of the two of you making small adjustments to the way you’re sitting, how you’re positioned and how to work around having enough space for the both of you to read at the same time.

Then the silence returns, and it’s nothing but the crackling of the fireplace and the occasional turning of a page as the two of you sit quietly in the begrudged agreement of each other’s presence without argument.

“You’re a shit cushion,”

Well, almost anyway.

“Shut the fuck up and sit still,”

#marauders #marauders fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin fluff

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alllgator-blood · 4 days ago

Text

I MADE THESE FOREVER AGO BUT NEVER POSTED THEM, I'm not happy with the fact I haven't been drawing at all lately, so I fought through the burnout long enough to finish these. They all had a couple small things to finish and somehow that made me not post them for 2 months...

Definitely gonna do that 50 bishop questions thing when I'm done bedrotting, especially now that I have these refs up. But for now: a couple assorted fun facts below the cut

-Leshy is a comic artist, Kallamar is a painter who specializes in frescos and triptychs, and Narinder is an animator who makes flipbooks. So back when the family was all still together, those three would meet up on slow days to storyboard + make backgrounds + animate characters in flipbook form and make the dark ages equivalent to a movie!

-Heket was originally supposed to have tattoos, but I literally forget to add them every single time I draw her and frankly it'd be weird if I randomly added them now. They were those little eyes all over her chest/belly that you can see in her eldritch form, but she also had oak leaves and mushrooms on her collarbone!

-I use they/them for Kallamar by default, and tend to have slightly different ways I draw them depending on if they're feeling masc/fem/neutral in comics. The family jokes that Kallamar is the one who leeched all of Shamura's gender, because Kall is like EVERYTHING AT ONCE and Shamura is just ENDLESS VOID

-You can tell if Shamura likes you if they start using pet names or flowery symbolism rather than your actual name. Their name for Mystic Seller is "Sunshine" because they heard a follower singing that "you are my sunshine" song, and felt that same mushy feeling in their chest listening to it as they get when they look at Mystic Seller.

-I dunno when the *exact* year was that Shamura started to shrivel up and lose their muscles, but it was probably around the ~500 year mark? So you can really kinda time when a comic takes place if Shamura shows up- if they're bedridden but still jacked, it's pretty soon after the schism. And if they're all gangly and disheveled, it's pretty close to the events of the game.

-All of their crown weapons are of indigenous origin because uhhh ummm fuck you that's why. The lore reason is that Shamura was the one to teach them all how to fight, and everybody already knows my Shamura is inexplicably Lakota...also I must say MEDICINE SHIELDS ARE NOT INTENDED FOR COMBAT IRL I just thought it was the *perfect* thing to give Kall.

-I've talked about Leshy's autism a bunch of times, but only once have I said that they ALL got it. It just manifests in very different ways. Heket's most notable autism trait is "something is wrong, I need to correct it or I'll fucking implode"/injustice sensitivity. She's the MF that breaks out the measuring tape when dividing up a snack to be shared. She also is LOUD AUTISTIC so she's not yelling at you but totally sounds like she is. Kallamar is the "I'm gonna projectile vomit if I bite something soft and find something crunchy"/"if I don't cover myself in lotion 24/7 I'll scream over being trapped in my dry skin" type. So a VERY texture sensitive fella. Shamura is obviously an infodumping type who has niche special interests, but will rip you in half with their bare fucking hands if you chew gum around them or breathe through your mouth.

I have so many random stupid headcanons about these guys that I might do an entire gigantic post about it someday but rn I just want to wrap this up and go lay back down lmao

#cult of the lamb #cotl bishops #leshy #heket #kallamar #shamura #ref sheet

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jhdyuiee · 10 months ago

Text

wildflower

❁ pairing: fake bf!jaehyun x fem!reader

❁ tags/warnings: angst, fluff, smut!, fake dating turned real, protected&unprotected sex (reader is on pill), oral (f&m receiving), fingering, breast&nipple play, hickies, spanking, kissing/making out, pet-names (baby, babe, beautiful), different positions, multiple orgasms, arguing, cursing, slight cheating (at the end), nudes, suggestive texting

❁ w.c: 11.9k!

❁ a.n: i’m back with a second release! next release will def be a different member, && possibly also inspired by another song by billie (her new album just too good ㅠㅠ ! ) i love u all, stay safe! jiji out 🤍

“i should put it all behind me, shouldn't i? but i see her in the back of my mind, all the time.”

“i'd never ask who was better, 'cause she couldn't be more different from me. happy and free…”

“did i cross the line? you say no one knows you so well, but every time you touch me, i just wonder how she felt. valentine's day, cryin' in the hotel i know you didn't mean to hurt me, so I kept it to myself.”

kim yuna is her name. she was one of my closest friends, knowing her since primary school. i loved her like she was my own flesh and blood. nothing could ever come between us, well that’s what i thought… that was until he came into her–our lives.

jeong jaehyun.

it was a good 5 years that the two of them were together. heck everyone was sure you the pair would get married, have a family, and grow gray and old together. yet, they seemed to fall out of love and let one another go.

i remember that night, the night she came over to me crying on my shoulder. it was just the two of us that night, i held her tight, trying everything in my power to comfort her. i just couldn’t fathom how someone like jaehyun, who once showed her the world could let her go. love was a complicated thing, an inexplicable feeling that could dissipate in the blink of an eye.

so from that day on, it was just us two. “you’ll never leave me right, y/n?” i recalled yuna’s soft voice as we ate breakfast the following day. “of course not,” i replied. it became my mission to be with yuna forever, nothing in this world– universe could tear us apart.

└───❀̥˚───❀̥˚┘

july. the hot summer days rolled around, and so did he. i think the universe liked to mock me, play tricks or whatever because jeong jaehyun stood before me. in the short span of the months since their breakup he seemed to have changed, his aura seemed different, unrecognizable even.

“i knew i’d find you here,” he spoke. i looked at him with a puzzled expression, “if you came to get back with yuna, she doesn’t want to see you ever again!” a low chuckle emitted from his throat, “funny, i’m actually here for you.”

i was beyond confused, what could he want with little ol’ me? “me? what kind of business do you have with me?!” “if you come with me, i’ll be glad to tell you.”

“if you can’t tell i’m kind of in the middle of work right now,” i said, and i really was. my shift at the cafe was today and i wouldn’t be able to get off until a couple more hours. “then i’ll come back for you. you’re off at 5, right?” I didn’t respond, just signaling him with a nod of my head.

it didn’t take long before he was gone, leaving me so puzzled. why was he showing up now? how did he know i got off at 5? but most importantly, what could he want with me? when yuna and him were together, we weren’t particularly close to the point we could call each other friends, so whatever just happened right now has every right to leave me confused.

he sure is a man true to his word. when i opened the cafe doors, there he was leaning against his car. “get in,” he said. i raised a brow, “are you planning to murder me jeong?” he laughed, “no, why would i?” he walked along to the other side, opening the door for me. i hesitantly got in. once we both were in, he drove to whatever destination he was taking me to. i prayed he really wasn’t going to outright murder me.

the car ride was silent, besides the low music from the radio. r&b, his favorites as yuna used to tell me about. i gazed out the windows, watching the tall buildings and fancy dressed people walk. a couple minutes later we arrived at our destination, an underground parking lot. yep definitely getting murdered.

he opened the door and i stepped out, bracing myself for death. however, instead of that i was met with his hand on my shoulder which caused me to flinch. “relax, i told you i wasn’t going to murder you.” i let out a relieved sigh, “then what are we doing in a sketchy parking lot?” “we’re heading to my apartment,” he said.

“wait, wait, wait! i am not sleeping with you!” he looked at me, laughing a couple moments later “what? no?! i’ll tell you once we’re inside.” he didn’t let me utter another word before he guided me inside an elevator and pressed the button to the last floor.

jeong jaehyun screamed money. the man was rich, his father was the former ceo of a big corporation, to which jaehyun now inherited. it made sense why he lived in such a lavish building and owned such a luxurious car. though behind the facade, the man had his trauma. his mother died in a car accident when he was little, which is why he has no driver as it was his family driver who led his mother to her death. i only know all this information on him because of yuna, when they were together he was all she could talk about nights on end. it was annoying, but people in love are… well crazy in love.

when we finally made it to his floor, we stepped out. i followed behind him as we made it to his front door. he put in his code and let me in. i began taking off my coat and shoes when he spoke. “anything to drink?” he asked. “water is fine,” i replied.

“make yourself at home, the living room is straight ahead. you can wait for me there,” he says. i walked further into his apartment, it was minimalist. the whole space just screamed him, jaehyun. i sat in the –comfortable– black sofa whilst i waited for him. i’d hope this talk wouldn’t take so long. i texted yuna i wouldn’t be back until later today. since their break-up she began living with me.

he walked into the living room with two glasses of water in hand, handing me one. he sat besides me, on my left side. i took a sip of my water, clearing my dry throat. “so? what sort of business do you have to settle with little ol’ me?” i asked.

i turned to face him, his eyes set on me. his expression turned serious, his thoughts unreadable. i suddenly became really nervous, an unsettling feeling in my stomach.

we remained in silence until a beat or two later he finally spoke. his words leaving me all the more speechless that i needed him to repeat what he just said. “what? what did you just say?”

“date me.”

he couldn’t be serious right now. his ex’s best friend? he must have some humorous side to him because what the actual fuck was he saying?

“quite the bullshit jeong,” i slightly raised my voice. i was feeling slightly irritated now because just what in the world is jeong jaehyun thinking?!

he propped his elbow on the side of the sofa, “i’m not joking. date me y/n.”

“how can i-” he interrupted me mid sentence, “i’m kidding well kinda. listen i just need you to pretend you’re my girlfriend.”

pretend to be his girlfriend?! is he in his right mind? “what? why?” i questioned him. no matter how much i tried to make sense of the situation, i just couldn't comprehend it, it was impossible to.

“just one month, that’s all. i just need to prove to my father that i do have someone in my life so he could quit with the whole blind date bs.”

“b-but why choose me?” his intense gaze never faltered, “hmm, i don’t know. i just felt like you were the only woman capable of agreeing to such a thing, and plus you’re the only woman i felt like i was on somewhat good terms with.”

