#twisted it 12 hours ago

[inevitablestars]

going to kms if my ankle still hurts tomorrow

[d0d0-b0i]

tell me how in the hell csp, once upon crashing doesnt have my data for the past few hours my file has been up despite autosaving being turned on for every /40/ minutes. i swear it somehow lost 6 hours of history (that i admittedly barely did anything on, so its not like i lost a ton of stuff but ! is this not false advertising? if it cannot remember despite autosaving every supposed 40 min, how am i meant to trust this thang)

[luvjunie]

— Unforgettable ( 2 )

part one • part two • part three • part four

pairing: e-1610!miles x fem!reader

contains: plot progression, budding feelings, a little plot twist

summary: a bump in with a certain boy at the bodega threatens to ruin your previously perfect afternoon until he offers to fix it. you assumed things would end there, and then you ran into him again. wc: 2,479

a/n: this was done a while ago but i wasn’t satisfied so i kept revising it 😭

prev | next

You honestly thought that this would be like any other time, that this wouldn’t become anything more than a few imessage games, or some tedious snaps back and forth.

The same old story. A guy thinks you’re cute, gets your number, you guys talk for a little while and then eventually, they fade into the blur with the other failed advancements of your past.

You thought he would be like any other guy. A guy who texts you at odd hours of the night with only one thing on his mind. A guy who fills your head with the false hope of things progressing anywhere past those three, god-forsaken letters used to ask what you were up to.

But your first conversation lasted for multiple hours and you hadn’t even realized. It was like you’d skipped the stranger phase and become best friends in mere moments, like you’d known him for years and were simply catching up. You were so caught up in him until you’d looked up to check the time in the top left corner of your phone and read ‘12:02 AM’ , the small numbers leaving you lost as you thought back to where the time had run off to.

As the days went on and you found yourself glued to your phone more than usual, you realized he was was nothing like those other boys. So far from it you were reminded that ones who genuinely liked you for who you were instead of what you could offer them actually existed.

And everytime you visited that same corner store, whether it was to pick up a few quick groceries or dry goods upon your parent’s request, you secretly hoped you’d run into him, though it took you a little while to admit that fact to yourself. Your head always remained on a swivel in a place like Brooklyn, but more often than not you’d actually been on the lookout for a certain face. Doubtful as always, you tried to remind yourself that it was probably only you who felt this way.

To say you were surprised when bump-ins turned into questions about what the other was doing for the rest of the day would be an understatement. Suddenly the two of you had plans you hadn’t anticipated, the best kind of plans because they were spontaneous, exciting and spawned in the moment from the sudden realization that you wanted to remain in this person’s company. Then hangouts started getting more frequent, and glances towards the other started lasting longer, staying longer, and ending in an erupting fit of shy giggles and laughs to distract from the rapid beating of your hearts. Soon he started insisting you walked on the inside of the sidewalk and him closest to the street when the two of you were together, ‘just in case’. And your hands would brush against the other as the two of you walked, sometimes on accident, others on purpose. You couldn’t find a word to describe the way you felt when your fingers stopped jutting away at the slightest of contact with each other, but instead intertwined. Maybe ‘euphoric’ would do your fluttering heart enough justice.

And before you knew it, you’d wake up in the morning, not just expecting or hoping a text from him would be on your lock screen, but knowing it would be there. Knowing that when you’d respond to him, and tell him that you did sleep well and you hoped he had too, he’d respond back with those words you’d happily grown used to hearing from him and him only.

“I miss you.”

And that’s when you realized that Miles Morales was not just ‘any’ guy.

—

A month and a half.

You’d known this boy for all of a month and a half, and somehow you were already accompanying him to the front door of his parents’ apartment.

But honestly, it was neither of your faults. The both of you were hanging out, slushees in hand and the conversation lively and he didn’t want it to end. Neither of you did, so you kept finding more things to talk about.

He offered to walk you home once the two of you finished your slushees, and he knew he’d have to pass his building on the way but he couldn’t care less. Miles would walk across town if it meant he could be around you longer, and he just wanted to make sure you were home safe.

The two of you had barely passed the building when his mother, who was on the fire escape watering her plants spotted her son strolling with a girl she’d yet to meet, and she just couldn’t contain her excitement.

She yelled down to him that she was making dinner, and that he better bring ‘his cute little girlfriend’ up with him. That woman’s voice could carry quite the distance, so it was without a doubt in her mind that her son heard her once she witnessed how he stopped dead in his tracks. It caught you by surprise, but what confused you even more than the random woman shouting over your head was how willing you were to accept the label she’d just given you.

You blinked upwards, lips rolled inward and silence falling over the two of you for a beat until you spoke up.

“Was that—“

“My mom? Mm-hm.”

“Did she just call me your girlfriend?” You stifled a giggle.

He sighed and rubbed the side of his face, obviously embarrassed at his mother’s forwardness.

“I think so, yeah. I’m sorry about that, she’s—“

“No, no, it’s fine. Really.” You shrugged, then flashed him a smile, one he was glad to see. “At least she called me cute.”

—

Now, here you were, nervously chewing at the inside of your lip as you climbed the stairwell, glancing over at Miles every few seconds to see if he was as close to shitting his pants as you were. He was, hands shoved into his pockets and gaze set straight, as if he would trip and fall if he didn’t plan out exactly where to plant his feet on the steps.

Your original plan was to go home, change into some comfy clothes and crawl into your bed to watch Criminal Minds and indulge in the ridiculous crush you had on Spencer Reid, but now you’d somehow gotten wrapped into playing girlfriend to a boy you actually wouldn’t mind having as your boyfriend, at all.

You weren’t anywhere near ready to unpack that, so you broke through your thoughts with the one floating in the back of your mind.

“What if they don’t like me?” you blurted nervously.

“They will.” Miles sounded sure of his answer, his tone upped a positive pitch.

You hated how notorious men were for giving such vague and simple answers that often did nothing to ease your worries. What if he was just saying that?

“Well, do they usually like the… Uh,” You struggled to find the right term to describe the both of you. “Friends? Peers? You bring around?” You adjusted your crop top as much as you could, mentally cursing yourself for not choosing the crewneck you’d rudely swept past in your wardrobe earlier.

“Ehh…” He shot you a look you couldn’t quite read and turned his hand in a so-so motion, which only increased the intensity of your anxiety. “But you’re different, I can tell.”

“What does that even mean?” you exclaimed, ready to turn around and go back down the stairs. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can!” In the midst of a laugh, Miles grabbed your arm before you could make a break for it and gently brought you to a stop in front of his door. “They’re not gonna eat you, just be yourself.” He reassured you— warm, honey hued eyes catching yours in the way they did when you’d first met him. “I like you, so I know they will too, okay?”

Something in the way he was looking at you made you feel as if there was a longing within his words, something he wanted to tell you but didn’t know how to word, and you found it easy to believe him.

You glanced down at your hand that somehow had fallen into his and allowed yourself a breath. “Alright, I’m ready.”

—

After dinner had gone so well, you felt ridiculous for being nervous to meet his parents in the first place. They were probably the sweetest couple you’d ever met.

When they asked how the two of you met, you struggled to hold back your laughter at Miles’ facial expression as you informed them that you two didn’t go to the same school, and that you’d actually met him after he made you drop your lunch on the floor. Rio teased him for it, and dove into a multitude of instances where his clumsiness got the best of him, and eventually that conversation led you all down the rabbit hole of how her and Jeff met.

“I worked in this little coffee shop after class,” Rio smiled to herself as she recalled back to her young years. “And Miles’ father would come in everyday and order the same exact thing. A chocolate chip muffin—.”

“And a caffé americano with two splendas.” They stated at the same time, and Jeff’s brows raised when he looked over at his wife unbelievingly.

“Honey, how’d you remember that?”

“I remember everything.” Rio grinned proudly, and you swore you were kicking your feet under the table.

Miles had heard this recanted almost a million times and was nearly dying from boredom, while you on the other hand sat and listened intently, chin propped in your hands and your attention unwavering throughout the rest of their story. His parents were the spitting image of the kind of love you saw in those old shows and movies in the 90s, the kind of love you unfortunately never got to see between your own parents.

A kind of love so deep rooted and engrossed in the way they acted with each other that it gave you a glimpse of their younger selves; how in love they were back then reflecting onto now, even through their playful bickering and scolding when the other asked you too many questions about yourself.

“Your parents are the cutest.” You’d whispered to Miles, a laugh hidden behind your hand when Rio swatted Jeff with a kitchen towel.

“Please don’t encourage them.” He joked.

You offered to help Rio with the plates once you all had finished eating, but she insisted that you were a guest, and shooed you off with a big smile. Miles gritted a hushed complaint at her with wide eyes as he ushered you away but his mom couldn’t care less, she was just happy to finally see her son taking interest in someone again.

His room was nice, had a cozy, lived-in feel to it while still remaining tidy. It was colorful and resemblant of who’d you grown to know him as, and the walls were decorated with some graphic posters that you took notice of while he hurriedly tossed the pink teddy bear on his bed into his closet. Random papers pinned to the wall here and there gave you glimpses into the sketchbook you knew he had. Art was something he talked about so passionately whenever he got the chance, especially when the both of you would pass by some graffiti tags depending on where you walked.

“Your room definitely screams you.” you nodded.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

He made himself comfortable on his bed and you settled for the swivel chair beside his desk, and when your eyes scanned over the surface and caught sight of a red milk crate filled with what you assumed were vinyl records, your interest was quickly piqued. “No way, are these vinyls? How many do you have?” You gaped and leaned forward, ready to find out for yourself. “These are so cool!”

Your fingers gently combed through his impressive collection as he laid on his back, throwing a small ball he’d found on the floor up into the air above him, then catching it with his open hand when it came back down.

Miles couldn’t stop looking at you the entirety of dinner, and hadn’t realized he’d even been doing so until he looked down at his plate to see he was much farther behind than everyone else. He’d direct his eyes elsewhere only for them to fall back on how enamored you were with everything he held close to him, then his mind would follow suit and drift off into thoughts of how well you fit into his little bubble almost immediately, and how enamored he was with you. With how your nose would crinkle when you smiled or your eyes would light up as soon as you heard something that interested you, or how you’d made his mom laugh so hard that she snorted, something she hadn’t done in years.

The feeling you gave him was weird, the kind of weird that you welcomed after deeming it safe enough to stay. The kind of feeling that made his brain foggy and had him mulling over the right words to say and the right things to do in hopes you’d like him as much as he did you.

“My mom really likes you.” he informed suddenly, so deep in his thoughts that he’d completely tuned out what you said. It was a way for him to test the waters, to gauge your reaction through something he figured you knew by now, and just maybe you’d see past the terrible disguise he’d posed to timidly introduce his own feelings.

“Really?” you tried not to sound too excited when you looked back at him, hands gently pulling from the records to settle back in your lap.

His wrist flicked, propelling the ball into the air above him once more. “Of course she does,”

Your eyes mindlessly followed the ball when you asked. “How do you know?”

“Didn’t you see her face?” He laughed. “I promise once you leave, she won’t shut up about you.”

You grinned sheepishly, and went to tuck a stray braid behind your ear. “I couldn’t have made that good of an impression.”

“You had her approval as soon as you called her Mrs. Morales.”

Your head tilted in question, eyes panning to the ceiling in thought. “Isn’t that normal? Calling someone’s parent by their last name?”

A comfortable silence settled, just for a moment.

“You’d think so.” A smile curled Miles’ lips, the memory of when he’d introduced the first girl he’d ever liked to his parents flashing into his mind; his interest in tossing the ball paused momentarily as images from the past flooded his thoughts.

Wait… Why was he thinking about her?

taglist: @burymeinside @secret-ssociety @whatamidoing89 @urmotherswhor3 @valovesyou @inlovewithfictionalppl @edgyficuselastica @motherwanda @mybfmiles @dracohatesyou @axeoverblade @miumiulicious @sukisprettyface @decapitadedyoshi @gwennesy @simpnotapimp @kanvis @cleo-dearts @wonylvxz @asimpwhohatedlife @toneystank-3000

(some tags didn’t work, sorry!)

[twitchmattentusiast]

｡°✩ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄 . . . . .ᐟ

─── MATTHEW STURNIOLO.

pairings. matthew sturniolo x female oc

❝ i’m not really bothered about the words, though, when i can do the actions…. ❞

# warnings: smut obvs, teasing, praising, masturbation, dom!matt, degrading?

matt knew that his best friend loved to read, and for as long as he can remember, his earliest memories included teasing his best friend as she sat on the school hill with some type of book in her hands as matt and his brothers played some sport during recess.

as stella got older, that didn’t change at all. whenever matt went over, her bookshelves were filled to the brim; some books had to be on the floor. the floor was covered in so many books that matt couldn’t even see the floor. not only that, she constantly left a supply of books literally everywhere; matt couldn’t even count on one hand how many times she'd left one of her books in his car or his room.

though matt knew stella loved to read, he didn’t quite know what she liked to read; he assumed since she was a sucker for rom-coms that she read corny shit like that, so he just always continued to tease her at the fact that when she came over to his, she’d sit on his bed reading under a blanket while he played some video game, the pair of them both sitting in a comfortable silence as one read and the other played video games for hours.

it was only a week ago, though, when matt found out what stella actually read about.

you see, last friday, chris and stella thought it would be a great idea to get absolutely wasted at a party a few towns over. matt wasn’t really feeling a party at all that night, so only stella, nick, and chris went. apparently, chris and stella got a little too wasted and started oversharing literally everything.

a drunk stella revealed to a sober nick that she read smut books.

to say that matt was shocked was an understatement. hearing that his best friend wasn't reading the fluffy corny shit he assumed she was reading shocked him enough, but then he learned that not only has his innocent best friend been reading smut since the age of 12; she’s been reading the most degrading, filthy smut on a daily basis.

you see, ever since nick told matt the type of books stella reads, he hasn’t been able to get it out of his head—the idea that his innocent best friend, who literally gets grossed out the second chris starts going into detail about a girl he made out with or a girl he fucked in the last week, was reading smut? holy shit, it was driving him insane.

and that’s the exact reason why matt is seated on his gaming chair, a smirk on his face as his eyes follow the figure of his best friend looking around his room in a panic.