“good terms? may i remind you, you dated and broke my best friend's heart!?” his eyes softened, “look yeah i could’ve guessed you hate me now, but i’m sorry… what happened between me and her was mutual, some things were just never meant to be…”

some things are just never meant to be. i wonder what he means by that. yuna never really gave me the details surrounding their break up, so i suppose all this time i assumed it was because jaehyun had done something. however, the way his face softened at the mention of their relationship made me wonder if they’re was more to the story than yuna had led off.

“of course you don’t have to agree to it if you don’t want to,” he said when he noticed how lost in thought i was. my mind just circulating on him, yuna, and his proposal. would it be a bad idea to accept his offer? i mean i’d just have to put up with him for a month… i even doubt yuna would ever find out.

i brushed off any further thoughts and looked at jaehyun straight in his eyes. my mouth hesitated, was i really making the right choice? “i- i’ll do it. i’ll pose as your girlfriend for one month.” it was strange, after i released those words it felt like something within me ached, regret screaming at me. truly y/n… were you making the right choice…?

i watched as jaehyun’s eyes widened, possibly from not expecting me to accept his proposal. “really? you’ll do it!” his voice sounded a little too excited. i was scared.

“y- yes,” my mouth spoke for itself.

“great! then i’ll sort you out on the details,” jaehyun explained. i followed along as jaehyun explained how this arrangement would go. we’d only meet on days in which we would need to visit his father, we planned out our story on how we’d met and such, and we decided it’d be best to exchange contacts to make things easier.

i stared at my phone, jaehyun, read the screen. i sighed, i really was doing this. “then now that it’s all settled, let me drive you back home,” he announced. in all honesty, i was going to reject his offer, but then i remembered how late in the night it was, and how i don’t feel all too comfortable riding in a taxi this late at night.

so now here i was in his car once more, and it made me realize how many more times in the future i’d be situated in this exact same spot. the car ride was silent, except for the music playing in the background which made up for the utter silence.

when we arrived, i thanked him for the ride. “it was nothing,” he said. i’ll message you when my father tells me to go visit him again.” “mm, sure thing,” i replied, as i reached for the car handle and opened the door. i took one final glance at jaehyun before exiting his vehicle. through the moonlight i could still see his face light up into a smile, accentuating his dimples.

thump.

that was weird, “see you later then,” i swiftly said as i felt like i needed to get out of this car as soon as possible. with a final goodbye i finally made my way to my apartment. i opened it, noticing the television was on in the living room. yuna must’ve stayed up trying to wait until i’d arrived.

“i’m home!” i slightly yelled. i began making my way to the living room where she was. “what took you so long, you said you’d come back as soon as possible,” she said.

“sorry, it seemed more things needed to be discussed.” i felt outright terrible. lie after lie came out of my mouth when yuna questioned why i was out for so long.

i had to keep the meeting with jaehyun a secret until i die. who knows how yuna might’ve react knowing i, her bestest friend, was out with her ex. not to mention how i’d just agreed to become his fake girlfriend.

i sighed, in which yuna noticed. “are you sure everything is alright?” she asked. i embraced her in my arms, resting my chin on her shoulder. “yes, i assure you nothing bad happened.” i let go of her a second later, “now let’s go rest. i’m sure we’ve both had a long day.” she nodded, taking one last glance at me as i stood watching her walking to her bedroom.

“good night, y/n.”

“good night yuna,” i replied back as i turned my body to walk to my bedroom. i wanted nothing more but to soak myself in a warm bath and recount just what the hell my life was or is going to become. i did just that, spending quite a bit of time in the bath before i headed off to bed. i wrapped myself in my bed sheet, the effects of the bath dawning over me. i felt myself relaxing into a deep slumber. no matter how chaotic today was, i felt most at peace here in my bed.

└───❀̥˚───❀̥˚┘

since that day i have had yet to receive a message from jaehyun. it felt almost as if that day never had happened, like some part of my imagating– a dream, no a nightmare.

ping.

great. the universe indeed must find enjoyment in mocking me. there it was, a message from jaehyun.

jaehyun: my father asked me to come around tomorrow. could you make it?

y/n: sure thing. what time?

jaehyun: around noon sounds fine?

y/n: okay

jaehyun: great! i’ll tell him you’ll be coming with me.

jaehyun: i’ll come pick you up tomorrow.

y/n: alright, see you tomorrow.

i sighed as i read his last message, see you tomorrow. tomorrow’s the big day. the first day of our whole hoax. i wonder if his father would buy into it considering the fact that me and jaehyun have had very little history together. whatever, i’m sure we’d find our way around it.

i got up from my chair, exiting the employee lounge. my break was almost over so i shut down any further thoughts and focused only on the tasks at hand.

hours later, i readied myself to leave the cafe. i realized it would be rather rude of me to not bring something to give his father so i tried to as quickly as possibly to make it to the shopping center before it closed. I strolled along, hopping from store to store. nothing really was catching my eye, in fact i had no idea what to buy! i felt like it’d be quite troublesome to text jaehyun about it, so i opted out of it and just went with whatever was going to capture my attention.

after a few more rounds, i finally found something. these really eccentric and beautiful shot glasses. i prayed that mr.jeong was a drinker because if not then i’d really would want to jump off the face of the earth.

shot glasses in hand, i made my way to pay for them. i gotta say they were quite the price tag, but that didn’t matter. this was all so i could win the favor of jaehyun’s father tomorrow. really, really prayed he drank.

└───❀̥˚───❀̥˚┘

d-day. i could barely get a wink of sleep last night. nervousness, a bit of excitement, and worry overcame me last night. would we really be able to pull this off? what if his father disapproved of me? gosh, i really am a worrying mess.

as i got ready, i put on my best outfit. it was one that seemed fit to make a good impression. I opted for a natural make-up look and some loose curls. i checked my phone once again, 11:45 a.m. 15 minutes to spare, i rushed to the kitchen. although i felt too nervous to digest anything right now, i couldn’t go on a completely empty stomach. so i toasted myself some bread and poured myself some orange juice. quite the breakfast i gotta say.

as i finished up i heard as my phone began ringing. must be jaehyun, i thought. i rushed to my bedroom where my phone was placed on my nightstand. surely enough i was right, it was jaehyun calling.

i picked up, “hello?” i spoke. “hey, y/n i’m almost at your place. you ready?” he said in my ear. “y-yeah just waiting for you,” i replied. Is it just me or did that sound slightly weird? whatever it already came out of my mouth. y/n you fool.

“oh, okay then i’ll be there in 5.” “mm, i’ll start going down then,” i said and later bid him a goodbye although i’d see his face in a couple minutes. i rushed inside my closet, opting to pick out the most suitable looking purse. with purse and gift in hand i swiftly exited my apartment.

i stood up straight, trying to give myself boosting affirmations, and eliminating any worrisome or negative thoughts from my head. as i headed outside my apartment complex, there he was. he must’ve barely arrived as he was just getting out his car, until he spotted me. he waved me down.

i walked a little faster, stopping when we stood measly inches apart. “well, you look beautiful,” he says. i tried my hardest not thinking anything of his little compliment. “thanks… i suppose,” i responded earning me a slight chuckle from jaehyun. “ready to go?” jaehyun asks, and before i could respond he guides me to the passenger side of his car.

he opened the door for me in which i then sat down in the passenger seat. he then closes the door, walking over to the drivers side.

i expected for the car ride to be silent, but i then got the urge to bombard jaehyun with questions. “what kind of person is your father?” i asked first. i looked over at him noticing how he seemed to be deep in thought. “hmm, i suppose he isn’t some ruthless man you should worry about. trust me y/n he’ll like you, he is rather… weak.”

weak? mr.jeong? the man who built an empire. it seemed hard to believe, so i'll just have to see it with my own two eyes once we meet. the ride continued with me asking more questions in which jaehyun delightedly answered back to.

time seemed to have flowed quickly as we now made our way inside the gate surrounding the jeong residence. my nervousness was starting to kick in again. i began taking deep breaths, in and out, in and out, in and- “ready?” jaehyun spoke, startling me. i glanced up to where he now was, waiting for me to exit the car. it was all going too quick!

i waited for jaehyun, but when he took a little too long i looked at him. he looked pensive like he was in some very serious thinking. “something wrong?” i asked. he looked at me, eye-to-eye. “is it okay with you if we hold hands… you know to make it seem like we really are a couple.”

ah, right we’re supposed to pose as a couple right now. he had a point so i took his hand. i felt as he tensed up before seemingly relaxing down a bit after. “here we go,” he says as he rang the doorbell. i inhaled one last time, bracing myself for what's to come.

the door swung open a minute later, where we were both greeted by an older, yet young looking lady. “jaehyun!” she exclaimed. “Hello, ms.kim!” he replied back. they briefly hugged before he turned to me, “y/n this is ms.kim. she works for my father and was my nanny back when i was a child,” he explained. “ah, and ms.kim this is y/n my girlfriend,” jaehyun said as he turned back to speak to ms.kim.

“y/n! darling, wow you’re gorgeous! jaehyun sure hit the jackpot with you,” she teased, smiling brightly. i had to admit, i quite embarrassed. “no, no, no i’m sure i’m the lucky one here,” i smiled before continuing, “it’s a pleasure to meet you ms.kim!” instead of reaching out for my hand, she warmly embraced me in her arms. when we parted she spoke again, “ah, come in, come in!”

we walked inside the big home, my eyes soaking in every detail. “where’s my father?” jaehyun asked. “hmm, that old man? he’s probably in his office, i’ll go get him,” she says, but before departing she tells us– well i, “make yourself at home.”

when we were finally alone, i exhaled again. “she’s sweet, i like her,” i whispered, fearing they could hear me from where they were. “i’m glad she seems to like you already, she’s not quite the most accepting person.”

“by the way, i’ve been meaning to ask. what’s in that bag?” jaehyun asked me as he looked down to the gift bag i held in my hand. “ah, a gift for your father.” “a gift? you didn’t have to go out of your way to do all that,” he said. “i know, but i would’ve felt rather rude if i didn’t get him anything. speaking of which please tell me he drinks,” i said.