“looking for something, stell?” matt asked in confusion.

though matt knew exactly what she was looking for.

stella chewed at the bottom of her lip in frustration as she scanned another corner of matt’s room. she silently scolded herself. how could she be so fucking stupid and accidentally leave another one of her books lying around?

it was around two hours ago when stella had just gotten back from work. she showered quickly as soon as she stepped foot into the house, and she had planned to finish the book she was reading: twisted hate, the third book in the series her best friend had recommended, but when she opened up her bedside table, it was nowhere to be seen.

stella instantly panicked. she had always been careless with her books, forgetting where she had left them, but she really couldn’t believe she left a book like that somewhere.

she tried to remember where she could have left it when she remembered reading it at the triplets house a few days ago, and so she quickly called matt, telling him she was coming over in hopes of getting her book back as soon as possible.

only when she stepped into matt’s room her book was literally nowhere. which confused the fuck out of stella, to be honest, because she swore she left it in matt’s room unless she left it in nick’s? or even worse, chri-

matt chuckled as he watched her frustration grow. “what are you looking for?” he tried again. “maybe if you tell me, i can help you.” he suggested

stella hesitated; she wasn’t really sure if she wanted matt helping her; if he found the book before her, he might read the blurb or something, and the idea of matt knowing what she read . . . no thanks. but then again, she desperately needed her book back, so she sighed. "i’m looking for my book,” she told him, missing how matt smirked at her words. the plan he had set was starting to move its toggles.

"i think i might have left it in your room by accident. have you seen it? it’s kind of redish and it’s called twisted hate.”

matt’s eyes lit up at the mention of the title. "redish, huh?" he mused, pretending to act as if he’d never heard of the book before. after a minute of silence, his eyes lit up in some sort of remembrance.

“oh yeah, you left it here the other day.” He told her.

stella sighed in relief. thank god, she thought. “where is it?” she asked him. usually, when she left a book in his room, he left it on his gaming desk for her, but this time it wasn’t there.

with a sinister grin, matt stood up from his chair and started to walk around the room, searching for the book. "i’m sure i put it somewhere safe," he said nonchalantly, knowing damn well where exactly it was. after some pretend searching, he finally "found" it hidden under a stack of old comic books on top of his dresser.

he walked towards her, slowing down as he approached her. stella sighed in relief, reaching out to grab the book, but matt pulled it away at the last second and smirked at her. “oh, you can’t have it back yet.” he told her.

stella’s eyebrows furrowed. “what? why?” she asked in confusion.

“because i’m borrowing it.”

stella’s eyes widened slightly at his words, though she attempted to appear casual. “what do you mean you’re borrowing it?” she chuckled nervously. “you don’t even know how to read.” she joked.

matt chuckled at her words, "insane." he said, before shrugging, "i’m not really bothered about the words, though, when i can do the actions.”

“actions?"

"yeah, you know, the dirty stuff in the book." matt smirked.

stella’s face began to pale. matthew sturniolo, her best. friend. since. kindergarten, knows what’s in those books she reads. this was like her own personal hell. "what are you talking about?” stella asked as she attempted to still save herself.

"don't play dumb with me, stell." matt walked closer to her, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "i know exactly what you like to read about; don't deny it."

her eyes widened, and her mouth froze, unable to get any words out. because what the actual fuck? “chapter 18 was hot, don’t you think?” he teased.

“you’ve read it?” stella squeaked.

matt ignored her. though his silence was enough, he'd totally read it, and she wanted to die. "tell me, stella,” matt said as he brushed a curl behind her ear. “when you’re in my bed reading these books, do you touch yourself?”

stella’s heart raced as he spoke so close to her ear, goosebumps forming on her exposed neck. she bit down hard on her bottom lip, unable to meet his gaze directly. "n-no," she managed to croak out.

matt titled his head to the side. “you lying to me, stell?”

stella’s heart pounded in her chest. she shook her head vigorously, trying to deny it, but the truth was there, hiding somewhere deep inside of her. "m-maybe once..." she whispered back, her voice barely audible.

“only once?”

stella nodded her head, and matt hummed, his hand caressing her cheek softly. “hm,” he said after a moment. "should i tell you how many times i’ve touched myself reading that book?” he asked.

stella’s breath hitched at his words, her cheeks flushing crimson red as she tried to think of something else, but now all she could think about was matt reading her book and touching himself to it.

matt smirked. “since you secretly touch yourself when we’re hanging out and when you read that book, why don’t you touch yourself for me so i can read it to you?"

stella’s breath caught in her throat, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. part of her was terrified, but another part was excited. the idea of matt reading out the books she reads in his very room under a thick blanket where she grew so wet she couldn’t take it anymore sounded too good; she didn’t know if she could pass that up. though she was scared of their friendship and what could happen, the heat grew unbearable, and suddenly she felt her pussy drip at matt’s words.

"yes," she croaked out.

matt’s eyes lit up, and he couldn't help but grin widely before sitting back down in his gaming chair. "good girl," he praised.

stella stood there nervously until matt told her to go and lie on his bed. she followed his instructions and quickly laid on his bed, watching as he opened up the book. he smirked at her. “let’s read 26 yeah? i haven’t read it yet.”

stella nodded too anxiously and excitedly to even say anything as she watched matt flicker through the pages before grinning widely as he stopped at chapter 26. he wasted no time at all and started reading the words of the page. stella felt herself grow wetter as matt read the dirty words, and her breath hitched suddenly as he looked over at her. “touch yourself, baby," he instructed.

she hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, but ultimately she couldn't resist the urge anymore. slowly, tentatively, she reached down, feeling glad she decided to wear a skirt today, and brushed her hand against her pants, feeling the wetness spread across them.

"fuck.." she moaned softly, arching her hips into the touch. matt grinned and started reading again once he knew she had started touching herself.

“look at you,” matt cooed as she began rubbing circles around her clit, “touching yourself like a fucking slut while i read this dirty book to you.”

stella’s breath hitched as she continued to pleasure herself, her hips rocking against the bed in sync with matt’s words. her moans grew louder, and she couldn't help but close her eyes, lost in the sensation. “soo pathetic.” matt laughed, “bet you touch yourself and imagine it’s us fucking, huh?”

she nodded frantically. "yeah," she panted out between breaths.

matt chuckled, “look at you, not even trying to deny it anymore; you’re pathetic, stella.”

stella’s heart raced as he continued to read aloud. she moved the fingers that had made her way inside of her unknowingly even faster, rubbing harshly at her clit with her thumb. "i’m so close, matt," she moaned.

matt suddenly stopped talking. stella furrowed her eyebrows, looking at him in confusion as she stopped touching herself. “wh-“

“chapters over," matt sighed. “that was a short chapter.” he fake pouted

stella groaned, her body still tensing from the brink of orgasm. "more, please," she begged, unable to control herself anymore.

matt chuckled darkly, standing up from his chair and walking slowly towards her. he reached out a hand, helping her sit up before leaning down and capturing her lips in a hot, hungry kiss. stella kissed back hungrily. his tongue demanded entrance into her mouth, and she moaned into it, returning the favour eagerly. after a moment, he broke the kiss, his breath coming heavy. "i guess i could finish another chapter for you." he said, and stella nodded her head quickly. “of i could fuck you like those sluts you read about."

stella’s heart raced wildly as he spoke, her body trembling with anticipation. she bit down on her bottom lip, unsure of what she wanted. after a long moment of silence, she managed to whisper, "fuck me."

matt smirked. “take your clothes off.” he demanded.

stella hesitated for a moment, her hands shaking as she began to undress herself, first removing her top, revealing her lacy bra, then her skirt and panties. she stood naked before him, her breasts jiggling slightly as she stepped out of her underwear. "now you," she said breathlessly.

matt chuckled. he underessed himself slowly, revealing his muscular torso and a pair of black boxers that were tenting in an obvious fashion. finally, he kicked them off, exposing his thick, hardened cock, glistening with pre-cum.

"get on your knees and suck me," he ordered, and stella didn't hesitate. she fell to her knees before him, her lips brushing against the head of his cock as she wrapped one hand around the base, stroking him rhythmically. her tongue traced along the underside of his shaft, teasing it before she took him fully into her mouth, deep-throating him with ease.

matt groaned, his hand tangling in her hair. "that's a good girl," he praised. "now touch yourself while you suck me."

stella whimpered softly, her fingers finding their way back between her legs, rubbing circles around her clit again.

matt moaned, his hips thrusting upward into her mouth and his cock hitting the back of her throat. his free hand reached down to fondle one of her breasts roughly, pinching and tweaking her nipple hard enough to make her yell. she moaned around his cock, making him thrust even harder into her mouth. “fuck stell, feels so good, baby.” he moaned.

stella’s body trembled with pleasure as she continued to please him, her tongue working over his cock expertly while her hand rubbed her clit even faster. she moaned in response to his rough treatment of her nipple, her body reacting to the dual sensation. her moans turned into high-pitched whimpers as she felt her orgasm approaching once again.

 matt growled, his cock throbbing in her mouth as he felt her nearing climax. "come on, stell, cum for me." he commanded, and she did just that, her walls clenching tightly as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over her body.

stella’s moans turned into high-pitched whimpers as she orgasmed again, her body shaking violently in ecstasy. meanwhile, matt didn't hold back either; his own release was imminent. with a loud groan, he pulled out of her mouth, his cum painting her face and neck while he jerked himself off, shooting his cum all over her chest and stomach.

stella breathed heavily, moaning as she looked down and saw matt’s cum all over her chest and tits. “please, matt,” she begged.

matt chuckled. "what do you want, stell?" he asked, reaching over to clean some of the mess off her body with his tongue.

"more," she replied, moaning as his mouth started to suck on her nipple after matt licked the cum on it. her hands flew straight to his hair, gripping it tight. "i need you inside me so badly, matt, please.” she begged.

"you’re so needy.” matt chuckled as he moved down her body. he pushed her onto the bed, kissing her all the way up to where she needed him most. instead of fucking her like she had begged him too, he inserted a finger inside of her. “you’re so wet," he smirked.

stella groaned, her body arching into his touch as he kissed and teased her sensitive areas. "matt, please..." she pleaded, her voice becoming more desperate.

"not yet," he taunted, his hand trailing to cup her wetness, rubbing her clitoral area in circles. "want you to beg more."

stella’s breath hitched, her nails digging into his back as she whined, "please, matt, i need you now, please." her body was trembling with desire, begging for release.

matt smirked. “turn around, baby," he told her, and before she even had the chance, matt pushed her head into a pillow, her ass hanging into the air as he spanked it. “you want me to fuck you like a whore so fucking badly, huh?"

stella’s heart skipped a beat as he spanked her ass, the stinging sensation only fueling her desire. "yes! please, matt!" she pleaded, her voice cracking with need.

matt chuckled, reaching between her legs to tease her sensitive spot once more. "so eager for me to take you, huh?" he taunted.

stella whimpered, her hips buckling back against his touch, desperately seeking more. "y-yes!" she managed to choke out between gasps.

matt lined up his cock with her tight entrance and pushed inside her slowly, filling her up completely. "oh god, matt..." her moans turned into high-pitched moans of pleasure as he began to thrust in and out of her, hitting all the right spots. his hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her steady as he pounded into her from behind.

matt groaned, his hips moving in sync with hers, each powerful thrust sending waves of pleasure throughout her entire body. "you feel so fucking good, stell," he panted out between heavy breaths.

“fuck, matt, i-“

“hold it.”

stella’s nails scratched the bedsheet as she tried to comply, her orgasm crashing over her like waves. "i-i can't..." she whimpered.

"just hold on." he growled, continuing to thrust into her.

stella nodded, but her walls started to clench, driving matt to the edge. “cum for me, baby," he told her, and stella came instantly, her mouth hanging open as she screamed. matt watched. “oh god, stell," matt groaned, his hips stuttering for a moment before he finally released himself inside her, filling her up completely with his thick cum. he buried his face in her neck, panting heavily as their bodies slowly started to calm down from the intense high.

stella’s body trembled with exhaustion, her legs shaking as she came down from the powerful orgasm. "m-matt..." she managed to utter in between heavy pants.

“that was fucking amazing." he panted, pulling out of her slowly, his cock still coated in their shared fluids. gently, he helped her lie down beside him, their bodies sticky and sweaty.

matt wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. stella closed her eyes, feeling exhausted; usually, sex like that knocked her straight out.

matt watched her with a slight smile. “stell?”

“hm?” she mumbled tiredly.

"i think you should bring another smut book over next time.”

stella rolled her eyes, smacking him on his arm and smirking as he groaned, “shut the fuck up and go to sleep, you dork.” she laughed.

matt didn’t need to be told twice. “yes, ma'am.” he said, wrapping his arm tighter around her body and kissing her neck before the pair both fell asleep.

unfortunately, though, matt ended up forgetting to lock his door.

“WHAT THE FUCK? NEXT TIME LOCK THE FUCKING DOOR?”

  

｡°✩

this was so long holy fuck😭😭😭

this is like the first smut i’ve wrote that’s been seen by someone other than one of my ibfs so if this sucks i’m so sorry😭

umm let me know if y’all want more/ if u got requests?

- 𝓷. ᥫ᭡

[renx01]

Too Sweet

Prompt: Inspired by the Hozier song Pairing: Harry Hart x (Kingsman!)Reader Fandom: Kingsman Tags/Warnings: age gap, mutual pining, angst Word count: 6495

Masterlist

You’d joined Kingsman only five years ago, and over time you’ve become a well-respected agent, code-named Tristan. Merlin, who is your uncle, was the one who had proposed you as a candidate and helped you prepare for the role while you were still in your early twenties. The other candidates had been good, but you were nearly flawless, only taking calculated risks and never letting your emotions rule your decision making. Control over your emotions was something you always excelled in, and it tremendously helped you make strides as an agent during the initial few months and first year. This caused you to rise in rank quite quickly, making you go on more solo missions or accompanying Galahad or Percival whenever they needed assistance. Today, you’re helping your uncle instead, hacking into some cameras and security networks so he’ll be able to tell Lancelot and Galahad where to go next and what they should be looking out for. It’s something you do from time to time, mostly upon Merlin’s request when he finds the mission too complicated to oversee on his own.

‘The main control room should be south from where they are now.’ You pull up the map on the big screen which hangs in front of you and Merlin, pointing out where Galahad and Lancelot should be going next. As he’s relaying the information to the other men, you hack into the mainframe the criminal organisation and start going through the different files. ‘Any updates about the nuclear files?’ Galahad’s voice comes through the speakers and Merlin looks at you. ‘Working on it. Just focus on getting to that room.’ The screen in front of you shows Lancelot’s feed. He’s following Galahad through the many hallways and twists and turns they take, taking down guards whenever they come across them. Their moves are deliberate, quick and efficient. You turn back to your screen and after a few minutes you’re finally able to access the file Galahad had asked for. ‘I’m sending you the file now, Galahad.’ ‘Thanks Tristan.’ He replies. They have finally reached the door to the control room. Lancelot holds his watch against it and it opens. Silently, the two men enter the room. ‘Lancelot, I need you to connect us to the controls.’ Merlin states and the other man follows the order. Your screens fill with the necessary information and you start working on fully disarming and disabling  the system. ‘Galahad, please flip the green switch on your right.’ You request. Before he can really do so, a loud bang interrupts him, followed by the sound of shots. ‘Lancelot, you take those men while Galahad follows Tristan’s orders.’ Merlin’s Scottish accent seems thicker momentarily. You’ve noticed it only really happened when he was in more stressful situations; one time when you almost got kidnapped, it was so thick you could barely understand him despite having a mostly Scottish family. Calmly, you instruct Galahad what buttons to press and switches to flip. After a few minutes of him following your lead as you type away at your computer, you’re done. ‘Galahad. Lancelot. The system has fully been disabled and disarmed. Get back to the jet.’ They start running through the building and Merlin glances at you, giving you a small smile before going back to helping them follow the quickest route out of the building. 

‘You did well, Tristan.’ Merlin ruffles your hair and you smile at him. ‘Thanks. You didn’t do too badly yourself, old man.’ He laughs and lightly punches your arm. ‘I’m not that old, your mother is 10 years older than I am.’ You snort and teasingly say, ‘And you Merlin, are 12 years older than I am.’ After that comment, a comfortable silence settles between you. There were a few more tasks you had to complete before tomorrow, so you decided you would spend the evening and night at the mansion.  About an hour after the mission finished, Merlin leaves, leaving you alone in front of the large screen filled with documents. Quietly, you continue working for a few more hours before you call it a night. You’d finished your side of the report, only needing Galahad and Lancelot for the final few details. You’ll probably ask them about those during the debrief tomorrow afternoon. 

Once you’ve locked your computer and turned off all the lights, you silently walk to the kitchen, where you start making a pot of tea. The room is dark, as you only turned on the light above the stove. A sound from behind you catches your attention. Looking back, you see that your two colleagues have just returned from their mission. ‘Evening gentlemen.’ You greet them. ‘Tristan, good evening.’ Galahad walks up and stands next to you, just as the water starts boiling. ‘Would you like a cup?’ Your hands continue moving, putting in the tea egg to let the leaves steep. He hums in response as he grabs two more cups. ‘Chamomile?’ Galahad quietly asks and you nod. A comfortable silence settles between the two of you while Lancelot leaves the room momentarily to put some of their things away. Once the tea has sufficiently gained colour and flavour, you pour some into the three cups. Grabbing your own, you sit down next to the chair you’d draped your suit jacket over. Harry sits down across from you and puts down Lancelot’s cup next to him. You both quietly drink your tea, your eyes scanning that day’s paper. When you look up, you notice his eyes are trained on you, making you a bit nervous. Before you can say anything, though, Lancelot walks back in and starts talking about their flight back to England and the newest Royal scandal of the week. The other man’s attention shifts to his colleague who is talking excitedly. Your eyes scan Galahad’s features. He is handsome, smart, quick-witted, and a gentleman. A combination which has led you to, over time, develop a bit of a crush on your colleague. 

‘Tristan, what do you think?’

You turn your head to face the other man. ‘I think the situation escalated unnecessarily, had the royal family handled it properly, this would’ve never become public.’ He smiles and Galahad interjects. ‘I agree with Tristan, this situation could have easily been avoided.’ The two men continue talking and you sip your tea.  ‘Gentlemen, I’m heading off to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the debrief.’ You stand up and put your cup into the dishwasher. It was already 11 o’clock. ‘Tristan,’ Galahad stands up, ‘if you’ll allow me, I’ll walk you back to your room.’ Smiling, you nod. ‘Of course Galahad; thank you.’ He leaves the room with you and as you walk, he leans sideways in your direction and whispers. ‘Thanks Tristan. I was a bit tired of Lancelot talking. He’s been going without pause from the moment we got on the jet.’ It didn’t surprise you in the least. ‘Of course Galahad. Lancelot tends to talk quite a lot; I suspect his favourite sound may be his own voice.’ He snorts. ‘I suspect you might be correct.’ The hallways are silent except for your quiet footsteps and conversation. The distance between the two of you seems to become smaller as you continue walking and talking; until you stop in front of your door. ‘Galahad, thank you for accompanying me.’ You turn to face him and smile. ‘Of course Tristan, it was my pleasure.’ His voice was quiet. The silence between you is tense and Harry seems to slowly be leaning closer as he holds your eye contact. Moments, which feel like hours pass, but he doesn’t make a move. Your noses almost touch when he seems to snap out of a sort of trance and clears his throat, pulling back quickly. ‘Ah Tristan, I should get going. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ As he walks away, you stand frozen in your doorway.

The following morning you watch the sunrise outside, a hot cup of coffee in your hand. It seems no one else is up yet. You’ve left your suit jacket in your room and have your sleeves rolled up, the crisp air touching your form. Behind you, you hear your dog walking and sniffing around. ‘Ares.’ The Doberman walks to your side. ‘Want to go for a walk?’ He barks and you pet him behind his ears. ‘Let’s go.’ You smile and he runs into the field in front of you, with you following calmly. Upon your return, you’re greeted by Merlin, who looks to have woken up not too long ago. ‘Morning Tristan.’ Ares excitedly runs up to the Scot. ‘Morning to you too Ares.’ He puts down his coffee and pets the dog with both his hands. ‘You’ve got an awful lot of energy today, haven’t you?’ ‘He really does, he’s been running around for over an hour already.’ You laugh. ‘I’ll bring Albion to play with him later today.’ He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘I’ll be back momentarily, can you watch Ares for a second?’ He nods. ‘Thanks.’ you say and smile at him. You walk into the kitchen through the open doors. Putting down your cup, you start brewing another cup of coffee. The kitchen is still quiet, but you know that more of the agents that have stayed the night will probably start walking in soon, though it probably won’t be many. Lancelot and Galahad you knew for sure, others you weren’t too certain about. ‘Morning Lancelot.’ You say as you hear the man walk in. ‘Agent Tristan.’ He greets. ‘Want some coffee?’ ‘Yes please.’ The smell of another fresh coffee fills the air. You smile as you hand him a cup. ‘You feeling alright?’ ‘I will once I finish this.’He groans before the two of you clink your cups. ‘See you at the briefing in an hour.’ 

You spent that hour with Merlin and Ares, mostly in silence. The Doberman is as happy as can be, with the Scot and you taking turns throwing a ball into the field and having the dog return it. It was nice spending time with your uncle like this. Usually you have to be  quite serious around him, as you mostly speak to him here, at Kingsman. Now, you can, even if it’s just for a moment, relax and have the relationship you used to have when you were younger and neither of you were a part of the secret service. ‘Uncle Hamish, we should probably get ready for the briefing.’ You say as Ares runs into the distance. He has his eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. ‘Just five more minutes; Galahad will be late anyway, he seemed a bit off yesterday evening when I saw him.’ That last comment piques your interest, but you decide not to pry. The meeting room was still empty when you walked into it with your uncle. A few minutes pass before, you are joined by Lancelot, who is, once again, talking excitedly. While you don’t necessarily have the energy for him, you stay professional and listen with intent. He is still talking your ears off when Galahad finally arrives, about five minutes late. Despite Merlin having made a comment, it is still quite unusual for him to be late. 

‘Glad you could join us, Agent Galahad.’ Merlin calls out from the far end of the room as the other man enters. ‘Terribly sorry for my tardiness.’ Harry excuses himself. ‘Morning Galahad.’ Lancelot greets him, instead you just wave at the agent. Everyone sits in their usual spots, with Galahad across from you and Merlin to your left, though he almost immediately stands up, walking in front of the screen which shows the most vital information related to the mission. Most of the information isn’t new to you, as you’d helped your uncle prepare. Whenever Galahad or Lancelot give additional information, which you hadn’t been able to gain before the meeting, you write it down into the report. Your attention is fully focussed on what everyone is saying, that is until you notice that Galahad’s eyes seem to linger on you a bit longer than usual whenever you make a comment. Eventually, his eyes meet yours. He quickly looks away and focuses on Merlin, who is saying something about the risks which may occur in the future. Yesterday’s mission has likely only slowed down the organisation, meaning that you’d still have to find its core and try to eliminate it. Still, all the new information which has been gained is quite useful. Your gaze reverts back to your laptop screen as you continue typing away. 

‘Agent Tristan, could you please explain to these gentlemen what you did to fully disarm and disable the system?’ Merlin’s sudden attention to you surprises you, but you stand up confidently and walk to his side. Galahad’s eyes seem to burn into the back of your head as you do so. ‘So how we did it is -’ Everything goes smoothly as you explain the process thoroughly to the other agents. Hopefully, you’ll be able to join them in the field next time, rather than having to sit and watch from the sidelines to assist them from a distance. You aren’t sure that’ll actually happen however, as it really depends on what kind of mission it’ll be and what is needed of you.  After a few minutes, you’re able to sit back down. Neither Lancelot, nor Galahad had any questions, which you assume is probably a good sign. There are only a few more things you need to discuss, with most of them only requiring only a little of your input from time to time, so you silently drink some tea as Lancelot and Merlin talk. Galahad is remarkably silent, only asking a few questions or making comments when he deems it necessary. Usually, he’s more talkative and tends to lead the conversation, but today he seems to have chosen to leave that to Lancelot. As your uncle is saying something about the implications of such an organisation having access to nuclear weapons, you feel another foot hit yours. At first, you ignore it; but when it happens again, you look around. It couldn’t be Merlin or Lancelot, leaving Galahad as the only suspect. You quickly look at his face but he acts as if he’s innocent. When you feel a third tap, you let your eyes meet his. The lines around his eyes crinkle mischievously, while the rest of his face doesn’t seem to change. You tap him back, your oxfords hitting the side of his silently. This time, his eyes do not divert to Merlin or Lancelot, and it almost feels as if you’re the only person in this room with him. The feeling is short lived however, with his gaze shifting away when his name is mentioned by one of the other men. Still, his foot remains in place, connecting the two of you. Despite the intimate gesture, his feelings for you remain unclear.

The meeting comes to an end, you and Galahad act as if nothing happened when you stand up. Everyone leaves the room and as he passes you, he slips a small folded note into your hand. You do not get a chance to read it though, as Merlin immediately starts up a conversation with you as you walk the wing of the mansion where the individual kingsman offices are located. ‘Tristan, could you send me the report after lunch?’ You nod. ‘As long as we’re going on a walk with Ares and Albion after, you know he’s missed you lately, and this morning wasn’t enough to make up for that.’ He laughs. ‘Of course.’ Together, you walk into Merlin’s office, where you quickly discuss the last few details before you leave for your own. There, you work on the report for a bit longer, adding the finishing touches before sending it to Merlin. Ares lays in the corner of your office, playing with one of his toys quietly. The folded piece of paper sits next to your keyboard, still not read. Once you’ve finally finished the report, you grab and slowly unfold it. Galahad’s handwriting is neat, but not delicate.

Tristan,

Meet me in the library at 21:00 tonight. 

Yours faithfully,

H

‘I suppose I’ll go read in the library tonight, Ares.’ You whisper before you put the note into your drawer and motion your dog to follow you to the kitchens to have lunch. He walks at your side when you enter, and calmly waits as you brew tea and make lunch. Once it’s ready, you decide to eat it outside, as the weather is quite nice today and Ares will be able to run around before you go for the walk with Merlin.  Half an hour passes before you’re joined by your uncle, who has his dog, Albion, with him. She’s a border collie who is usually quite serious and focused, but gets very excited when she gets to play with Ares. The two of them are best friends, so you and Merlin try to have them meet up and go on a long walk at least once a week. This doesn’t always happen though, as duty calls whenever it does, resulting in having to cancel quite frequently, which happened the past few weeks. Today isn't such a day though, and once you both finish your lunch, the four of you start walking your usual round around the grounds. You and Merlin chat away about anything and everything while Ares and Albion run around together and fetch a tennis ball from time to time. It’s calm and you’re enjoying yourself. It’s always quite nice to spend your time like this. All nice things must come to an end though, and after forty-five minutes of walking, you have to return to work.  ‘See you later Tristan.’ Merlin says before walking to his office, taking Albion with him. ‘Later.’ You wave before walking in the opposite direction. Galahad hadn’t been there when you returned from your walk, so you assume he’s at the shop to get a few things in order. It’s probably for the better, as you aren’t sure what you would do if you were to cross him in the hallway right now. He’s constantly giving you mixed signals. Yesterday, he seemed to lean in to kiss you before pulling away suddenly. Today, he almost continuously avoided your gaze, yet wanted to stay connected in some way that wasn’t visible to others, and he wrote you a note telling you to meet him later.