“i quite very much enjoy drinking,” a voice spoke. my head whipped back, my eyes coming in contact with a man who quite just looked like jaehyun but in an older version. they looked like copies of one another.

“ah, it’s nice to meet you mr.jeong, my name is y/l/n,” i said as i bowed. my hands clenched around the gift bag just a bit tighter. “oh dear, no need to do all that y/n!” he said. i raised myself, gathering the courage to walk towards the man.

“then i hope you can accept my gift… though it’s nothing too grand, i hope you could still enjoy it sir,” i spoke nervously as i handed him the gift bag. he took it, giving me smile just like jaehyun’s. “oh gosh, you didn’t have to. jaehyun! why didn’t you stop her,” he said, giving his son a stern look.

jaehyun just gives him a shrug of his shoulders. “thank you very much anyway dear. i’ll be sure to open it later, for now let’s have some lunch.” as we headed to the dinning table, i felt jaehyun’s hand in the lower part of my back. he leans down, “good job” he whispered into my ear. his hot voice, practically causing me to almost melt away. i glanced up at him, his eyes catching mine and that’s when he smiled fondly at me, in which i later returned as well.

└───❀̥˚───❀̥˚┘

lunch was more than great. the food was quite possibly the most delicious food i’ve had in a while. mr.jeong throughout the whole lunch would just go on and on talking about jaehyun’s life, his business, and other random subjects.

“jaehyun, be a dear and go with ms.kim to pick up the desserts,” his father spoke. oh, oh. this could translate to: leave, i wanna talk to y/n alone. fuck, fuck, fuck. i was getting even more nervous than i originally was.

jaehyun sighed, “alright,” he said. he got up, walking over to where i sat across from him and leaned down, “you’ll do great. i’ll try and be quick” he whispered into my ear. what i didn’t expect was after he said that he pecked my cheek. i just lowly said, “okay.”

“don’t be too harsh on her dad,” jaehyun said before leaving. jaehyun was gone before his father could say anything back, it was just the two of us for god knows how long. i’d had hoped it wouldn’t go past 15 minutes.

“don’t be too nervous, i’m not here to tear you apart,” his father spoke when he noticed how tensed up i’d gotten. i tried relaxing a bit, reassuring myself in my head that it’d be alright.

“i do gotta admit, when jaehyun first told me about you i was shocked. my son who would rather die than date a woman, telling me he has a girlfriend almost made me believe if i had made it to heaven,” he said, seemingly joking. i giggled a bit. “however, seeing you here today and the way he is around you i can tell he seems serious about this.”

serious my ass, i thought. it was all an act, god the oscar’s should give jaehyun an award for his stellar performance at fooling his father. “y-yeah,” i began saying. “when jaehyun first approached me, asking to take me out on a date, i was surprised as well. i mean little ol’ me with a man out of my reach… i have to admit i thought it was a foolish prank but then i realized how genuine he was. you raised him to be an amazing and loving man, mr.jeong.”

his face softened, “no, no i don’t deserve the credit, his mother does. he told you didn’t he, about his mother?” i nodded, even though it was technically yuna who had told me. “well, since my wife’s death my– no our lives have not been the same. everyday i lived in regret and sorrow, but then i remembered i had to keep going, not necessarily for me but for my son. his mother taught him everything she could’ve possibly taught him while she was still alive and for that i am forever grateful for.”

hearing him talk made my heart ache. i realized in that moment just how much not only jaehyun must’ve gone through but his dad as well. losing someone is not easy, getting over them is in fact far from it. “i’m sure she must be proud of the person jaehyun has become today,” i said. he smiled, “yeah, i’m sure she is. i guarantee you she would’ve adored you as well.” my heart broke all the more, even if this was a fake relationship those words still hit me.

i smiled weakly, lips twitching as i felt my eyes blurr. i blinked and there they were, tears streaming down my face. “oh dear, i didn’t mean to make you cry,” mr.jeong said, handing me a napkin. i wiped those darn tears away and later continued my conversation with his father.

contrary to my expectations, mr.jeong truly was a kind soul, weak to his family. i could also safely say that by the end of our conversation he seemed to like and approve of me. mission accomplished, i suppose.

└───❀̥˚───❀̥˚┘

jaehyun and ms.kim arrived well past 15 minutes, but that didn’t matter because the conversation between mr.jeong and i was a great one. “he didn’t tell you anything bad right?” jaehyun spoke as he ate a piece of his dessert. i glanced over at his father giggling, “hmm just how you got stuck in the snow one time and cried out because they took forever to take you out.” jaehyun groaned, “dad!”

mr.jeong crossed his arms, smiling. “what can i say, you were quite a cute child back then.” i laughed, and enjoyed the company. i could get used to this… but right, this would only last a month. i tried shoving such thoughts from my head, deciding on focusing on the present.

we stayed for a while longer, deciding to leave once the sun was starting to set. i bid ms.kim a farewell before doing the same to mr.jeong. “come back again soon dear, with or without him,” mr.jeong said. i smiled, “will do!”

and so after having said our farewells, me and jaehyun headed off. i would say me and him we’re making progress as the car ride back was filled with lots of chatter. the poor guy investigating me on what stories his father had told me about him.

“well, i’m glad he likes you,” jaehyun said, “yeah, guess we really pulled this off,” i replied.

“mmm, he seems relieved that i finally have someone in my life now,” he continued. however, i didn’t respond back. i was too busy probing on the thought of how it seemed like jaehyun never told his father about yuna. i was too scared to bring up the subject, remembering how jaehyun became when her name was ever mentioned, so i left it at that: an insignificant thought.

the car ride back to my apartment continued with chatter. when we had arrived, i lingered in his car for a while. “so, i’ll see you next time?”

we both looked at one another. jaehyun’s mouth fell open, then closing. he didn’t respond, just giving me a simple nod of his head.

“then, drive home safely. bye jaehyun,” i said, opening up the passenger door. before i closed it jaehyun spoke, “sleep well y/n.” my face flushed, “mmm, you too” i said before closing the door. i gripped my bag, walking into my apartment complex as quickly as possible. god, what is wrong with you?!

as i opened the apartment door, i noticed the television playing. “ah, welcome home y/n!” yuna said cheerfully. she stopped for a brief moment, observing me. “hmm, what’s this our little y/n out on a date?!” she teased.

what do i say? yes, no? i mean it’d be fine as long as i didn’t tell her the name right?

“y-yeah,” i said, rather shyly. her eyes widened, squealing “who is it! someone i know!?” she bombarded me with questions. “n-no! he’s just some guy i’m getting to know,” i said. i can’t believe i’m lying to my best friend right now, but then again it’s not like i can tell her: “hey! i’m going out with your ex boyfriend!”

“well if you ever decided to make it official, introduce me to the guy! he’s gotta need my approval after all,” she said smiling. yuna was always the opposite of me, she shined bright everywhere she went. it was no shocker how she managed to get someone like jaehyun to fall head over heels for her.

i laughed at her declaration, “sure thing.” we stayed up for a while longer before we both headed off to bed. today was surely a long day, going surprisingly better than i had anticipated. it all led me to ponder how things would go in the future. it made me both nervous and excited for what was to come.

however only later would i realize how i crossed the line. it would be far too late to go back.

weeks passed, days flowed by and life was surprisingly better than ever. since my first meeting with jaehyun’s father, i’d visited him a few more times and now july was just about over. today, i got ready to go see jaehyun’s father again. though, jaehyun described it as a quick visit. nonetheless, i rushed to get ready since he would be here in around 15 minutes.

i made my way to the front of my apartment complex where he was waiting. it was always the same routine every single time. part of me was growing accustomed to this, but i constantly reminded myself of the month period which for a fact was close to coming to an end.

i hated to admit it but i didn’t want this to end, but i couldn’t bring myself to tell jaehyun about this secret of mine. hating to admit i blushed everytime he showered me with the littest bit of –fake– affection, that effect he was just having on me. i hated to admit just how much i’d grown to like him…

“everything alright?” he questions me. i snapped out of my thoughts, my face facing his as he held the steering wheel. “y-yeah just didn’t get enough sleep,” i lied.

“sorry to drag you out like this, but i know how much my dad would’ve bugged me if i didn’t bring you along,” he chuckled, which caused me to smile. yup, i’m completely fucked.

when we arrived at mr.jeong’s residence we were greeted by ms.kim who informed us mr.jeong had some friends over. moments later, he walked in with said friends and introduced me to each one of them. his use of the word, “daughter-in-law” not going unheard by me. jaehyun must’ve heard it too.

i was too focused on the conversation between the men that i failed to notice when jaehyun leaned down into my ear whispering, “i didn’t know they’d be here, i swear. the old man told me he had something to tell me but in reality i thought he’d just found some excuse to bring you along.” i turned to him, our faces only centimeters apart, my eyes widened.

“i-i, it’s alright,” i whispered. jaehyun closed the small distance between us until i could feel his breath on my face and the light touch of his lips on mine.

“oh young people,” mr.jeong said.

shit, i was too caught up in the moment i had forgotten they were right in front of us. my face felt hot, my whole body did. just a single move and our lips would’ve met each other. “if you don’t mind, can you excuse us,” jaehyun spoke up as he got up. his hand, taking mine to guide me up.

“sure, sure. enjoy yourselves,” his father said. god, this was so embarrassing. before leaving, we said our goodbyes and headed back to his car. in the car it was silent, the air felt different; i couldn’t speak.

i opted to look outside through the window, but the unfamiliar landscape drove me to finally speak. “th-this isn’t the way to my apartment…”

a beat later he answered, “i know we’re heading somewhere first.” i wondered where that could’ve been, but i didn’t get to wonder for long as i soon recognized we were heading to his apartment instead. i wonder what he could’ve wanted.

once i was back into the familiar, yet unfamiliar apartment, we sat on his sofa. there was silence for a while, before he made the first move. “what would you say if we extend our agreement?” he asked, but his eyes didn’t meet mine.