‘Fuck.’

You whisper to yourself. You’re falling for him, hard. You have been for a long time. You always told yourself it was merely a crush, but you’re unable to deny it any longer. This revelation isn’t your biggest problem though. Your biggest problem is whether he would even be interested, as he’s constantly giving those mixed signals. Tonight you’d decide whether you’ll ever act upon your feelings or not. You’d never particularly cared for the kingsman code which prohibits any relationships, though it hasn’t been necessary for you to break it either, as you hadn’t been interested in any relationships in the first place. Kingsman always comes first in your life. This means that you’ve never actually taken the time to think of finding a partner or date around. What you are worried about, is that Galahad is someone that always follows the rules and doesn’t even think about bending, let alone breaking, them. This may be an explanation for him being so hot and cold with you. Still, it’s confusing and worries you. ‘Good afternoon agent Tristan, is everything alright?’ Arthur greeting you pulls you out of your thoughts and you realise you’re standing in front of the door which leads into your office, your hand on the doorknob. You have probably been standing there for a couple of minutes now. Quickly you turn the knob and start walking in.  ‘Ah yes Arthur, I was just lost in thought. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to attend to.’  You smile at him before swiftly closing the door once Ares has entered the room as well. 

The evening couldn’t come soon enough. Thinking of whatever Galahad could possibly tell you continued racing through your mind the entire afternoon, meaning that you were quite distracted for the most part. Merlin visited you shortly before dinner to discuss the report and what he altered before sending it off to Arthur. While he clearly noticed that you were distracted, he decided against saying anything about it and left. Shortly thereafter, you decided it’d be a good idea to go for another walk with Ares, as it’s a good way of distancing yourself from the setting in which you usually see Galahad. This time, though, the walk lasts for several hours, with the sun starting to set once you start heading back to HQ.  When you arrive back at HQ, it’s nearly nine, so you decide to bring the Doberman to your office before heading to the library. Galahad, or Harry which you rarely ever refer to him as, is already there, waiting for you. He turns to face you and smiles when you enter before greeting you. ‘I’m glad you could make it agent Tristan.’ You nod nervously but try to sound casual. ‘Of course, any time, Galahad.’ His eyes look over your form and you do the same. The tension between the two of you is palpable but you try to ignore it as best as you can. For a moment, nothing happens. The both of you stay still, frozen in place.  Suddenly Galahad moves again and walks up to you. In a moment of passion, he grabs your face and kisses you deeply. It’s so intense it feels as if he’s bruising your lips. When you don’t move, he starts pulling back. Quickly, you pull him to you once more and kiss back, one of your hands in his hair and the other pulling his tie. The two of you fight for dominance and he pushes you against one of the bookshelves, his left hand now resting on your hip.  Eventually, he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed. For minutes, the two of you stand like this, silently enjoying each other's presence and closeness. ‘Tristan.’ He whispers. ‘Yes Galahad?’ The man sighs and slowly leaves your embrace. ‘Shit.’ You hear him mutter under his breath. ‘Shit shit shit.’ He backs away, as if he’s only just realised what happened. ‘Galahad, what’s going on?’ ‘I cannot do this Tristan.’ His voice sounds almost desperate. ‘Galahad, what do you mean you cannot do this?’ He doesn’t reply and walks away, leaving you alone in the library.

You didn’t see Galahad the rest of that week and you threw yourself into work, only leaving your office to go out with Ares. If you hadn’t had him, you probably wouldn’t have left your office in the first place. That Friday morning, Merlin comes in unannounced and finds you sleeping with your head on your desk. He wakes you and you slowly sit up straight. Your suit jacket is discarded somewhere in a corner and you look a bit of a mess with your hair all dishevelled.  ‘Are you sure you’re feeling alright Tristan? You really shouldn’t be overworking yourself.’ Your uncle asks you, he sounds quite worried. ‘I’m fine Merlin, I promise.’ He sighs. ‘You do not look or act as if you’re fine. What’s going on?’ You just shake your head. ‘It’s nothing really, I’ve just had to catch up on some work. Please don’t fret it.’  ‘We both know that’s a lie, Tristan. You’re always ahead of everyone when it comes to paperwork.’ He stops for a moment. ‘Look, both you and Galahad have been acting off all week and we can’t have that. I don’t know if there’s anything going on between the two of you, but I want you to fix it, especially if it’s affecting you like this.’ His voice is stern. ‘You should go talk to Galahad then, I’m not the guilty one here.’ You stand up for the first time in what feels like years, your knees and back hurting with every move. ‘I don’t have the energy for all this, go talk to him if you want to know more.’ Silently, you usher him out of your office and shut the door behind him. While you love your uncle, you really couldn’t deal with this right now.

The scotch in the corner of your office had been a little too appealing. That combined with the very limited amount of food you’d had over the past few days, made it very easy for you to become drunk. You sit in your chair feeling very sorry for yourself, as you do in such situations. ‘You know Ares, I’ll go talk to that asshole. He kisses me like that and then he avoids me all week. I suppose that’s not very gentlemanly of him.’ Standing up, you feel dizzy and you have to grab a hold of your desk to keep standing. The world seems to be turning and Ares looks to have multiple heads. ‘Fuck.’ You hadn’t realised how badly the scotch had affected you. Still, that didn’t stop you, and you stumble through your office door. The hallway is empty when you enter it, as is usual at this time of night in HQ. Galahad’s office is only a few doors down and you try to walk there as normally as you can. Taking a deep breath, you knock multiple times. When there’s no immediate answer, you knock again, but more loudly. ‘Galahad, I know you’re in there.’ Your voice is loud enough for him to hear on the other side of the door, but not loud enough to wake any of the other kingsmen. Though they probably wouldn’t wake up unless you screamed loudly enough for it to reach the other side of the estate. Moments pass, but the door is eventually opened by the agent. ‘Tristan.’ He greets you solemnly. ‘I need to talk to you, you pretentious asshole.’ The words fall out of your mouth and there is no stopping them. ‘You are no gentleman. You invite someone to talk to them alone after MONTHS, LITERAL MONTHS, of looking at each other longingly and flirting, then kiss them in the way you did and JUST WALK AWAY LIKE THAT?????’ He finally looks up at you and realises the state that you’re in. ‘WHAT IN THE HELLS IS WRONG WITH YOU INCOMPETENT PRICK????’ You jab your finger into his chest. ‘Tristan, you are in no state to discuss this, please go to bed.’ He grabs your hand. ‘YES I AM, I AM A GROWN ADULT THAT CAN MAKE THEIR OWN DECISIONS. YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER.’ ‘Yes you are, but you’re currently incapable of making any good decisions. So, please quiet down before you wake up Mr. Pickle.’ Before you’re able to respond, he grabs you and surprisingly easily throws you over his shoulder. ‘Now, I’ll be escorting you to bed, as you don’t seem to be capable of doing that yourself.’ He completely ignores your protests, which continue for about five minutes before you realise there’s nothing you can do about this situation. He only puts you down when you’re in front of your bedroom door, as he needs you to open it. ‘I’m going to put you down, but please stay quiet. I don’t want you to wake everyone up.’ You nod and mutter to yourself as he puts you down. ‘Still an asshole though.’ He laughs to himself. When you finally have both your feet on the ground again, you’re stable momentarily before you start falling over again. Galahad notices and steadies you by grabbing your shoulders. ‘Careful now, sweetness.’ His lips touch the shell of your ear and you slowly feel yourself going red. You ignore it though, steadying yourself with his help before walking to your door and unlocking it. When you try to open it you almost fall into your own room and so Harry catches you, before the world around you slowly goes dark.

The following morning you wake up in your own bed, not remembering how you got there in the first place. Ares sits next to your bed, looking up at you as you wake. ‘Morning, my boy.’ Your voice sounds more like a groan than anything else. He nudges your arm and softly barks when you eventually sit up. The light hurts your eyes as you look around, so you close your eyes and lay back down. Once you finally open them again, you notice that there’s a glass of water and a pack of paracetamol next to your bed. ‘Who put that there?’ You look at Ares and pet him before taking one of the pills followed by a gulp of water. The headache you have is slowly driving you insane, so hopefully this’ll help. Still, it remains unclear who actually put it there after probably finding you in quite the state. Usually, you could easily hold your liquor, but apparently your body had other plans yesterday. You do realise that you’re still in your clothes from the day before. So, you decide to get out of them and put on something more comfortable before calling Merlin. ‘Morning Merlin.’ Your voice is quite hoarse. ‘Ah Tristan, I was wondering when you’d call.’ He sounds quite amused for some unknown reason. ‘What do you mean?’ The Scot laughs. ‘Well, I got a notification earlier this morning that you’d be out of the office today because you’re ill. Thing is, agent Galahad is the one who notified me, which is a bit odd to be honest.’ You groan. ‘Well he’s right about me not feeling well.’ Slowly, you lay back in your bed.  Merlin didn’t talk to you for much longer after that and he remained quite vague about what Galahad had told him about the night before. Despite you desperately wanting to know what had happened the night before, you decided that would be a problem for tomorrow before heading back to sleep.

That night, a knock wakes you from your slumber. You almost jump out of your bed at the sound, scaring Ares a bit. ‘One moment please.’ You shout at the person behind the door before calming your dog. ‘I should take you out for a walk in a few, shouldn’t I? I’m so sorry Ares.’ After whispering that, you stand up and walk to your door. Opening it slowly, you reveal Merlin’s form. ‘Good evening Tristan.’ He smiles. ‘Thought I’d bring you some dinner.’ The tray he’s holding has a plate with a baked potato, some carrots and broccoli, and some beef, accompanied by a large glass of water and a cup of your favourite tea. He walks in once you’ve further opened your door, putting the tray on the small table that stands in the corner of your room. ‘Do sit down.’ His voice is soft. You do so silently, Ares laying down next to you. ‘Thank you.’ Your voice is soft and you start eating your first meal of the day. Merlin sits down across from you. ‘I do hope this was a one time thing, Tristan.’ He sighs and takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. ‘It won’t happen again, sir.’ Your voice can barely be heard from across the table. ‘Look, you’ve been doing flawlessly so far, so getting drunk and insulting go Galahad isn’t something that’ll affect you or your career in any way. It can, however, have an effect on how well you’re able to work with him in the foreseeable future.’ Your eyes don’t meet his. ‘Now that I’ve scolded you for getting drunk and acting in the way you did, I would like to know why. Harry hasn’t wanted to tell me anything and I’m against just checking your glasses if I can ask you.’ Your plate is only half finished but you’re already full and you put down your cutlery. ‘I’m not sure you want to know.’ Leaning back, you make yourself more comfortable in your chair. ‘Galahad has really said nothing?’ He shakes his head. ‘Well then, I suppose I’ll tell you what’s going on; under the condition that this will strictly stay between the two of us. Not even Galahad can know.’  ‘Why are you being so secretive about this?’ He enquires. ‘You’ll understand once you hear the full story. Now do you promise?’ You hold out your hand with your pinky ready for him to intertwine with. And he does. ‘I promise.’ A smile creeps onto  your face. This is something you’d always done with him when it comes to promises, starting when you were just a little kid. ‘So, as you may have noticed the past few weeks, there’s been some tension between me and Galahad, or Harry.’  You start. ‘But this has been an underlying issue for years now -‘ 

That night Merlin listened as you talked about how the situation between you and Galahad had unfolded over the past few years and more in detail about the past week or two. Understandably, it was quite a bit for him to take in, and at first he wasn’t certain how to feel or respond. If you hadn’t been who you are to him, he would’ve been fine with it. But with the familial ties you have, and the fact that he and Galahad are best friends, made him hesitate. Yet, he promises to keep quiet and have you and the other man resolve it by yourselves. He would, however, urge his friend to do so if the issue isn’t resolved within a week, meaning that you’ll have to hurry up when it comes to talking things out. He did make clear that he isn’t against you having a relationship with the older man, his tone may have even been slightly supportive, which was somewhat unexpected.

The next time you finally see Harry it’s Sunday. Exactly three days since you’d last seen him and had had the drunken encounter. There you stood, in front of his apartment, your heart pounding in your throat. He’d been at the shop the past few days while you were at the mansion. Merlin was quite convinced that Galahad was, in fact, avoiding you, so he’d suggested you go visit him that evening. Well, suggested was quite a loose term in this case. It was more that Merlin just dropped you off here and told you to ‘Go ahead and talk it out’. Obviously, this was his way of forcing you to do so, as he is quite sick of having the two of you avoiding each other.

Finally, you ring the doorbell and you stand there waiting nervously for Galahad to answer. He does after a few minutes and the confusion is quite evident on his face. When he doesn’t say anything, you start talking. ‘Sorry to bother you Galahad, but Merlin’s dropped me off so we can talk things out.’ You smile sheepishly and he sighs before letting you in.  You have never been inside his home before, so you look around curiously as he leads you into his kitchen. He was wearing his usual attire, save for the glasses. Apparently, he had been cooking dinner when you rang his doorbell. As you look around the room, not moving, he clears his throat. ‘Would you like to join me for dinner Tristan?’ The question is logical, yet you aren’t certain whether he actually wants you to join or if he’s asking it out of obligation. You’re hoping it’s the former rather than the latter. ‘If you don’t mind. Otherwise we can talk and then I’ll leave, I don’t wish to intrude Galahad.’ He motions you to sit down. ‘I would love for you to join me, I’m almost finished cooking dinner anyway, so do feel free to have a seat.’ When you do so, he turns around to face the stove once again before finishing dinner. It is a simple yet delicious meal, and you appreciate the gesture of him inviting you to join him. It is mostly spent in silence, save for a few comments appreciating his skill, or talking about the goings on at the shop and HQ. 