“wh-what…” i said. i was confused what he meant by this, i mean i could interpret this a hundred ways. he scratches the back of his neck, “fuck. that’s not, well i do mean.. mm,” jaehyun said, he seemed at a loss of words.

there was a brief moment of silence again, before he spoke up again. “date me. no agreement, contract, anything of the sort.”

no fucking way! “huh? you want us to date for real, but-” he interrupted me before i could finish. “before you say anything more, i want you to know that in all honesty i don’t want this to end. i’ve enjoyed every moment we’ve spent together, your smile, laugh, and that bright light you radiate. i like every part of you y/n… i like you.”

my eyes widened. no way, this was a confession... jaehyun was confessing to me. did i feel him the same way he felt? were these feelings of mine more affection than friendship? who am i kidding, they were. the truth in fact was that i liked jaehyun romantically, i couldn’t deny it any longer.

“i-i like you too…”

i watched as his face softened, his dimpled smile making it’s appearance. his smile was the most precious and beautiful i’d ever seen. one of his hands made their way to my cheek, caressing it. his body inched closer, until there was only a small distance between us.

“can i?” he whispered. i nodded, shyly closing my eyes. i felt as his lips touched mine. they molded perfectly into mine, felt soft too. it was a gentle kiss, but it quickly became something i enjoyed with all my heart.

i parted away first, trying to catch my breath but i was already starting to miss the feeling of his lips on mine. so i leaned back into him, our kiss deepening more this time around. his tongue intruded inside my mouth, colliding with mine. he then bit into my bottom lip, but quickly kissed on it. jaehyun places his hands on each side of my hips, guiding me to straddle his lap without breaking the kiss.

we continued devouring one another, enjoying what the other had to offer. things only escalated further when his hands began traveling along my body. his fingertips left a trailing blaze of heat throughout me. my hips then began moving on their own, my lower area in the need of some friction. i felt his cock hardened as i continued grinding on him. his hands now on my hips, gradually helping me pick up the pace.

his lips letting go of mine just to say, “hold on.” in which i followed, wrapping my arms around his neck as he gets up, walking to what i then knew was his bedroom. jaehyun gently lays me on his bed, my eyes on him as he lifts his shirt, taking it off and tossing it somewhere in his spacious room. his eyes then meeting mine, causing a smirk to form on his face. “like what you see?” he teases. i felt my face heat up. “don’t you think it’s a bit unfair for me to be the only one without a shirt?” he continued saying.

i lift myself up from his bed, hands grabbing the hem of my shirt, getting it over my head and onto the floor. i noticed as jaehyun’s eyes never left mine, soaking me all in. i felt quite shy so i covered my breasts with my arms. jaehyun got closer, “don’t be shy now baby, you're beautiful.”

baby. beautiful. god, his sweet words were so beautiful. i once again did as he said, putting my arms down to my sides. he closed the distance between us, colliding his lips onto mine in a deep and passionate kiss. all the while his hands began working with the hook of my bra until it came off me. he parts, bringing his lips to kiss all over me from my cheek to collarbone. when he brought his lips to my neck however, i felt as he sucked harshly onto my skin, causing me to wince. he parts, muttering a “sorry” against my neck.

jaehyun was marking me up, claiming what was his.

traveling further down, he stops at my breasts. i felt as his lips kissed the valley of my breast before going onto one. he stuck his tongue out, brushing against my nipple. he licked the bud until it hardened, and then went over to my other neglected breasts to do the same. this however didn’t satisfy him, so he began marking me up again, adding biting my tits into the mix. the attention and pleasure he was giving my tits was more than enough to make me a whining and needy mess. i was sure if he were to take off my skirt right now, my thighs would be dripping.

it was as if he was reading my mind because one of his hands began traveling inside my skirt until it cupped my sex. i moaned into the spacious room. “this wet already?” he muttered against my breast, letting his mouth room further down my body until it reached my belly. for a brief moment his hand comes back up from my skirt, using both his hands now to take off my skirt. while he tossed the skirt somewhere around the room, i began taking off my white laced panties. his eyes glued to me, it was like we were the only two people in this world.

with my panties off, i felt as the cool air hit my warm sex. jaehyun pried my legs open, using two of his fingers, to slide along my cunt. he gathered some of my juices onto his fingers only to bring them to his mouth and lick it up. “mm, so sweet. might get addicted, baby,” he says sweetly. he then brings his fingers back onto my cunt, teasing me. “p-please,” i whined.

“hmm? please what baby?” he says, staring at my desperate state. “to-touch me… your fingers, in me please,” i begged with the man above. jaehyun had you wrapped around his finger, practically putty in his hands.

jaehyun simply smiles before intruding his fingers into your hole. he feels as your gummy walls clenched around his fingers, squeezing him so tight. his eyes blessed with the sight of you trying to grind against his hand as you arch that pretty back off his bed. your beautiful singing of his name and moans we’re blessing his ears. so, so beautiful– he thought.

his fingers plunged in and out of you at a fast pace, you felt yourself nearing the end. the knot in your stomach threatening to unleash at any moment, just a little more, a little…

“don’t worry baby, go on cum… i got you,” jaehyun groaned. it was then when he brought his thumb into the mix, using the digit to rub your clit so deliciously. you grip the bed sheet, eyes rolling back until you saw white. your orgasm came crashing out, better than any previous orgasms you’ve or other guys have given you.

i panted, trying to catch my breath from that mind-blowing orgasm. my eyes returned to focus back to jaehyun as he licked his hands clean. when he finished he opened the drawer on his nightstand, fishing out a condom. unzipping his pants, he pulls them down along with his boxers until his cock sprung out. the poor thing looked hard as a rock, his tip red and leaking with pre-cum. my mouth nearly drooled at the sight, i wanted it in my mouth, a taste of it. “next time baby, right now i really wanna be in you,” he says, when he notices how focused i was on his cock.

he opens the condom, then sliding it onto his cock. “can you go lay over there baby,” he says, pointing in the direction of where his pillows were. i quickly made my way over there, laying back on my back. the mattress dipped when jaehyun got on, and he stopped in front of me. one of his hands wrapped around his cock. “open up for me baby,” he says in a low voice. opening my legs for him, he shuffled a bit further. his cock reached my pussy, where he used my wetness on the condom.

“ready?” he says, eyes staring straight at mine. i nodded my head, yes. all the confirmation jaehyun needed to start pushing his cock inside you. he was unlike any guy you’ve had before. the delicious stretch of his cock has you a moaning mess, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him deeper. the tight squeezing of your pussy around his cock doesn’t go unnoticed by him as it has him groaning and moaning into your ear.

“you feel so good, baby. so perfect. it’s as if you were made for me, this pussy was made for me,” he whispered into my ear. his words ignited me even more, my pussy clenching around him all the more. when all of him was in me, he lifted his body up and grabbed my thighs on both his hands. “don’t squeeze me too tight now or i won’t last long,” he says before sliding his cock out, leaving his tip inside.

gripping me tighter, he pounded his cock back inside me. thrusting ruthlessly and hard, i could feel as he reached deep inside me– his tip kissing my cervix beautifully. the pace didn’t falter even after what felt like 10 minutes. i moaned and chanted his name like it was the only word in my vocabulary. drool escaping my mouth and eyes watering with tears, was the state i was in. “who’s making you feel so good baby?” he says slightly panting.

when i didn’t answer, jaehyun lifted one of my legs higher. in this position, his cock pierced inside me even deeper than before. i could practically feel his nestled in my womb. “mmm~ ahh, uhh fuck. y-you! you! only you are jae!” i moaned loudly.

satisfied with your response, jaehyun decides to give you a reward. he places his thumb back onto your swollen clit, abusing the poor thing. with every pinch and rub to your clit you were growing closer. however, you felt strange. as you tried voicing your concern, jaehyun shushes you with his mouth on yours.

by this time it was too late, you came gushing out like a waterfall. he parts from the kiss, saliva connecting the two of you. he looks down to where you both were conjoined, “let me guess, that was your first time squirting?” you nodded dumbly, too fucked out of your mind. “wow, i’m honored baby,” he says as he continues fucking me through my orgasm. through my hazy state i noticed as his pace began to falter, slowing down a bit.

his cock twitched inside me, allowing himself to thrust a couple more times before he came into the condom. the air of his room smelled like sex, evidence of what had just transpired. he pulls out, taking off the condom as he walks over to dispose of it. “that was amazing baby,” he says, going back to lay beside me.

his arms wrap around my body, embracing me as we laid there. “i’ll clean you up in a bit, let us just enjoy this for now,” he says. before i knew it my eyes fluttered shut. i passed out for the night, too exhausted to stay awake for even a second more.

└───❀̥˚───❀̥˚┘

i stirred my eyes open, coming face to face with the bright summer sun. i got up, taking my surroundings in. an unfamiliar bedroom… no wait, this is jaehyun’s bedroom. in that moment, the flashbacks of what happened last night replayed in my head. i turned to the other side of the bed, noticing it empty, but the scrambled bed sheets signified he was in fact there. i looked down to notice myself in a shirt that wasn’t mine, jaehyun’s.

fuck. wait… why did it dawn to me now that i literally agreed into becoming jaehyun’s –real– girlfriend. yuna... isn’t this betrayal? did i cross the line? i couldn’t ponder for too long before the bedroom door flung open.

jaehyun.

he wore gray sweats and a white t-shirt. “drooling already?” he teased coming to my side. i got up, sitting on the edge as i wiped my lips and felt as something wet touched the back of my hand. fuck i really was drooling. he laughed, going onto his knees, laying his head on my thighs. i combed a hand through his hair, “you’re quite the beast jaehyun.” he glances up, “what are you trying to say?” he says raising a brow.

“you know exactly what i mean!” slightly raising my voice. he still acted like he had no idea what i was referring to. “ughh, thanks to you i could barely walk,” i said shyly. it was true though, getting up from the bed, i could feel the ache.

he chuckled, “but you enjoyed it didn’t you?” i squinted my eyes, “we-well yes, but that’s besides the point! anyways did you clean me?” he nods his head, “yup, but you were sleeping so soundly i didn’t wanna wake you up, you’re quite the heavy sleeper babe.”

my heart nearly melted, “thanks jaehyun.” he smiled, a mischievous one in which i knew meant no good. “how about giving me a reward?” he asks sweetly. no matter how much i tried resisting i ended up giving in.

“i-thought this was a reward for you?” i tried saying as the sensation of his tongue running along my cunt cleared all normal functions from my brain. “it is,” he says as he raises his head to look into my lustful eyes. “your sweet pussy is such a delicacy for me. plus i haven’t had any breakfast yet,” he continues saying, giving me a wink at the end as he dove back in.

last night was not enough for jaehyun it seems so because you two were going right back at it throughout the morning. i mean not that you were complaining...

february 13th. the day before jaehyun’s birthday and also we can’t forget valentine’s day.

it has now been well over 6 months since me and jaehyun had begun dating and all of it has been a bliss. jaehyun truly was the best boyfriend i could ever ask for. everything seemed right, but then i spiraled into a panic. it wasn’t often but occasionally guilt would eat me away, my consciousness yelling at me. however it was too late to turn back now, not unless a time machine magically appeared. yet again, i didn’t regret a single thing… was it bad that i didn’t?

but i see her, yuna, in the back of my mind. all the time, like a fever. did i cross the line?

and i then realized that it wasn’t reassurance that i needed from jaehyun, it felt like something more, something i so desperately was trying to search for…

nonetheless today is his pre-birthday dinner! i can’t be moping around in depressing thoughts! quickly getting outta bed, i began getting myself ready. unlike other days, today i went for a cute some-what skin tight dress, heels, loose curled hair, and a tad bit more make-up. before making my way downstairs to meet up with jaehyun, i grabbed a small gift bag and tucked it inside my purse.

as i made my way down, i saw his car come rolling in. a smile making its way on my face as he gets out of the car to greet me. “you’re quite breathtaking,” he says as he pecked me on my lips. i let out a dreamy sigh, “and you’re quite the charmer.” he smiled, taking my hand to guide me to the passenger seat of his car. after shutting the door, he walks over to his door and begins the drive.

unfortunately, he knew about his pre-birthday dinner, only because i am not the world’s best driver so i can’t be the one to drive us there. i planned for it to be a small dinner at an italian restaurant we both enjoyed. however, what he was unaware of was about how i called the restaurant a couple days ago to inform them if they could bring out a cake. so technically i’m still seeing this as a whole surprise!

when we finally arrived at the restaurant, he took my hand in his to walk me. luckily for those reservations we made because if not we would’ve waited hours just to get a table. when we got situated at our table, a waiter came by not too later to take our orders. once we got our food, we ate while chatting about anything and everything. we enjoyed each other’s presence as we ate on a cool february night.

a while later i excused myself, under the circumstances that i had to use the restroom. yet in reality i was going to go inform the waiter to bring out the cake. i returned to my seat afterwards and waited for them to arrive.

“happy, happy birthday! happy birthday! happy birthday to you!” the waiters around us sang as they clapped their hands. i recorded the scene as jaehyun look bewildered, his cheeks adorning a pink-ish color. cute, i thought. one of the waiter places the cake on the table, and after they finished singing jaehyun blew the candle. the waiters later dispersed, leaving me and jaehyun alone.

“so this is why you wanted to come here?” he questioned. i smirked, “yup, yup and they so kindly agreed to it!” he sighed before giving me a slice of his cake. we continued chatted whilst we ate the very delicious cake. whereas i note jaehyun’s eyes never leaving me, watching me intently as i licked the icing off my fork.

jaehyun clears his throat, catching my attention, “w-we should get going soon.” i raised my brow, “huh, but-” he interrupted me before i could continue, “i have a better idea.”

“oh yeah, and what could that be?” i questioned him. “you’ll see. follow me,” he says, getting up and taking me by my wrist. we quickly stop by to pay before we leave. jaehyun’s pace slightly rushed.

when we arrived at the parking garage, he pinned me to the passenger door. not even a second later does he take my lips on his. he kisses me with such passion, lust, and hunger— even if he had just eaten. i was a bit bewildered at first but i soon sink into the kiss, my arms wrapping around his neck.

his knee comes in between my legs, as his hands began to roam my body. a hand slips under my dress, causing me to moan into the kiss when i feel his hand travel further up only stopping to rub two of his fingers against my pussy.

i pant as i part from the kiss, “s-stop, not here jae.” i felt hazy already, and as i looked at him i noticed those lustful eyes of his. “get in then, we’ll continue this somewhere else,” he mutters into my ear before pecking my temple. we rushed inside the car, leaving the parking lot as he drove us quickly to the nearest hotel.

└───❀̥˚───❀̥˚┘

we just barely made it inside the door when jaehyun’s desperate hands began removing the dress i wore, later pooling at the bottom of my feet. “fuck, when i saw you in that dress i wanted nothing more but to rip it off you and fuck you,” he mumbles into my ear as his hand begin to remove my panties. “no bra too? fuck, you’re going to be the death of me baby,” he groaned.

being completely naked with the cool door pressed against my back, jaehyun soaks me all in before using his fingers to rub against my cunt again. “this wet already? all for me, is that right?” he continues teasing. i let out a small whimper before muttering “yes.”

jaehyun quickly takes his hand away from my aching pussy, licking his fingers clean. he moans in satisfaction as he tastes my juices. using both his hands, he quickly begins removing his clothes, his hard cock resting against his stomach. he watches as i stare intently, bringing one hand to his cock he begins jerking it. fuck, now this is going to kill me.

“Get on your knees baby,” he says. i sank into my knees in no time, face only about an inch away from his leaking cock. “open,” he continues as he grabs the back of my head to inch me closer to his cock. my mouth falls open, making on “o” shape. “good girl,” he groans when his tip intrudes inside my mouth.

he slowly moved his cock furthur inside my mouth, but when i begin to slightly gag he stopped. “you can take it, ain’t you’re first time baby,” he says and he has a point, though it was just too big i could never seem to fit it without gagging, drooling, or tearing up. he begins moving his cock again, and i finally feel the tip reach down my throat, so deep. “that’s right, shoved down deep in ya,” he groans. he stays snugged in my mouth for a moment before telling me, “now your turn, suck me off baby.”

i place my hands against his thighs to move my head back, until only his tip was inside. i use my tongue to swirl around his tip, my hands soon helping in jerking the rest of his cock. i hear the way jaehyun’s moans and groans filled the room, my ears blessed.

i let go of his tip, bringing my tongue to lick him along his cock and pecking his tip. i repeated this on the other side, glancing up to look at jaehyun’s state. he was an absolute wreck already.

“come on baby, i told ya to suck it,” he groans. so i stop licking his cock, sinking his cock slowly into my mouth. “th-that’s it, your mouth feels so fucking good. cock fits all snug, ain’t that right baby.”

jaehyun’s words ignited a fire within me. i eagerly began sucking his cock, bobbing my head while he held me. while i was doing my ministrations on his cock, i felt my breathing getting constricted so i stopped. i kept the head in my mouth still, using my tongue to swirl around it.

once i felt well again, i took him back in. my hands traveled to his balls, fondling them as i continued sucking on him at a slightly faster pace. the noises he emitted signaled he was close to releasing. so in a despair, jaehyun’s hips began moving. he fucked his cock inside my mouth ruthlessly as i gagged and tears rolled down my face. yet still it felt so good; i didn’t stop the swirling of my tongue on his cock nor the fondeling on his balls.

“so close baby, just a bit more,” he moans. a couple more thrusting of his hips into my mouth, he releases inside it. the taste of his cum courses throughout me. he pulls his cock out, using his fingers to shove back any of his cum that had escaped. i swallowed all that he gave me, opening my mouth to show there was no more.

“get up and bend over,” his deep voice says. i do as he says once more, placing my hands on the door whilst my ass comes into his view. i hear him emit a pleased moan before groping my ass. “so beautiful,” he mutters.

you feel as he slides his cock in between ur ass, rubbing it against you. almost naturally you begin to move, you wanted nothing more but for him to fuck you. a low laugh comes out of his mouth before he slaps your ass. you couldn’t help but yelp in surprise. the coolness of the door, brushing against your already hardened nipples.

it wasn’t long though before he slid himself inside you. his cock enters you almost smoothly. “so wet, it slid right in,” he chuckles, fingers digging into your ass.

he stays pressed against you for a while before he pulls back, cock sliding out too. jaehyun slides back in, those gummy walls of yours still tightening around his cock. he fucks you ruthlessly and brutally, not caring how loud you were because after all the noises coming out of you were a symphony.

his pace doesn’t falter, keeping it past 100. the sweet chants of his name, pushing himself forward. he slaps your ass more than once when he notices how you’d tighten around him even more. “i-i’m gonna cu-“ he interrupts you. jaehyun uses his hand to turn your head around, locking his lips onto yours. the two of you hungrily kissed one another, so lost in it that you failed to notice when his hand traveled down.

you moan into the kiss when you feel his digits, working on your clit. pinching and rubbing you so good that you felt your stomach tighten. letting go of his lips, saliva connecting you moan out loud when you feel your orgasm unleashing. you faintly hear the sound of it splashing onto the floor, making a mess. “good girl,” he praises you as he continues fucking into you.

your orgasm only made you tighten around him all the more, scrambling with jaehyun’s brain. he was getting close and you could feel it in the change in pace. his cock twitches inside you and he slaps your ass roughly one last time before you gush inside you. his hot white seeds painting your womb, stuffing you full.

jaehyun pulls out hesitantly, his eyes feasting upon your fucked state. his seeds slowly spilling down your legs. “not yet,” he mumbles before he effortlessly carries you to the bed.

he didn’t let you rest the whole night, continuing to spill deep inside you in the bed, against the wall, and in the bathroom where you two were supposed to “shower.” and well while he took you in the shower, it’d occur to you something important…

“happy birthday love,” you say as you kiss his lips. ah right, jaehyun remembers too that it was his birthday now. he smiles into the kiss, feeling your love. a long fucking later, the two of you collapse on the bed, both so utterly exhausted from the night’s activities. the last thing you remember was when he engulfs you into him, pecking your head as your eyes flutter shut.