After dinner, Harry offers you a cup of tea before pouring one for himself and sitting down across from you. It is silent for a few minutes before he finally speaks again. ‘I would like to apologise.’ His voice is soft. ‘I should’ve handled this situation differently and not have run away in the way I did.’ As he says this, his eyes divert. ‘It is just that I was, and still am, quite uncertain of how to go about this. I do not wish to hurt you, but in my attempt to do so I did the opposite of what I had intended. I thought you were too pure, too kind. You’re too sweet, too sweet for a bitter man like me. Yet here I am, madly in love with you and confessing my feelings.’ When he finishes talking he looks you in the eye once more. There’s emotion in them, seemingly a mix of sadness and regret. ‘Galahad, I don’t know what to say.’ You pause. ‘I understand why you may have hesitated to approach me in the way you did, however, I am quite confused as to why you ran away so suddenly. You are the one that made the initial move and I never approached you because you were likely to have reservations about breaking kingsman code, yet you gave me hope by inviting me to the library to talk. And for a moment, when you kissed me, I thought we could be together, even if it was just for a moment.’ Slowly, you stand up from your chair. Putting down your cup of tea in the process. ‘Then you went ahead and ripped my heart out by walking away like that. As if I mean nothing to you, as if you weren’t the one that made the first move.’ You raise your voice a bit, but try to stay calm. Following your example, he stands up as well and starts walking towards you. ‘I truly am sorry but it is up to you whether or not you forgive me.’ He looks down into your eyes. ‘What will happen if I forgive you, Harry?’ The two of you are almost touching each other, only a few centimetres between your faces. ‘I shall take you on a date and be your partner. That is, if you’ll have me.’ Rather than answering him with words, you pull his tie and kiss him passionately.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself to Hate You - Part 11

Pairing: Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sister!Reader

A/N: I restarted this about four times—re-wrote the last few sentences for about half an hour. Also I was so excited to write Eris again but he wouldn’t fit in this chapter 😔

Warnings: sexual assault, Bas and his bloody knuckles, Azriel

Word Count: 5,830

-Part 10- -Part 12-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Azriel is going to die.

He’s going to die, and it will be at your hand.

Silence echoes through your mind, the world filled with dark blues and dismal greys—the colours of rainclouds and heavy fog over a midnight river. While the air is warm, ice prickles the layer beneath your skin, seemingly caught in your clothes, captured in your flesh. The perpetual cold of the mortal lands perhaps never fully having left the marrow of your bones.

At the table you sit still, trying to silence your mind to focus on the task at hand. You don’t want to be thinking about that right now. Not today.

Brow pulls together, lips twisting down as the bone of your thumb presses to the line between your eyes, pushing away the pressure.

Ease out a breath, shoulders slumping, muscles draining away as the door is closed on the world. Locked cozily within the dark quiet of the open kitchen.

The last time you’d sat here feels like months ago, presents stacked upon the table with a pretty cake to tuck into. Now there’s nothing to offer but a meagre cupcake, a lone candle put sadly into the spongy head you hadn’t even paid for—it had been a sample, someone giving out free little things so none of the food would go to waste.

It isn’t even decorated, aside from the thin waxy stick the House had offered up.

Lower lip curls, scowling with hot eyes at the small cake.

You stare for a long while, vision blurring every so often before it’s cleared away by a disciplinary blink. Loathing carved between your ribs, twisting and slicing, but never ending. A muscle flickers in your jaw, before finally shifting into motion, sitting straighter.

This night isn’t about you, and you’ll be damned if you make it so.

Breathing deeply, the wooden figurine is placed on the table, palm damp and cool without it’s warmth in your hand. The maiden looks on at the small cupcake, disappointed, pretty flowers drooping in elegant fingers. The skirts of are caught frozen in motion, the hem lifting from her ankles, the graceful sweep of hair being pulled gently toward the candle, as if the breeze is luring her in.

Eyes stare at the sight, and you have to sit back in your chair. Observing the scene, how small and meagre it is for something that deserves much more.

When the world blurs this time, you don’t blink it away, letting it fill and swell. Break over the edge of picked-thin lashes.

Slowly, you lean forward, picking up the light box of matches, taking one out, and striking it against the abrasive card. Fire flares before dimming, wisps of smoke curling from the glowing light, putting a pleasant scent into the room as you lower it to the candle, spreading the scant glow. With a single flick of your hand, the flame is put out, sending up a poor last signal with its diminishment, glowing weakly, before finally extinguishing.

Inky blues and grey-blacks dim the already sparse light, encroaching on the small patch of light like wolves circling a small, run-down hut. Waiting for the first sign of dilapidation before pouncing, sharp canines sinking into the soft, fleshy centre.

Your head hangs, forearms braced on to table either side the little show. Fingers curl, pressing into the now-soft skin, callouses from the days of wood-chopping and frostbite softened by a single dip into freezing cold water. Murky and depthless.

Bringing forth irrevocable change.

————

Azriel’s wings stretch out over his chair, the muscles rippling, shoulders working free of the tension before standing from his desk.

For what ever reason, the House has decided he should get his own food for tonight, evening long since passed with the days becoming shorter and shorter. Light waning, the dark sidling closer the deeper into autumn time flows. Like clockwork, shadows skitter off down the hallway, floating along floorboards and dipping beneath rugs, settling at the darkened threshold of her door. No light warms the gap, and habitually they listen out for the soft sighs of breathing, forgetting the enchantment that’s been placed on the room.

They hurry back, curling around his ear, delivering the information seamlessly as he makes his way silently down the dim halls. He can see perfectly fine in the night—there’d be no point to lighting a candle.

Strain remains tight in his shoulders, having finished reading through Cass’ letter as well as the dozens of other reports monitoring various changes and shifts in courts. Other things to deal with, to allocate time and resources to, seamlessly shifting his network of spies to target and attend to the more prominent catches in his web.

He doubts he’ll be able to catch even a wink tonight, a tight pulse in his chest warning him of sleep.

————

The breath exhales softly, staring at the lone flame, flickering dimly in the overbearing darkness, and you can’t help but think of your youngest sister. The wane light in the wintry forrest, battered by icy winds and freezing frosts.

Calming the beat of your heart, you press your palms together, leaning forward so the knuckle of your thumbs slot above the bridge of your nose. Head bowing toward the candle, eyes sliding shut, keeping the pressure at bay.

“Happy birthday, dad,” you whisper.

Already the edges of your mouth tremble, but you try to stay firm, sucking in a shaky breath. Blurred memories of the war begin seeping back in, the damp smell of blood and sickness, mixed with sweat and leather. Slowly lower your hands, palms pressing flat against the table as you look at the flickering light. The miniature wood carving bought in memory of his carpentry.

“I miss you,” you murmur, voice wobbling in the silence. “It’s been difficult since you’ve gone. Difficult for a while now.” Throat rolls, shifting in your seat, spine straightening. “Feyre’s doing well though. As much as I can tell, anyway. She’s had a baby too, did you know? I don’t know if you’re still able to watch us anymore, so sorry if you’re all caught up—I just thought might as well be on the safe side, and I don’t know what else to talk about besides them.”

Tongue darts out to wet your lips, breathing softly, calming the emotion in your chest. “He’s called Nyx, and he looks just like them.” The flame blurs, light dripping out in dots through the room, and you quickly wipe your eyes. “She’s been busy with him—I think she’s been taking him out on walks through Velaris every now and again when he wakes up early, though sometimes the others take on some tasks. I know Mor likes having him around, and even Amren has a soft spot for him already.” The corners of your mouth tug down, head lowering as you stare into the flame. “I think she’s doing well, after all this time. She can stand on her feet.”

Night-kissed memories float up through the fog, of crunching snow and steaming blood, dribbling out of a doe carcass.

“Elain’s good too,” you manage, attention flicking to the wooden maiden. “I think her and Lucien have begun getting along better, or at least not as awkward as they once were. I went with her to visit him a while back—to the old human lands, and—” You fumble, tripping over your words. “Do you know it all worked out?” You ask quietly. “I must’ve told you last year, but just in case I didn’t: we won. The war, I mean.” Vision blurs again, blinking away the dampness.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, dad,” you whisper, lip trembling. “I know it’s morbid, and maybe if I had been there, I would have wished I wasn’t, but Nesta was, and Feyre was there too, and Elain got to… They got to see you again.” The first tear splashes onto the wooden grain, and you hastily wipe it away, fearing it might stain somehow. “I wish I’d gotten to see you again before you went away,” you mumble, swallowing thickly. “I miss you a lot. And they’re all doing well, and getting better, and…”

Take in a deep breath, lungs stuttering, hauling in quivering pulls of air. Dip your head slightly.

“They’re doing well,” you whisper, nodding to yourself. Repeating it in your mind.

“I think you’d be happy with them.”

————

Shadows swirl at his wings, shifting as they dip ahead into the kitchen, skittering back with their message. She’s in there, sat at the table.

Azriel pauses in the hallway, debating the merits of bumping into her at such a late hour. He remembers how poorly his last late-night interaction went, and is frankly disinclined to revisit the memory on any level. The softness of Elain’s skin still registered in some chamber of his mind, laying dusty and untouched for some time, unable to bring himself to quite take it back out just yet.

His stomach grumbles quietly, and he sets a hand on his lower abdomen, rubbing absently as he thinks. Wonders why she’s decided to come out of her room tonight instead of keeping to her space—why tonight of all nights the House is throwing him under the wagon. But he’s a full-grown male, he can handle one short interaction, even if it’s with her. It’ll be a good chance to check on how she’s doing physically in person, too, having been putting off that task for a while, satisfied with the imaginary rendering his shadows bring him every now and then.

Azriel continues down the hall, noting the dim flicker of light from the doorway, warming the blue darkness to a sparse orange, a clear outline of colour in the deep shadow and he wonders what she’s doing. A few quiet steps bring him to the threshold, steadying himself for her longing eyes and the dipped shoulders.

He rounds the frame but halts on the threshold, shadows instinctively slinking across his skin, pressing silently back into the darkness of her peripherals.

She’s crumpled over, sobbing silently, shoulders trembling as deep breaths heave and shudder from her lungs. Her features protectively hidden by the sleeves of her cardigan, pressed tight to her features as quiet, wet cries gasp from her lips, trembling in the dim light of her single candle.

He watches from the edge of the room, observing silently, caught on the force of despair. How it’s shaking her frame, wracking it like a paper lantern in a storm, tossed and battered until it’s soaked and dissolving beneath the downpour. Flame reflects in the golden pool beneath her on the table, rippling with hot droplets as they drip heavily, splashing between the grains, growing steadily larger.

The tips of his fingers tingle, but he resists stepping forward—with everything that’s between the two of them he doubts it would help.

The familiar scent of gardenias floats over to him, stronger than usual, and hazel eyes trace the bare skin of her hands.

They’re horrifically dry, despite the intensity of the scent that always accompanies her nowadays, skin peeling around her nails, cracked and flakey like freshly baked pastry, rough patches of rawness peeking through, sore and worn from the interior of her gloves.

To a less observant pair of eyes, it may have appeared as a case of frostbite, or treatable dryness, but he recognises that formation—the slight warp of burning flesh.

Her palms press to gleaming cheeks, as if the wetness will absorb into her hands, curing the desiccated expanse, soaking up until they’re perfect again, without a flaw or crack to be found. The bones in his hands ache dully, pains blooming beneath his own warped flesh, swollen and melted in parts, scarred and misshapen. Deformed.

She starts mumbling under her breaths, sobs becoming heavier, lungs gasping as air is harshly sucked in, stumbling and stuttering in her shuddering chest. She’s apologising. Over and over, murmured sorries and desperate pleas. Repeating over and over how sorry she is as the water ripples beneath her, lips tugged down, brows knotted in sheer self-loathing. So concentrated it knocks him in his chest.

He should turn away—he can wait a few hours easily, allow her to vacate and recover at her own pace—but he’s kept at the edge, watching silently, wreathed in shadow saved for the flame-lit hazel of his eyes. Observing such a pure display of sorrow and wretchedness, a sense of foreign familiarity ghosting within his chest. Like finding a new path to an exact location—one he hadn’t known existed until then, completing a fraction of the unknown map.

Azriel takes in her curled up form, hunched over the candle, back curved as she sobs into damp wool, familiarising the sight. His expression tightens ever so slightly, brows pulling in, edges of his mouth twisting down, working into the beginnings of a frown.

With one last scan, he turns silently, retuning her the privacy she’s unaware has been disturbed.

————

You ease out a heavy sigh, but your shoulders remain tense.

Half a cupcake remains on the table, the house setting a glass dome over its top.

You peer down at the symbol numbly, eyes sore and swollen. Aching from intense use. That’s all the emotion you can manage for the night—a drought forming in the desiccated innards of your soul. Tears have been bled dry to a state of numbness, skin tingling absently. Breathing mindlessly. Wandering listlessly.

————

You land three light taps to the door, the warm lamp far above you illuminating the small inlet of the entrance, a wooden frame either side to hold the vines as they’ve reached and crawled over the years, the tiny pale flowers putting out a lovely fragrance—like lilies, or sweet peas. Long moments pass, then the door is quietly opening, one dark hand resting casually at the height of it, the other against its frame.

“Hey,” he greets, the edges of his mouth relaxing a little.

“Hi,” you reply, realising how scratchy your voice is, raw from that long hour. Hastily clear your throat, shifting in the entrance. “Would you— I mean, are you busy tonight?” You ask, wringing your fingers slightly, stopping when gold flicks down to mark the action.

Bas releases the door, opening it a little wider, standing straighter and clearing his throat. “Nope,” he says, “something on your mind?” Instantly the lone candle flickers in your head, the sponginess of the small cupcake, and you blink away the prickling pressure. “Yes,” you answer quietly. “I just— I don’t want to talk about it,” you settle on, returning your gaze to his. Anxiety beginning to melt away—you can be something other than fine around him. Lower lip wobbles with the thought, but you hasten to push the welling emotion away. Your eyes would hate you if you started crying again.