└───❀̥˚───❀̥˚┘

the sun shines through the curtains, stirring your eyes open. you grumble as you turn to the other side of the bed, prying jaehyun’s hands off of you. you get up to use the restroom as you had the urge to pee.

once you finish your business, you go over to the sink to wash your hands, looking in the mirror. the hickies and love bites all over your body capturing your attention. that dumbass, you thought.

making your way out the bathroom, you notice jaehyun sitting on the edge of the bed. “awake already?” he asks. i smile, “i should be asking you that birthday boy.”

“come here,” he says. “i’m not gonna suck you off again,” i replied. his face saddened, “why not?” “i know you’re just teasing me,” i said. he chuckled before signaling me over. i go over to him, sitting beside him. “how’d you sleep,” he asks, resting his head on my shoulder. “like a baby,” i reply. “how about you?” he pondered for a moment, “the best i’ve ever slept in my whole life,” he answered. i giggled at his response. we stayed like that for a while, his head resting on my shoulder and mine on top of his, in silence before he looked up to kiss my lips. the kiss was gentle and full of love.

he pulls away, “i love you.” i smile at him— i know that you love me, you don’t need to remind me. “i love you too jae.”

soon after, jaehyun gets up saying he needs to use the restroom. i’m left alone in the room, lost in my own thoughts until i hear a phone ping. i turn to the nightstand beside the bed. jaehyun’s phone is the only one there. i inch closer to grab his phone as curiosity took over me.

phone in hand i press on the screen, a message displayed on his home screen. an unsettling feeling set in my stomach, nauseating even. my fingers moved on their own, inputting his pass code. then my fingers tap on the message’s app.

i froze. my heart stopped beating. the feeling of wanting to throw up arising in my throat. this couldn’t be, no what?

yuna…

what was her contact doing in his phone. it didn’t make any sense.

the message he received from her was simple: “happy birthday.” however there were 10+ messages left unopened. once again my finger moved on their own, opening their chat.

my eyes watered until eventually tears came spilling out of my eyes. i couldn’t believe what i was seeing. messages yuna sent over the course of our relationship. from “i miss you” to “i’m lonely, miss you fucking me.” and probably the worst of it, images of her bare and open displayed. i was beyond sick to my stomach.

however, that wasn’t even the bad part. as i scroll further up i found messages in which he had responded to. their conversations disgusted me, how could he do this while we dated? while he whispered to me he loved me? had it all really been nothing but a lie, a play?

“hey baby, how about we- shit!” jaehyun says coming out of the bathroom. he notices your sobbing state, his phone in your hands. he rushes over to you, “wh-what happened baby?” he asks. though as he reaches over to try and wipe the tears off your face, you swat his hand away. he widened his eyes in surprise, you’d never done this before.

you shove the phone to his chest, in which he takes it into his hands. all color drained from his face when he saw what it was that made you like this. “look y/n i can explain,” he starts off but you stop him. “explain what?! how since the start you’ve been cheating on me!?” i replied back in a harsh tone. i begin to get up from the bed, roaming the hotel room in search of my clothes. “j-just please, baby hear me out,” he continued.

“fine, i’ll hear you out,” i said, picking up my clothes. jaehyun begins, “i-i well fuck, where do i even begin,” he groaned, palming his face. you made a sour look, it’s so bad he doesn’t even know where to start, you think as you pull your dress over your body.

“you know when i first approached you asking to fill in as my fake girlfriend?” he starts, but when you don’t respond he continues. “you told me that day that if it was a ploy to get back with her, you wouldn’t do it…” again, he is met by your silence. “well, in truth y/n that was all there was to it. my father didn’t really care if i had someone in my life or not, i.. i just selfishly wanted her back. at the time however i knew she wanted nothing to do with me, so then popped the idea of using you as a means to get back with her.”

“you’re disgusting,” i say, crying all over again. his face showcasing hurt. how could he be the one hurt in this situation, you thought.

“you’re not wrong about that,” he says. “so then when did it start?” i questioned. “the day after we met my father,” he confessed. “that following day i went over to your apartment complex, waiting until she appeared. and well when she did, i confronted her. that day i pleaded with her, and so we spent the entire day together. we managed to clear our misunderstandings, and well we ended up.. in my bed,” jaehyun continued, hesitating to say the last words.

his bed? the very first place we spent passionately together… i couldn’t comprehend it, my heart ached so much it started going numb.

“after that night, we actually never saw each other again. instead we resorted to calling and eventually just texting. it went on for a while actually, in fact a couple months after we actually started dating…” every word coming out of his mouth was another stab to me, hurting me the more he continued. “however… the more time i spent with you, knowing you all the more i began realizing how i’d fallen in love with you,” he confesses. “bullshit,” i blurted out.

“it’s not… please believe me y/n,” he pleads with me. “how could i? why should i? you fucking lied to me jaehyun!” i shouted, every raw emotion coming out.

“fine… if you won’t believe me that’s fine but, y/n i truly did fall in love with you. i love you to this day, this very moment. and since realizing that i stopped answering her, it didn’t matter to me when she’d occasionally message me because all i wanted was you!” jaehyun says.

“love doesn’t mean lying jaehyun.” i watched as he opened his mouth again, but closed it soon after. he knew you were right. “i- i get that i was in the wrong but-” he starts by saying before i decide to cut him off. “enough of this jaehyun, no matter what comes out of that mouth of yours won’t change my mind.”

“wh-what do you mean,” he mutters, his lips trembling. jaehyun feared what you meant by this, he feared his number one fear coming true. that fear was none other than losing you.

“i mean that we’re over.”

your words hit jaehyun like a bulldozer. so hard he almost feels the pieces of his shattered heart. never once in his life has regretted his life, unlike today. he should’ve told you, he knows he should’ve but he was too cowardly to do so. and now he’s bearing the consequences, watching you deeply hurt because of his actions.

when you feel as though nothing more could be said or done, you grab your purse and walked to the hotel doorway. you faintly hear as jaehyun calls out to you, but you try to ignore it. however he grabs one of your arms by your wrist, stopping you just as you were about to open the door.

you turn back, “what?” you say in annoyance. “pl-please don’t leave. just tell me how i could fix things, you-” you interrupt him again.

more annoyed this time you say, “what don’t you get!? jaehyun we’re over! nothing you say or do now is going to change what happened.” he grips you a little tighter, causing you to look up at him. your heart almost sinks as you see him with tears rolling down his eyes like waterfalls. oddly enough you also begin to shed tears.

“p-please,” you plead with him. “just let me go jae. you and i both know this is irreversible.” his eyes soften, causing you to look down. you just couldn’t look at him, it hurt you even more. that was when you noticed the small gift bag in your purse.

his birthday present. you’d forgotten to give it to him. you know that now is not the right time to give it to him, but nonetheless you still decide to do so. taking out the small gift, you hand it over to him. that causes his hand to let go of your wrist so that he’d be able to take the gift in both his hands.

swiftly you grab the door handle, opening the door. you glance back one last time, a frozen jaehyun in the doorway. “goodbye jaehyun,” you say as you walk out. then right before the door closes you hear him say for one last time, “i love you, y/n.”

└───❀̥˚───❀̥˚┘

once you made it inside the elevator you slumped down to your knees, waterfalls of tears omitting from your eyes. you couldn’t believe it, jaehyun… how could he. moments of the two you flashed through your head.

part of you wishing you’d said more, questioned him more. like asking him: “do you see her, in the back of your mind? In my eyes?” but then again part of it felt like it made sense now, why you were always on edge.

as you walked along the side walk, you thought that perhaps this was for the best. i mean everything happens for a reason after all. one day this would be all but just a fleeting memory, a blurry memory i would have no recollection of. i’d hoped and prayed for that.

today. valentine’s day, cryin’ in the hotel… i know you didn’t mean to hurt me so i kept it to myself.

2024.07.13

final a.n: as promised here is the other fic i planned to release 😛!! woohoo, this was a rlly fun one to write, since i deeply enjoy this song that the fic is inspired by. also ngl when i was writing the second snusnu scene i was playing cas new album “x’s” && started sobbing ㅠㅠ . oh pls anyhow i hope u enjoyed this one, it was quite long but felt worth writing 🤍 also! thank u for all the love on “million dollar baby !” i appreciated all the love and support thank uuuu! stay safe yall & love u all very much, jiji out 🤍 [ new fic out next week: expect haechan or doyoung 🤫 ] !

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slu7formen · 1 year ago

Note

But imagine homewrecker!Luke x fem Aphrodite!reader, where reader’s already in a relationship but Luke just wants her sooo bad, so he flirts with her when no ones looking, teases her, and absolute shits on the man shes’s with in every opportunity he gets (there’s a scene from Avatar legend of Korra where she says to Mako “yeah, but when you’re with her you’re thinking about me, aren’t you?” And I can see him saying the same thing to her while giving her the most devius smirk EVER) she’s only “human” so she gives in eventually and it could be smut in the end (could you pretty please write something like this <33)

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

idk who you are but you’re a genius, I fucking love you for this

warnings: luke’s a home wrecker but that OKAY because it’s him, also he’s so mean, kinda possessive, mention of masturbation, lil smut towards the end (oral, f receiving)

₊˚⊹♡

Another night. Sleep, the supposed thing he´s been wanting all day, remained out of reach. It had been like this for weeks, a relentless torment that gnawed at his insides with the intensity of a starving Furie. And who´s fault was it? You.

He groaned against his pillow, the sheet sticking uncomfortably to his sweaty torso. Night after night, it was the same, but he couldn´t help himself, how could he keep himself from thinking about you? Being an Aphrodite´s daughter, you simply stood out from the rest, but there was something more.

The way you carried yourself; applying the smallest amount of makeup that managed to accentuate your features, making your eyes sparkle and your lips look impossibly kissable. Your voice, seductive even when you didn´t mean for it to be. Even the hideous orange camp shirt, a piece of clothing that seemed designed to make someone look dowdy, couldn't diminish your aura. He could practically smell the faint scent of your perfume, a mix of coconut and something inexplicably you, that lingered in the air even after you’d left.

It was an obsession, a problem. He wasn´t naive though, he knew he wasn't the only one who felt this way about you. How boys tripped on their own feet and walk straight into trees because of you, but that was then. Because there was a tiny, slight problem now.

You were taken.

The feeling was hot and acid. You weren't his to have. You belonged to someone else, a possession proudly displayed by your ever-present boyfriend, a hulking son of Ares who never seemed to leave your side. And Luke shouldn’t feel this way, he knows it. He shouldn't feel the hot wave of need to break the guy´s jaw every time he saw you with him.

You were happy, he was sure of it, you showed it. Your mother was the goddess of love, so you surely enjoyed it when you had it wrapped around your hands. But with him, you could be even happier. You deserved more. You deserved him. Luke let out a low growl, no-, he deserved you.

Luke could take everything you had for him and more, things that he was sure, your boyfriend couldn´t, and never will be able to.

He should feel scared about some Hypnos kid sweeping into his dreams accidentally and taking a glimpse of his dreams. How he wanted to begin to play, to have his own fun. He was determined to play for keeps.

And you, his prize, would be his reward.

Luke wasn't stupid. He wouldn't blatantly flaunt his desires in front of your man. No, his approach was far more subtle, a slow burn.

It started with those little greetings. A passing "Hey there, pretty" as he walked by you on his way to archery practice, his armor straps purposefully being adjusted in a way that accentuated the broadness of his shoulders. You'd respond with a simple "Hi" a smile playing on your glossy lips as you continued your conversation with your sister, both of you blissfully unaware of the first move in his carefully calculated game.

He began weaving himself into your periphery, appearing near you at mealtimes, offering unsolicited help with chores, lingering just a tad too long during conversations.

It couldn't be denied, Luke was undeniably handsome. You always knew he was attractive, a dark-haired rebel with an edge that appealed to a certain kind of girl. He had a way of carrying himself, a cocky self-assurance that some could find arrogant, but others, like you, couldn't help but find strangely magnetic. Being a daughter of Aphrodite, you were keenly aware of the power of charm, and Luke possessed it in spades.

You found yourself strangely drawn to it.

But he had to act faster than that.

He'd find you reading under a tree, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves and casting an ethereal glow around you. He'd saunter over, a slow, predatory grace in his movements.

"Mind if I join you, beautiful?"

You looked up, rolling your eyes playfully. "My boyfriend's gonna kill you if he hears you calling me that" you chuckled, flipping a page of your book.

Luke, for a split second, allowed a flicker of irritation to cross his features, quickly masked by a sardonic smile. "Blame it on your mother, then. I can't help but speak the truth."

You couldn't help but bite your lip, a laugh bubbling up in your chest as he settled next to you comfortably, arm bumping your own.

"What are you reading?" he asked, his voice dropping a fraction lower as he leaned closer, the scent of leather filling your senses.

You mumbled the title, the close proximity of his body making you uncomfortably aware of the heat radiating from him. It took him a hot minute to open his mouth again, a almost mockery sigh escaping his lips as he leaned back on his elbows.

"You know," he began, his voice dropping even lower, "Your boyfriend doesn't seem to be around much lately."

You bit your lip, a mixture of annoyance and something else entirely bubbling within you. "He has his own training schedule, Luke" you pointed out, your voice taking on a slight comprehensive edge.

He nodded slowly, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Of course" he drawled, stretching the word out like a piece of taffy. "But it´s been quite some time, right? Does he always leave you alone like this?"

You shrugged your shoulders. “He doesn´t” you stammered. “He´s just-, busy”

Busy. In summer. Gods, you were so…

Fucking cute.

He couldn't help but find it incredibly mesmerizing and astonishing, the way you were so transparently in love with your boyfriend, a love that Luke was determined to break, piece by piece. It only fueled his perverse desire to rip that very love away, to replace your blind devotion with a burning desire for him. He didn't want to break your heart — not exactly. He just wanted to re-route it, to steer its affection towards him.

The once-casual hangouts became more frequent. Tonight, you found yourself huddled next to him at the flickering bonfire. You chat casually, occasionally finding yourself hypnotized by the way his adam´s apple bobbed up and down every time he spoke.

“New skirt?” he then asked. He knew he shouldn't be looking, shouldn't have allowed his gaze to drop to the way the fabric clung to your thighs, drawing his attention to the delicious way they were pressed together ever since the moment you sat down. Yet, he couldn't help himself. The image seared itself into his memory, a forbidden fruit he desperately wanted to taste.

"Yeah" you chirped, a playful lilt in your voice. "You noticed?" There was a glint in your eyes, a spark of something that made his pulse quicken. Had he ever noticed your clothes before? Gods, yes, he knew every article in your meager wardrobe — the worn out oxford jeans, the simple white t-shirts that hugged your curves just perfectly, the tight cargo shorts, and now, this new skirt that showcased your legs in a way that made his blood run hot.

But he wouldn´t tell you that.

"Of course I noticed" he replied, forcing a casualness he didn't feel.

"Really?" you pressed, looking down at your clothes.

"You're impossible to miss” he pointed out. “It´s pretty” one of his fingers playfully tugged at the edge of your skirt, stealing a short giggle from you.

Your smile faltered for a moment though, a flicker of something crossing your face that Luke couldn't quite decipher. “He didn´t notice, you know?” you say.

A smug satisfaction bloomed in Luke's chest. Now, what could be better fuel for his twisted plan than a little unspoken resentment towards your oblivious boyfriend?

"Didn't notice?" he feigned obliviousness, milking the moment for all its worth.

"The skirt" you explain, kicking your feet playfully in the dirt. "Don´t really know why I care, though. He doesn't pay much attention to these things”

There it was, the confirmation he craved. Your fucking dumb boyfriend was failing you in all the ways that truly mattered. And Luke, oh, Luke was more than happy to fill that void.

In the mean way.

"Well, he's an idiot then" Luke stated firmly, his voice low and intense.

“Luke” you whined.

“What?” he cut you off with a humorless laugh, the sound tinged with a bitterness that made you uneasy. "Is it because of his busy schedule?" he mocked, his eyes narrowing. “Can’t say nice things to his girlfriend?”

You stared at him for a moment, your gaze unwavering. Your brows furrowed in a frown, and you tilted your head slightly, studying him with an intensity that made Luke suddenly feel analyzed. You leaned in, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. The movement brought you closer. His breath hitched a second as your eyes met his, framed by those long, mesmerizing lashes. It was as if you were looking not just at him, but right through him, searching for something.

"Why do you hate him so much?" you blurted out, the question tumbling from your lips before you could stop yourself.

Luke scoffed, the sound harsh and dismissive. "I don't hate him" he stated, but his voice lacked conviction. You raised your eyebrows, hiding a smile forming on your lips. “Hey, I mean it” he insisted, playfully pushing at your shoulder. "Just… feels like you're with someone who doesn't pay attention to you" he continued, his voice low and intense.

The casual tone he used, disarming and friendly, made you physically jolt a little. Luke managed to bite his tongue, swallow the jealousy and anger like a thick pill. He was a master manipulator. He wouldn't play his hand this early.

Unease settled in your stomach. "It's not always like that" you mumbled defensively.

"No?" he countered, his gaze unwavering. The firelight danced in his eyes, you couldn't help but look away, his intensity a little too much to handle.

"No" you repeated, your voice barely a whisper. "It's not his fault he's not interested in the things I like."

"Yeah, but you’re interested in everything about him, right?" Luke pressed, his voice soft but laced with something like a challenge, making you think twice before you answer.

His words hit a nerve, and you found yourself looking down at your lap, picking at a loose thread on your skirt. He was right, of course.

The silence stretched. A slow, teasing smile played on Luke's lips. He saw the doubt creeping into your eyes, the seed of discontent he'd been carefully planting beginning to sprout.

"You should find someone else, sweetheart" he said finally, his voice a husky murmur. He reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair that had escaped your braid and gotten caught in your earring.

You met his gaze, your eyes wide and searching. The playful banter had completely vanished, replaced by a tension so thick you could almost cut it with a knife.

"There are a couple of guys out there," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "who would kill for you to even look at them." He punctuated his sentence with a quick wink.

You breath out a nervous laugh, heat flooding to your cheeks. "You're such a drama queen, Luke" you finally managed, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

"’M not sure about that" he conceded, leaning back slightly, but never taking his eyes off you. "But sometimes that´s what you need. A little drama, excitement. Could make you see things a little clearer”

Days went by, and the conversation with Luke replayed on loop in your head.

´Drama. Excitement´

On the surface, everything seemed fine. Your boyfriend was kind, reliable, everything you thought you wanted. It felt comfortable and safe, yet… predictable. That sparkle that Luke talked about, that was absent.

You´d try to shake off your thoughts. One moment you'd convince yourself it was all a silly game you were willing to play. The next, you'd find yourself lost in a daydream, picturing Luke's dark eyes burning into yours, his voice, his touch. You tried to maintain a facade of normalcy, telling yourself he was just a friend, a confidante.

But the traitorous part of you craved more.

Luke, meanwhile, felt like a predator closing in on his prey. Your growing confusion fueled his ambition, every stolen glance, every conversation, a victory in his twisted and sick game. He watched your boyfriend with growing contempt, the sight of his hand roaming in the curves of your body making him clench his fists in rage. It should be him, Luke, pulling you close at night in his bed, whispering in your ear. He yearned to see you smile for him. He yearned to claim you, to make you his own for once and for all.

So his façade started to fall off. His possessiveness became more blatant, his touches lingering a fraction of a second too long. His calculating approach was slowly giving way to a burning need, a possessive hunger he couldn't suppress much longer.

One night at the bonfire, while everyone enjoyed a good time and shared laughter and music, Luke didn´t see you there. He shifted his gaze to his surroundings, his attention snagged on the figure of you nestled deeper into the shadows.

As usual, you were captivating, your animated expression and rapid-fire gestures suggesting a heated conversation with someone unseen. The distance made it impossible to discern the words, but the set of your jaw and the slight flush creeping up your neck told a clear story – you were arguing.

Then he noticed. It was your boyfriend.

And as soon as he saw you storm off in anger, alone, into the woods. He followed.