A deep breath eases into your lungs, then blown out heavily.

“I had a rough evening,” you say vaguely, “and I’m feeling pretty awful at the moment, so I was wondering if you’d like to go out for a bit.”

He watches silently from the warm inside of his home, the smell of rosemary and thyme cozily wrapping around you, almost enough to make you wish for a night in, but you’d rather not feel for a little bit. “You do that a lot, y’know?” He says at last, stepping back to allow you inside. You follow quietly, looking up at him with a furrowed brow, keeping to the wall. “Do what?” You ask, wondering if he’d like you to take your shoes off since it looks like you might be coming further in.

“Phrase questions weirdly,” he laughs faintly, the deep sound breathing a small spark back into your blood. “Like that one, ‘I was wondering if you’d like to out for a bit.’ I was wondering if you’d like to go out for a bit?” He repeats, raising the inflection at the end. “You know you can ask me stuff, yeah?”

You feel the faint tug of a smile on your lips, amusement crossing your features. “I know,” you reply, “maybe I just didn’t feel like saying it as a question.” Bas rolls his golden eyes, mouth copying yours, forming a slight smile, before shaking his head and turning. “Let me grab something. Anywhere you want to go?” He calls from over a broad shoulder, reaching for a warmer piece to put over his indoor clothes.

Shake your head, keeping to the edge of the room, wary of the clean floor. “I just want to be outside tonight,” you say quietly. “I don’t…the inside just…” You purse your lips in a grimace, and he nods. “I get you.”

Another well of emotion builds in your chest, but again you push it away.

Tongue licks out over your lips, shifting on your feet, making an effort to brighten your demeanour. “What’s going on with you at the moment? There was that thing you wanted to talk about last time…?” When you’d had a small crying session in his arms. Whenever the memory inserts itself into your head, you’re torn between embarrassment and jealousy. Embarrassment at breaking down over such a small thing after having kept it together for so long, jealousy over how easily that comes to other people. That small, sad part of yourself wanting more, but as usual, she’s gently pushed aside.

Bas sucks in a slow breath, guiding you to the door. “Yeah, about that…” The two of you step outside into the crisp night air, and you wrap your scarf closer, huddling beneath the warmth. Even after all this time, the warmth in the chillier months is something you can’t help but find your stress in.

“So…” you encourage when he goes quiet, linking his arm with yours. “What did you want to say?” But he shakes his head. “To be honest, I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he answers with forced lightness. Brow dips—is it something to do with his dad?

“You okay?” You ask softly, stepping a little closer as you make the walk down his small front garden, the gate creaking open before he shuts it behind you. “Fine,” he replies, then relents. “A bit tense.”

You try to come to a stop, but he gives a gentle tug on your arm, telling you to continue on. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

With a heavy swallow, you direct your attention forward, hand pressing into the warm muscle of his arm, firmly linked together. “You’ll tell me when it’s been enough, right?” You ask quietly, forcing yourself not to peer at him through your peripherals. He has an uncanny sense for when people are watching him.

He’s quiet, continuing on with the walk, but you don’t make the mistake of trying to rush him. Sometimes he just takes a bit.

“Sure,” he says at last, and this time you do look at him, a slight glint of amusement in your eyes to soften the stern set of your mouth. “Sebastian,” you warn, and he cringes at your side. “Fine, yeah, I’ll say something,” he relents, waving his free hand, not quite meeting your eye. You manage a quiet laugh, before you both settle back into silence, quietly paying attention to the swish of the breeze, skirting around the subjects at hand.

The question’s on the tip of your tongue, eyes watching him from the side, but then he gives and almost undetectable squeeze to your arm. So light you’d think you might have imagined it. Had the two of you been human, you would have dismissed it. But fae bodies have an entire new level of awareness to them, impossibly sensitive on depthless levels. Utterly overwhelming at first. Still getting a handle on some of the more intense senses.

As it is, you take it as his answer. The promise he won’t voice.

So you continue on into the night, neither of you quite fully present in the moment to be doing something like this. But bad decisions happen, and mistakes are made. Without them, life would be boring, and dull. You’d never progress.

————

Skin buzzes pleasantly, a wide smile on your lips as you lean into Bas’ side, greedily taking in his warmth, mourning already forgotten and pushed to the side.

You stumble along, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as laughter rings between you, fuel for the rest of the night, replenishing the emptied wells of emotion like he’s pouring molten gold straight into your blood.

He’d been tense at first—nothing outright, or obvious in any sense of the word, but those small tells were there. Patterns one can only pick up on after spending pure, concentrated months with someone. And his behaviour had been erratic. The tension in his jaw when a female had bumped into him, spinning clumsily on her feet to apologise. The pause before he’d forgiven her, and continued on with his night. Then he’d refused to even take a sip of your drink, politely but firmly refusing your attempts to get him to loosen up.

You’d tried plying him with all sorts of methods, from joking and humour, to offering up some of your own little pieces, to asking directly what was going on inside his head that night. He’d diverted the first two, and snapped at you to mind your own business at the last one, which—to be fair—he was entitled to do. You know you wouldn’t appreciate one of your sisters trying to worm their way back into your life if you wanted your peace.

Eventually, you’d gotten up, telling him you’d pop outside for some fresh air—the night sky is always beautiful here—but he hadn’t wanted to come with you, simply sipping quietly on the non-alcoholic drink before him. Was it something to do with whatever he’d wanted to speak with you about?

While you’re out on the balcony, you explore the possibilities of what he might want to say. Though, you decide to stop once you notice the thoughts steadily becoming worse and worse, pausing the process before you cause yourself a public meltdown—you can theorise once you get back to the House.

But with thought of the House comes thoughts of that dangerous piece of parchment on your desk. The open challenge left for you, daring you to bring out some imagined claws. Outrageous and bold and brazen. You can’t even begin to imagine what those sorts of characteristics would imply to your personality. Do you even possess the capacity to become anything other than the flimsy spec you are? To make something out of the damage, to make it worth an amount, so it’s anything but weight, and trauma, and baggage.

Running gloved fingers over your face, you raise from the balcony, turning and heading back in. You don’t know why you didn’t try and turn back sooner when he obviously wasn’t in the right state to be coming out, certainly not surrounded by alcohol.

(I wanted to, so I did.)

(I disregarded him because I am more important.)

When you re-enter the fairly crowded room, you edge your way along the walls until you can spot him, a glass of water in his hand containing a slice of lemon and what looks like a leaf of mint. He’s speaking with a female, his expression softer than usual, and you wonder if you should perhaps complete another lap of the room if he’s managing to relax. But then another male sidles up, his arm wrapping around her waist, and she’s promptly whisked away onto the floor. Golden eyes follow the two, watching as they disappear into the night.

“Hey,” you greet, pretending to be a little more fatigued than you truthfully are. Bas inclines his head in reply, taking a deep drink of the liquid, draining the glass before returning it to the wooden surface of the bar. “Ready?” He asks, standing promptly. A smile softens your features as you nod—wondering how long he’s been wanting to leave but sticking it out. He nods again, the warm piece he’d grabbed before setting out into the night getting put over his free arm as his hand grazes the space between your shoulder blades.

You both cross over the threshold of the establishment, and the cold air smacks you right in the face, draining the warmth in an instant. Bas chuckles lowly, tossing you the outer layer, immune to the cold.

You peer at him hesitantly, but he just rolls his eyes. “You’re cold, and I’m offering you a solution,” he says pointedly. “So take it, yeah?” You give in, sliding your arms into the too-large sleeves, wrapping it around your bodice, relieved to keep out the raw bite of oncoming winter. “Thanks,” you murmur, allowing hesitant comfort to settle over your skin as his arm pulls you out in into the street.

The two of you walk mostly in silence, content to mull over your own issues in peace, the frenetic pulse of others’ lives colliding off one another.

A scream pierces out of nowhere, so shrill that you startle, Bas flinching at your side, heart pounding in your chest. Laughter echoes in response.

Both of you peer toward the sound, but all you find is a female getting to her wobbly feet, surrounded by mirth filled faces offering her various hands up, pulling her back to standing, arms linking close with one another.

You exhale heavily, but beside you Bas is tense, muscle coiled tight beneath the warm heat of his skin. Lightly, you pull on his arm, encouraging him to start moving again because it’s cold outside, and he’s given you his only good piece of protection against the piercing autumn chill. He moves along stiffly, tension tightening across his muscles, hands tucked tight in the deep pockets of his trousers.

Silently, you peer at him from the corner of your eye, noting the rigid posture, the downward tip of his brows, the tension in his jaw, as if biting down.

“Hey,” you say softly, laying your hand on his shoulder, bringing him out from whatever space he’d dropped into. Golden eyes flick to you, more distant than usual, and you realise just how lucky it was that male scooped up the female when he did—he’s clearly needing to be alone right now, in the peace and solitude of his own home.

You put a smile across your features, “scary, huh?”

A beat passes and he’s silent, just watching you.

Then muscle slopes, tension rushing from his body all at once, a heavy sigh deflating from his chest, breath billowing out into the biting cold air. He nods, a smile beginning to form on his lips.

A hand drops to your ass, squeezing with interest before smacking the plump flesh hard.

Your entire body goes rigid, legs shaking as you spin around, clutching tight to Bas’ arm to keep upright, shock disturbing your stomach as your eyes lock with pale green.

“Nice ass,” the male compliments lowly, a slight grin on his lips as he prowls forward, arms wrapping around your waist, large hands settling lightly over your rear, cupping with interest. Instantly you raise your arms to your body, itches breaking out across your skin, pulse kicking up to the beat of a war drum as disgust slithers beneath your flesh. “What—? Get off—”

“Get the hell off her.”

Bas turns on a dime, the tension breaking across his features as his lip pulls back from gleaming white teeth, golden eyes glittering with rage as he shoves one hand into the male’s chest, sending him stumbling back a few paces, storm clouds thundering in his expression.

Hands tremble at your front, managing a few hastened steps away, putting shaky stumbles between you and the male, breath shuddering in and out of your lungs as you stare with wide eyes. Bas takes a step forward, bringing his hands up out of his pockets to remove the rings adorning his deft fingers, golden bands sliding up over his knuckles. “looking for trouble?” He growls, eyes trained on the opposing male with deepening anger.

The male raises his open palms, a faint smile on his sober features, pale green eyes gleaming beneath the hot faelights. “Calm down man. I didn’t know she was yours,” he drawls smoothly, “no harm done.”

“No harm done?” Bas hisses, baring his teeth, an icy gleam in his normally perfectly golden gaze. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” he growls lowly, keeping you behind him.

The smile fades from the male’s face, shifting into a slight scowl. “Calm the fuck down,” he snaps irritably, “it was a fucking compliment.” Bas snarls, discipline slipping as he stalks forward, fist snatching up the collar of the male’s shirt, a faint tearing sound ripping through the crisp night air. Pale green eyes widen, before deepening with anger. “What the fuck is your problem? It was a fucking—”

“You fucking try and put your hands on her again,” he mutters softly, the threat reverberating deep in his chest, staring down the opposition. “Fucking try, and see what happens.”

The male’s brows dip, lip curling back as he bares his teeth, shoving the flats of his palms into Bas’ chest, roughly pushing him off. “You tore my shirt,” he mutters, staring down at the ripped fabric. Pale green clashes with raging gold, darkening to viridian. The male looks down his nose, folding his arms over his chest. “You better fucking pay for that, prick.”

“For what? The improvement?” Bas barks, hands tightening into fists at his sides, aching for a brawl, that familiar itch practically scrawled across his features. Obvious to no one but you. Silvery moonlight catches his knuckles, something sharp and glassy catching your eye.

The male’s features twist with anger, then they’re slamming into one another, light gleaming; darkness swirling.

They’re using magic.

Your pulse kicks up, hands trembling as you stare helplessly, unable to formulate any thoughts. Before you power crackles in the air, tension buzzing like static before lightening strikes, and you need to intervene. But it’s as though you’ve been vanished from the world, physical form obliterated so you’re simply a wisp of conscious being tossed brutally in stormy seas. Just your skin tingling disgustingly in the shape of large palm prints. Like he’s scorched your body, so everyone can see the patch where—

The male pins Bas to the floor, his large body thudding heavily against the stone of the cobbles, one hand splaying across his shoulder, fist pulled back tight as a bowstring, shooting down, landing blow after blow to the centre of his face, blood spraying across a vicious smile. Gold practically glows in the hot light, enjoying it, letting the rage and fury build until it’s ready to combust, to be released on the male atop him. He’s savouring it, and you can do nothing but watch as he slides back into that state of self-destruction. Right before your eyes.

A wet crunch sounds, cartilage shattering, blood coating sharp, gleaming teeth that are bared in a feral grin.

“The fuck are you smiling at?” The male laughs, pulling Bas up by the collar, arm wound back, preparing to strike hard now the bone has caved. “You fucking brain dead?” He shouts, ears wincing from the volume, green eyes lit with bloody glee, liquid dripping from his knuckles.

Nausea roils in your stomach, recognising the path Bas has settled on. The numb violence in his gaze having your throat closing up. Before you can help it, your feet are moving on their own, pushing through the shadows as you run over to the two, arms wrapping tight around the male’s elbow, locking it in place as you lean to counter-weight his strength. “Bas…” you manage, voice cracking, muscles turning weak with adrenaline, legs like custard as they tremble.

Pale green eyes snap to yours, his head whipping round, only to grow wide, features illuminated with a blinding glow. Skin burns, from your fingertips to your stomach to your heels—you’re burning. The male flinches beneath your hold, and you hardly have enough time to catch yourself before he’s jerked his arm out of your grip, the point of his elbow hitting the dip of your collar bones, just shy of your throat. Heart stumbles in your chest before a force shoves at your spine, pushing you back into the male as the knuckles of his hand smack across your cheek, sending you tumbling to the ground. Copper bursts on your tongue as you flip over, scrambling to get up but trembling so violently you might be sick.