He kept a safe distance, ensuring you wouldn't notice his presence. The woods, shrouded in darkness except for the occasional sliver of moonlight filtering through the leaves, were easy to navigate for him. Finally, he spotted you. You were huddled on the floor, your knees drawn up to your chest, a muffled groan escaping your lips.

“Hey” he called out softly.

You spun around. Luke´s figure stood behind you, hands in his cargo pockets, the shadows painting his face. “Hi” you reply, getting on your feet again, turning to him.

He knew what he wanted to say, what he needed to say for you to dip into his arms. But he was good at playing dumb too, so he waited a little more.

"Um… is everything alright?" he asked, feigning concern.

You crossed your arms over your chest, a shadow of your earlier anger flickering in your eyes. "Yeah, just…" you trailed off, searching for the right words. "Feeling the need to punch something that's not my boyfriend's face."

A sardonic chuckle escaped Luke's lips. "Now that's a feeling I can relate to," he said, taking a tentative step closer. You shot him a glare. “That´s a joke, sweetheart” he added. He didn´t manage to make you laugh, but you rolled your eyes and your lips curved into a small smile.

You leaned back against the rough bark of a tree, letting out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" Luke's voice asked, gently. He was standing a few feet away from you.

"It's been like this for days" you finally began, your voice thick with frustration. "And it's my fault. He says I'm acting weird, different, like something's in my head” You sigh “And maybe he's right."

Luke followed your gaze as it drifted to a patch of wildflowers growing at your feet. "So he just can't stand you having second thoughts about your relationship?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

You bristled at his words. "I never said I'm having second thoughts," you defended, a spark of defiance igniting in your eyes.

"But you are" he countered, his voice low and steady.

You shook your head, the movement sharp and jerky. "No" you insisted, a tremor in your voice betraying a touch of uncertainty. "I don't want to leave him, but…" Your voice trailed off, and you shifted your gaze, avoiding his eyes. "That conversation we had," you continued softly, your voice barely above a whisper, "what you said. It got me thinking."

A surge of satisfaction coursed through Luke. Bingo. He'd managed to plant the seeds of doubt, to make you question a relationship that once seemed solid.

"Yeah?" he pressed, his voice barely a murmur, encouraging you to elaborate.

You paused, your brow furrowed in concentration. It was strange, you were confiding in him, this boy who was practically your opposite. Yet, his words had resonated with you, stirred something you hadn't quite acknowledged before.

"Or maybe you're just trying to get to my head 'cause you never liked him" you suddenly accused, a hint of suspicion coloring your voice.

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "Maybe" he admitted shamelessly.

Doubt flickered in your eyes, chasing away the spark of defiance just as quickly as it appeared. "What are you trying to do, Luke?" you asked, your voice dropping to a soft whisper. "It feels like you're always trying to say something else to me," you continued, your voice barely above a breath, "but you never do."

The way you spoke, the vulnerability in your tone, it wrapped around Luke's brain and squeezed. His ears popped, a strange sensation accompanying the warmth that spread through his chest. You noticed. You saw the shift within him, the way his carefully constructed facade began to crack.

"Do you want me to be honest?" he finally asked, his voice husky and laced with a dangerous honesty.

You nodded, mesmerized by the raw intensity radiating from him. Gods, you were so naive, so blissfully unaware of the storm brewing within him. Luke wouldn't, couldn't, reveal the full extent of his obsession. He wouldn't confess to the months he'd spent dreaming about you, the way he'd snuck into your cabin late at night to steal something from your dresser, just to have a piece of you close. He wouldn´t confess how he let his mind race to the most sinful places, digging into thoughts about you that would eventually leave to him jerking one off in the bathroom.

He wasn't going to scare you away. No, his plan was far more subtle, a slow seduction that would eventually have you falling helplessly into his arms. He was going to peel back his facade just enough, letting you see a glimpse of the man beneath the rebellious exterior, a man who craved you and would treat you the way you deserved.

So he took another step closer.

"I can't stop thinking about you, yn" he confessed, his voice a husky murmur that sent shivers down your spine. The words hit you like a physical blow, unexpected and raw. A scoff escaped your lips, a nervous reaction to the sudden shift in the dynamic. You looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

“Gods, Luke, you´re-,” you cut yourself off when his fingers brushed against your chin, gently tilting your face back towards his.

"It's true" he continued, his voice laced with a desperate honesty. "And I can't handle the fact that you're with someone who doesn't deserve you."

“Don´t be ridiculous, Luke” you say.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze roaming over your face. "You're perfect, yn" he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "So beautiful, so smart. And you know it. Yet you settle for someone who takes you for granted. That's a little dumb of you, isn't it?"

The last sentence, delivered with a playful smirk, should have stung. It should have made you angry. But instead, a strange warmth bloomed in your chest. Perhaps it was the forbidden nature of the conversation, the way he was making you feel like a coveted prize.

And a terrible truth dawned on you - you weren't entirely innocent in this either. You had been feeling the same pull towards him, a flicker of something that went beyond friendship. You had enjoyed his attention, his way of seeing you, of truly seeing you.

But the reality of the situation slammed into you. "I have a boyfriend" you finally managed to say, your voice laced with a desperate attempt at determination.

He let out a chuckle, easily stepping on the thought of your boyfriend like some slug. "That´s a reminder to nobody but you, sweetheart"

Another tense silence. Luke raised his hand, placing it on the rough bark of the tree behind you, effectively trapping you.

"I know you've been thinking about what I said" he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign of doubt, any flicker of vulnerability. And he found it.

Doubt, like a poisonous vine, slowly crept through your mind. His words, his raw honesty, had shaken the foundation of your relationship.

"But you think too much of it, angel" he continued, his voice a seductive coo. He used the nickname with such ease, as if it had always been his right.

He leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking to a hair's breadth. His hand reached out, a single finger tracing the delicate outline of your jawline.

"There's nothing wrong with having a little fun sometimes" he whispered. "It's what you want, after all, right?” he tilted his head slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. "Nobody's going to judge you" he continued, his voice a seductive promise. "It's just you and me. A little secret between us."

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Every fiber of your being screamed that this was wrong, a betrayal of everything you held dear. Yet, a part of you, a selfish, yearning part, craved the thrill he offered.

"Don't get me wrong, Luke" you began, your voice trembling slightly. "I… I want this" you confessed, the words catching in your throat. "But I can't. I'm taken and you know it." The words tasted bitter on your tongue, a lie even to your own ears.

A slow, evil smirk spread across his face. It wasn't the dangerous kind of thrill you craved, but a chilling realization of the game he was playing.

"Oh, I get you, sweetheart" he said, his voice dripping with a mockery that made you flinch. "But when you're with him, you think about me, don't you?" Gods, he'd caught you. You couldn't deny it. Even with the guilt gnawing at you, the truth was undeniable.

Luke leaned closer, the space between you shrinking with each passing breath. He tilted his head, his curls tickling your cheek. He wanted to kiss you. You knew it, felt it in the way his lips hovered a breath away from yours.

And he stayed there, asking, as your breaths tangled together in shared exhales.

"But this is wrong, Luke" you whispered, your last attempt to hold onto the remnants of your sanity.

“No, it´s not” he breathed out, and in a swift motion, he grabbed you by the back of your neck and smashed his lips against yours. The other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him.

It already surprassed your expectations the moment you felt his lips against yours. His desire was palpable, but it didn´t manifest as an animalistic manner. He was tender, passionate, and incredibly intoxicating.

His lips moved against yours in a way that left you breathless, his tongue pressing against yours and making it´s way inside your mouth with the fiflthiest wet sounds.

It was so delicious. You couldn´t imagine you´d find actual taste in someone´s lips, but whatever it was that Luke had on his, you wanted it all the time. He was hungry for you, pressing your back against the tree more and his hands travelled down to your hips, pulling you into his own.

But then you remembered; your boyfriend could be looking for you. "Luke?" you said. As you tried to speak, to convey some restraint, Luke´s kisses grew more insistent, refusing to let you utter a word. You attempted to push him away, but you only managed to rest your hands on his chest, pulling him closer instead by gripping fists on his shirt.

"Luke" you managed to call again. "We shouldn´t" you managed to murmur in between kisses, your words a weak attempt to resist the pull of his desire. But Luke only smirked into your lips, then started to softly, slowly, trail kisses down your neck.

"Just a little more, angel" he whispered against your skin a low and deep voice.

The sensation sent a shockwave through your body, each one drawing a sigh of pleassure from your lips as you instinctivily threw your head back, offering him more. The sensation was electric, leaving you squirming with anticipation under Luke´s skillful touch.

And then, he dropped to his knees.

His lips started to trail kisses on your knees and thighs, gripping on the soft flesh with his eyes up, looking at you, devouring you.

"Luke, no. Not here" you whispered, placing both hands on his shoulders in an attempt to resist the overwhelming power of his kisses. But he simply sushed you, drawing soft circles on your knees with his thumbs.

"Shhh" he cooed softly. "It´s okay, sweetheart. I´ll make you feel good, I promise" he reassured you, resuming his kisses up your legs.

You moaned when his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive part of your inner thigh. His hands found their way underneath your skirt, his touch already making you grow in excitement. He pulled your panties to the side with a confident ease.

Your clit was almost throbbing. Swollen and desperate for attention; he felt it the moment he dipped the tip of his finger on your entrace to coat over your sensitve bud with your own arousal.

"I´ll make you see what´s worth it, baby. Who is" he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with desire as he leaned in, dangerously.

"I´ll make you feel what the little bitch of your boyfriend can´t"

Your heart raced against your ribs at a scary pace. Partly because your boyfriend, or anyone, could walk into the scene, and partly because Luke´s head was burried in between your thighs, and he showed no signals of stopping anytime soon.

He was enthusiastic about it; gripping onto your legs and squeezing at the soft flesh as his tongue circled and licked in between your folds. You knew there was more to that, more that he wasn´t gonna show you yet, he was only getting started.

You moaned out loud and tugged at his curls when he pulled your lips apart with his thumbs and pressed a wet kiss straight to your clit, pulsing and desperate for attention, just like you were.

"Such a pretty girl" he planted a quick kiss on your inner thigh. "He doesn´t make you feel this good, does he?"

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