The male raises his curled fist again, preparing to strike, but Bas has gotten his dose of violence, bloodlust glittering in blazing gold eyes as lips pull apart into a wet, bloody smile. You catch the gleam of ice coating his knuckles, cold moonlight glinting across frozen, jagged edges before he flips the male over, fist connecting with his jaw, a bloody tooth being spat out onto the cobbles. Then the furore begins, fist pulling back over and over as he keeps the male choked to the ground, sawtoothed ice smashing against skin and bone with every wet crunch.

You try to call out, but your lips are too numb to move, skin stinging with piercing pain. Dark red splatters on the cobbles, flecked through with tiny shards of ice as the crunching continues, getting wetter and softer with every hit. Like the heavy thump of raw meat upon a carving table.

Trembling, you move to get to your feet, fingertips itching with adrenaline, shaking with indecision. Bas is going to regret this, you know it. He’ll come out of that haze drowning in self-loathing for giving into the impulse after so long of numbing it. You can’t let him continue—stop him before he does serious damage to himself.

He’s been there for you, and you need to be there for him.

Breath eases into your lungs, skin itching deeper, the burning again raising as your fingertips tingle, trying to reach out for your power. The sting of the green light begins to manifest, aching in your stomach, head pounding, rising to the surface—

You’re hauled upright, turned around and directed away from the beat down, magic extinguished the second his scent wraps around you in a night-kissed breeze.

Azriel doesn’t say a thing, simply curves his wing round at your back, guiding you off into the night.

You don’t have the capacity for dread or fear at what he’ll say once you’re far enough away.

All you can think about is the quiet warmth of him at your side, steady and assured.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[pedge-page]

#3 of Joel dealing with his Preggo reader : hungry

Warnings: oral m receiving, lactation kink, breast feeding, pregnancy, Joel fluff doing the absolute most for his wifey

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel is leaning back in his armchair on this lazy Thursday evening after having worked 12 hours today on a rigorous construction project. He sighs heavily, glaring down at his absolute favorite sight in the world right now: his heavily pregnant wife between his legs leisurely sucking his cock like a popsicle.

With a pillow below your knees, you looked like a dream. Your eyes closed as you gently hum around his mushroomed tip, suckling his precum. There was no rush to your movements, no desperate urge to make him cum: you were simply just enjoying the heavenly weight of your husband's blessed member sliding in and out of your waiting mouth.

He doesn't immediately register when you pull off his cock with a pop.

"I want taiyaki."

Joel shakes himself from his dazed relaxation. "Taco what?"

"My cousin who took me to the international fair 3 years ago? She got that and let me try it and it was really good. I want that." You sit back on your knees, waiting for Joel to get moving. He doesnt. "Right now," you add.

He's learned very quickly that once you have a craving for something, everything else must pause until you get it. Joel begrudgingly tucks his hard and unsatisfied cock back in his sweat pants, grabs his keys and reverses out the driveway, repeating it in his head: tai-yak-i, taiy-aki tayo aki, taco yaki, taco yucky—tacos aren't yucky they're delicious why couldnt she ask foR YUMMY TACOS I COULD HAVE MADE THAT AT HOME.

It takes him an hour of frantic searching of Japanese shops, and finally finding one, having begged the poor lady at the counter to make them—whatever they are, —hot and fresh for his pregnant wife at this late hour despite the shop closing in a few minutes. Luckily she seemed to vaguely understand his garbled mish mosh of the word and went to work.

He tips her generously and is out the door, plastic "have a nice day" bag secured in the passenger seat of the truck as he speeds home.

He triumphantly drops the bag next to your sleeping body on the couch. Your nose wrinkles, eyes shooting open at the sudden new smell. No hello, no thank you, just grubby hands diving in to the bag and opening the styrophome container.

You pause, staring at the contents. "What is this?"

"Its the thing: taco-yauki."

You look at him in incredulously, and he shoots the same look back, mixed with confusion.

"These are fried octopus balls, Joel?"

"Why the fuck would you want that?"

"I didn't! I wanted cream filled waffles! Taiyaki! Not Takoyaki!

"I DONT KNOW JAPANESE, WOMAN."

"STOP YELLING AT ME!"

"I'M NOT YE—" he inhales deeply before exhaling, letting his shoulders sag. "I'm not yelling, baby. I'm sorry. I promise I didn't know."

You shake your head, eyes swelling with tears of hangriness. "Honestly, Joel, if I knew you were going to be this useless when I married you," your voice cracks. You push the now cold balls away and cross your arms, pouting.

Joel covers his eyes with his hands. What a fucking night.

He knows that you dont mean it. That you're tired, crankly, in pain, and hungry. And that your dumbass husband was in such a rush that he didn't take a second to write it down, let alone ask you exactly what he was looking for. He remembered the fish pastry now, something he could have bought at the grocery store 10 minutes down the road. His back hurts, dick hurts, eyes hurt. He doesn't want you to be hurt too.

"Joel," you peep meakly.

"Yes baby?"

"I'm um. I'm sorry for what I said. You're not completely useless." You twist your fingers apologetically, which he finds absolutely adorable. It's impossible to even remember what he was so annoyed by. You clear your throat and speak sweetly: "I don't want taiyaki anymore. Can we have tacos instead?"

He smiles. "White-people tacos or street tacos?"

"The ones you make, please."

Joel's warm hand craddles your cheek softly. "Coming right up, angel." His hand filters down your throat before settling over your chest, fingers ever so gently tracing the lace line of your nightgown, pulling it down slightly to expose more of your supple cleavage. "But first, I get my cream filled pastry."

"Wha—?"

He gets on his knees, yanking your shirt down as your swollen tits—courtesy of your soon-to-be child— bounce out. You hiss at the sensitivity of being so heavy and full of milk.

Joel wastes no time wrapping his lips around your pebbled nipple and sucking gently, the creamy liquid so built up in your system that it just flows naturally into his eager mouth.

"You were hungry too, huh?" You teased.

He hums around your engorged breast, eyes closed in bliss. He softly kneads your unoccupied tit with one hand, the other joining your palm in passionately caressing your large tummy. You both feel your baby kicking happily now that mommy and daddy have made up.

- - - -

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@harriedandharassed

[harmonyrae]

Devil in the Mirror: Part 2

Synopsis: Part two of my AU fic about Abysswalker inspired assassin Rafayel. His one night stand is his next target. He’s already signed the contract, but she’s captured his attention - and maybe his affection. He surprises himself when he invites her to be his date to his art exhibit. He is great at thinking on his feet, but his lack of self-control could be his undoing. (Written in Rafayel's POV)

Warnings: Mentions of violence & death & very explicit sexual descriptions. 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 6.9k

Rolling over, your hand falls to the mattress, when you don’t feel her your eyes snap open. Sitting up straight in bed you glance around the room. The wave of anxiety settles when you hear the sound of the shower. You spot her clothes piled on the desk. You swing your legs off the bed and stretch, your breath catches as you notice just how sore you are. Yeah, that definitely wasn’t just because of the absolutely insane sex - oh how you wish it was. 

The man you “dealt with” yesterday was huge. Double your size and a total beefcake. Probably spent more time in the gym in one day than you spent in a whole year. But in the end, you’re faster and years of practice with your blade meant the final slash across his throat was precise. But he got some good hits in and you’re sure the bruising was worse. Would it be more noticeable in the daylight? 

You slowly make your way across the room to the desk. Your fingers gently sweep across the fabric of her dress. Memories of the club flash through your mind. Her hips swaying against you, her hands threading through your hair, her pulse racing as you kissed her neck. Your peripherals catch your reflection in the mirror above the desk. 

Fuck.

Those were not the bruises you were expecting… Sure, the giant bruise across your rib cage was dark and tender, but you could explain it away easily. Took a tumble off your ladder while finishing your latest painting. But how the fuck are you supposed to explain the small bruises across your neck and chest? The press would have a field day…

Ding

Your phone chirps from its place next to the bed. You trudge back, grab the phone and fall back onto the plush blanket. You hold the phone above your face and swipe to unlock. A new message from Thomas. 

Thomas: Started a new file for your new project. Should I bring it to your place or hand it off tonight?

“Oh fuck…!” 

Your nose burns as you rub it. The panic you had suppressed from last night had resurfaced catching you off guard, causing you to drop your phone, right onto your face. For fucks sake… Your next target was literally in the next room. Your target, who was beautiful, bold, enticing… Who rocked your world less than 12 hours ago and slept beside you. Who you were desperately trying to stop imaging standing, hot and dripping, in that shower. God, you want to join her. Feel her hands on you again. Your hands holding her hips, pulling her to you, your lips on hers. NO. STOP. She’s your fucking target. You should go in there and finish the job.

No, no, no… Who knows who she came to the club with last night. You remember another girl, with short brown hair, dancing with her. Did they notice you and her on the dance floor? Did they notice her leaving with you? Did she text her friends or family this morning while you were still asleep? Too many risks. It wouldn’t be hard to link her death back to you. No, it wasn’t a good idea to do this now. And do you want to? What the fuck? That should NOT be a factor. But it is and the more you deny it the more your stomach twists into a knot.

You hear the water shut off. Shit. What do you do? What is the plan? Like you ever really make plans for these things. But this is different. Why is it different? It just is. So what do you…

While you’re thinking, well more like panicking, she exits the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. She notices you sitting up on the bed and smiles. God, she’s radiant. Stop complimenting her. Well, complimenting her in your head. Just stop it. 

“Good morning, beautiful.” 

Really? You’re pathetic… Why did you say that? Now she’s blushing and walking over. In a towel, she’s in a towel. Your thin sweatpants are proving to be very revealing, your cock throbbing at the thought of her dropping that towel.

She cups your face with her hands, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Can she feel it? Can she see it? Oh, she 100% can. Her eyes fall, trailing their way down your torso and - oh shit - she lets out a breathy giggle as she notices how hard you’ve gotten. Her smile widens and she leans down to kiss you fully. Her lips are just as soft as last night. She smells like heaven, you can tell she used the hotel soap but her fragrance is so much stronger. Delicate and breezy. Fucking hypnotic. 

Your hands find themselves on her hips, pulling her closer. She smiles against your lips and pulls back slightly. You can feel yourself pouting - real mature, she’ll love that. She giggles and swipes her finger across your bottom lip that’s pushed out. Wait, does she? 

“Usually, I would have left by now. To avoid that uncomfortable morning-after small talk. But… I didn’t really want to.” She says in a hesitant voice.

“I’m glad you didn’t leave.” Are you now? Really?!

“Me too.” 

You pull her back to you trying to continue the kiss, even though you know it’s a bad idea. It’s like you can’t stop yourself. You start trailing kisses down her chest, but she pulls back, stopping you in your tracks.

“But I do have to go. I have a meeting in an hour.”

“A meeting?” At the Hunters Association, most likely. 

“At the Hunters Association. Oh, I don’t think I mentioned my job before. I’m a hunter.”

“Ohhhhh wow!” Thank god, she bought that.

“Yeah, I have to do a debrief before my leave.”

“Your leave?”

“I… It’s mandatory after I got injured a few days ago. A huge Wanderer showed up at the park and I was the only hunter around and there were kids. People were getting hurt, so I… ugh… I jumped in and ended up in the hospital again.”

“Again?!”

“Well, I was on desk duty and not supposed to involve myself in any fights… My new injuries made my previous ones worse. I had to have a minor surgery. So now, my boss is making me take a mandatory leave and turn in my weapons so…”

“Wait, you’re telling me you just had surgery…”

She hesitates and avoids meeting your eye.

“Well, it was like… two days ago…”

“Are you serious?! And last night… You were at a club? Drinking? Dancing? And then we… Fuck! I could have hurt you?!” 

The panic in your voice is too intense, why are you panicking? She is a grown woman capable of making her own choices. However questionable those choices might be...

“I’m fine. Seriously, when I say it was minor, the doctors literally told my boss I could go back to work pretty much right away. But she’s still pushing for the leave. It’s more a punishment than a recovery. You didn’t hurt me. Well, you did, but in a good way.” Her smile turns dangerous and there you go blushing again.

“You are a handful aren’t you?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

She tugs at her towel, letting it drop down her waist and over your hands which are still on her hips. Her breasts sit perfectly in front of your face. You spot the various bruises you left, mostly surrounding her nipples. As you move your hands to let the towel drop to the floor, you see her lower stomach and inner thighs are also covered with your love bites. Her hands trace over the bruises she left on your collarbone. She shifts her legs and straddles your lap, her bare pussy sitting directly on your barely covered, painfully hard, cock. She gasps softly when she feels the rough stitches over the wound on your chest. 

“When did this happen? Wait… Did you stitch this yourself?”

You take her hand away from the wound and hold it tenderly, placing a kiss on her knuckles. 

“It happened the other day. It wasn’t serious so I handled it myself.”

“And you were upset with me… Wait, are you a doctor?”

“No, not a doctor. Stitches look pretty good for a non-doctor? Pretty impressive, yeah?”

You were avoiding her question of how for as long as you possibly could. Her eyes narrow and she pushes you back onto the mattress before moving to straddle your torso. Feeling her grind against your stomach, you could feel how wet she was, and it wasn’t from the shower. Fuuuuck.

“You didn’t answer my question. How did it happen?” Her hands drift down your arms and take hold of your hands.

“So, I’m an artist. I make my own paint. Sometimes finding the ingredients I need can get… risky.”

She squints her eyes, considering your story. Her hands close in around your wrists as she pulls them to her waist.

“Risky, huh? So what happened?” 

“I uhh… I was diving to find some coral. I needed a particular shade of red for a - ahh hah…”

She had slowly lifted your hands to her breasts and your self-control was at an all time low. You already sounded extremely suspicious. What if she felt the cut on your head? Would she buy the diving story a second time? She moves your hands up and down, giving her the friction she desired. She dropped her hands away when you started kneading her breasts on your own, letting her head fall back. Your thumbs moving up to roll over her peaked nipples.

“I thought you said you had a meeting…” You almost didn’t recognize your own voice. What was she doing to you?

“You’re right, I should go then…” 

She smirks down at you as she shifts slightly, moving to get up. You sit up and reach your arms around her waist, pulling her down on top of you. Her chest flush against yours, you could feel her heartbeat. You crash your mouth into hers. She kisses you back with equal intensity. One of her hands makes its way down your torso, the other still, braced against your chest. Her hand begins rubbing over your cock through your sweatpants. This is such a bad idea. You should… Your thoughts come to a screeching halt as a moan escapes your throat.

“Too much?” 

She had reached her hand down into your pants and was cupping your balls. The squeeze she had given them had taken you by surprise - you really are getting lost in your thoughts... She felt so good, her body melting into yours.

“No… no, I just didn’t expect it. It felt good - kinda…”

“Kinda?”

“You’re not afraid to be a little rough, are you?” She smirks before taking your bottom lip between her teeth, giving it a tug before letting go. Well that answered your question. 

Ding

Your phone chimed. It’s got to be Thomas. Shit, what time is it? The exhibit…

“Sorry cutie, that would be my manager.”

She releases your balls and you whine. You. Whine. What are you, twelve? But she was literally bringing you to the brink so fast you didn’t want her to stop so suddenly. She smiles and leans down to place a kiss to your forehead before standing up and grabbing her towel to wrap around her once more. 

You sit up and pick up your phone. Sure enough, a message from Thomas. 

Thomas: Exhibit is in 2 hours. Please tell me you are getting ready…

Thomas really needs a vacation. That would also mean he wouldn't schedule interviews or exhibits for a while. Okay, mental note, plan a mandatory vacation for Thomas as soon as this mess of a job is done.

Me: Stop worrying, I’ll be there.

You toss your phone to the bed and look up to see she was fully dressed again. There goes your chance at a round two. Thanks, Thomas. You stand and approach her, she’s carefully touching up her lipstick and trying to smooth out her messy curls in the mirror next to the desk. You wrap your arms around her waist and look at her in the mirror. She smiles as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You have to get to work?” 

“An art exhibit. I have a new collection on display today. Starts in a few hours” Before you had even a minute to process your next words they were spilling out of your mouth. “Would you be interested in joining me?”

“Are you asking me out?”

You were losing your nerve. Good, you shouldn’t be asking her to join you anyways.

“I am.”

Rafayel, you are truly the worst.

“As in, you want me to check out your art or…”

Yes, just a guest. Just check it out. Not a date.

“As my date.”

For fucks sake…

“I don’t really want this to be a one night stand.” You continue. “You’re gorgeous, funny, bold and sexy as fuck…”

“I’d love to be your date.” She answers quickly.

You see your goofy ass smile in the mirror, you try to hide behind her head. She laughs before turning around. She places a kiss on your cheek. She grabs her purse off the desk and pulls out her phone.

“I’ll call you after my meeting?” She hands her phone to you and you put in your number.

“And I’ll pick you up. Do you need a ride there?”

“No, I’ve already texted Tara to pick me up. I guess I will see you later?”

“Yes you will.” 

— —

You spend the next 2 hours gathering your things and getting back to your house to shower and get ready for the exhibit. Fuck, this is going to be a nightmare. You’re going out, on a date, with your target. How the hell are you going to get yourself out of this one? Do you want to? 

As you mull over your current situation, you stand in your closet and look through your designer suits. Maybe the blue one with a crisp white dress shirt? Low key, casual, nothing fancy. Could give the impression this date is more casual and certainly won’t lead to anything serious. Or maybe the red suit with a black dress shirt? Or the black suit with a lavender dress shirt? You have never thought about what to wear to an exhibit before, usually grabbing the first suit you see and slapping on a smile for a few hours to make Thomas happy. 

Buttoning the lavender dress shirt proves to be challenging with your hand shaking so much. No shot you’re nervous. Well, the contract you signed agreeing to kill this woman did say if you failed to accomplish this mission the consequences would be… well actually, they didn’t specify. They just said “you don’t want to know” trying to be menacing assholes. Honestly, you kind of want to know at this point. She did give you the best head of your life and she’s funny and cute and… 

Ding

Your phone chirps bringing you back to your very complicated reality. Placing your golden sea turtle cuff links on the dresser you pick up the phone to see a message from her. She’s ready. Are you?

— —

Settling into your dark blue McLaren, you do a quick quality check to make sure the interior is pristine. You haven’t driven this car in a while, but it certainly makes a statement. So why not? The cream interior is spotless and it smells like vanilla. Thomas definitely took it to get detailed recently. That little shit used it without asking again. Maybe you can use that against him to get out of this event early. 

Pulling up to the address she gave, you spot her on her phone pacing along the sidewalk. Blood rushes straight to your cock. Oh fuck… The black high-waisted skirt falls just above her knees, a loose black blazer hangs off her shoulders and the pop of red from a lace bustier tucked into her skirt props her tits up so perfectly. And of course she’s wearing the same heels from last night. You can’t stop yourself from remembering how she kicked them off before tugging her dress down to fall to the floor. Oh, she sees you and is waving. Pull it together, for the love of god. 

You hop out to open the passenger door and hold her hand as she ducks her head to get in. You damn near run back to the driver side so you can sit beside her. As you close the door, she giggles and you turn to face her.

“You look really good in a suit. Damn.” There’s a hint of blush creeping up to her cheeks. 

“Are you saying I look bad in everything else?”

“No! You look good in everything I didn’t… you’re such a tease how dare you!” She swats at your arm laughing along with you. “But honestly, I think you look best in nothing at all.” 

Oh. Great. Just what the press want to see you arrive with - an erection. You feel her hand lightly graze your thigh. You look over at her with a smirk. 

“Oh and I’m the tease?��

She giggles and removes her hand, but you grab it and place it back on your thigh. She gives you a gentle squeeze and settles back in her seat to watch the city blur as you speed to the gallery. Your hand stays over hers, relishing in her warmth. 

Pulling up to the gallery, photographers surround your car. Security works to usher them away so you can get out. Once there is a path, you give her hand a squeeze before hopping out to open her door. Helping her out of the car, she keeps her head down as the flashes strobe around you. You wrap your arm around her, protecting her from the photographers pushing closer. Once inside the gallery she looks up at you with wide eyes. 

“They knew it was you immediately! They really wanted to talk to you out there.”

“Yeah, they memorized all my cars… And the only people I talk to are the reporters inside and I don’t even want to talk to them.”

“Why not?” You sigh in response.

“I don’t like talking about my art. I want my art to speak for itself. Everybody interprets a piece differently, I don’t want to tell people what they should see.” 

“Well I certainly look forward to telling you what I see in your art.”

“I can’t wait.” She smiles up at you, damn her smile is breathtaking. 

Her hand clings to your arm as you take a turn around the gallery. You politely greet patrons and listen to her analysis of your work. You scan the room for Thomas. Eventually you spot him, his eyes go wide when he spots the woman on your arm. You wink at him, but he stares daggers directly into your soul. You approach him with a shit eating grin. You aren’t sure why he is so mad, but he’s just too fun to mess with at this point. 

“Rafayel! Right on time, wow, that’s so unlike you.”

“I’m always right on time Thomas. Nothing really starts until I arrive.”

“Right. Right. And hello miss, who might you be?”

Now he is staring daggers at your date. The primal urge to wrap your hands around his throat takes you by surprise. This is literally your first date with this woman - besides your night with her at the club and in your hotel room. It just makes you angry. That’s all you know. You wrap your arm around her shoulder, your smile tense.

“This is Y/N. She’s my date tonight.” 

Thomas chokes on air. He coughs for a minute before regaining his composure. 

“I apologize, ahem, hello Y/N it is a pleasure to meet you. I just didn’t expect Rafayel to bring a date tonight. He usually attends exhibits alone.”

“Well, I’m glad he’s branching out. It’s nice to meet you Thomas.”

“Might I have a word with Rafayel for a brief moment? I have to prepare him for a few interviews.” 

“Of course. I’m going to find the bar and grab a drink.”

“I’ll find you as soon as I’m done.” She winks at you before turning to stride towards the bar. You watch her walk away, her ass swaying. She knows what she’s doing, you just know it. 

“Fuck!” Thomas hits you over the back of the head. The sting of the slap against the stitches makes your vision blur momentarily. “Thomas, I have stitches you dickhead.” 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. But what the fuck are you doing? You know who that is right?”

Thomas lowers his voice to a whisper as he pulls you over to an empty corner. His face is shrouded in shadow, but you can tell he is beyond pissed.

“Yes, I know who she is. I met her at the club last night and we might have… uhh…”

“You might have what?”

“I might have… okay, before you sent me the details I might have met her at the club and then we may have gone back to my hotel room and…”

“Please stop. You did not fuck. You did not. Oh for fucks sake, Rafayel!”

“I know! I know it's complicated, but I have a plan.” 

“Oh, you have a plan?”

“Yes!”

You did not, in fact, have a plan.

“Just trust me.”

He should not trust you. 

“I’ll do the interviews and be out of here in a blink and focus on the job.” You couldn’t focus on anything but getting back to your place with her and getting a repeat of last night.

“Fine. Lucy and Kenneth want to interview you and let the photographers get a few shots of you. But I beg of you, don’t get any pictures with her that look, too friendly. It’d be front page news tomorrow.”

You decide not to tell him they’d already photographed the both of you when you arrived. She had kept her head down and the security surrounded you, they hadn’t gotten a clear shot. It’ll be fine. 

“I got you. Don’t even worry about it. Oh and next time you want to borrow my car… ask.” 

Thomas’ face turns bright red. He nods and runs a hand through his hair before scurrying away to talk to a group of businessmen surrounding one of your latest works. Probably looking to purchase and hang up in their stuffy office. You’d rather go broke than let your art suffer in such a place. 

You turn towards the bar and spot your gorgeous date sipping a martini, chatting with a woman in a navy suit. She looks like… oh no. Not McCarthy. You damn near sprint over to stop the conversation before McCarthy can pull any salacious details regarding your connection with the mystery woman everyone saw you arrive with. 

“Oh that’s fascinating! Rafayel seems like someone who wouldn’t need a muse if I’m honest.”

Shit.

“I’ve been reporting on Rafayel’s career since the very beginning. I’ve seen him go through many muses. I am so looking forward to seeing what he has in store with your… influence.” 

Your instincts to drag her to a secluded building and end her miserable little life… The moment you see the sparkle fade from your beautiful dates eyes, your mind shifts into overdrive. You step closer and wrap your arm around her waist pulling her close to your side.

“McCarthy. So good to see you. How’s the divorce going? Must be a nightmare with the defamation lawsuit my lawyers launched against your agency.”

McCarthy’s face falls and her nostrils flare as you air out her dirty laundry. If she’s going to be a bitch, you have no problem being a bitch as well. You’re not going to let her ruin this… whatever “this” is.

“Ah, yes, it’s uhm… difficult, but I have no doubt the lawsuit will be dropped. My sources are always airtight, Mr. Rafayel.” Oh she is really trying your patience. 

“Airtight? Hmm… a thieving gallery janitor, an abusive valet, a housekeeper who set up secret cameras in my house on behalf of - oh right - yourself and your agency. I think you might need to look up the definition of airtight, Madison.”

McCarthy’s brows knit together. She sucks in a breath and bows her head. 

“I believe my colleague just arrived. I do hope you both enjoy the evening.”

She turns on her heel and leaves in a hurry. You stifle a laugh at how red her face became after calling out her bullshit. But the cutie on your arm shifts uncomfortably next to you and all the joy of ruining McCarthy’s night vanishes. Turning to face her, you see her cheeks flushed and her restless fingers twisting the martini glass in her hands. 

“Sorry about that cutie. McCarthy is a pariah. She had to start her own news agency since no one would hire her with her dirty investigation tactics.”

“Yeah…”

“What are you thinking? Come on, I see those wheels turning.”

“Just because she uses dirty tactics doesn’t mean her intel is false.”

This is not the conversation you wanted to be having tonight. Sure, you’ve had a few slut phases and the term “muse” was widely used by the media when referencing your… escapades. But this girl… she’s not a muse. She’s the air in your lungs. She makes colors brighter and the sun warmer. What is above a muse? Whatever that is, she’s that. But you have to be honest with her now. She could just go home and look you up on the internet. And that would make everything worse.

“She’s not wrong, I’ve had my fair share of muses. But before you start thinking you’re just another one - you’re not.”

“You have to admit, that’s what I’d expect you to say.”

“You got me there. But I mean it. You approached me last night, remember? You took me by surprise, I couldn’t… I didn’t even… I…” 

“You’re cute when you stutter.”

You let out a loud laugh and pull her closer to you, her hand reaching up to rest against your chest.

“You make it hard for me to think straight. It’s why I like being around you, I can’t get lost in my thoughts when you’re around.”

She shifts her leg to press against your cock - half hard from earlier and growing harder as she rubs her thigh against you. She is playing a dangerous game.

“It’s not the only thing that gets hard around me, huh?” Oh she really likes to tease… damn it. That is your specialty and she is beating you at your own game. 

You lean in close and let your lips graze her ear. She shivers as your breath hits her skin.

“Have you seen yourself? You drive me crazy.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” She leans back and bats those dark lashes at you. 

“Please do.” 

She reaches her arms around your neck and pulls you close. Her chest pressing against you so you can feel her nipples hard against the thin fabric of her top. Yeah, you’re not going to be the one to kill her, she’s going to kill you at this rate. You feel her hot breath against your ear as she speaks..

“I’ve been wet for you since we got here.” 

You don’t even hesitate before grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the offices at the back of the gallery. Digging into your pocket you find your phone and open the gallery management app. She giggles as she jogs along behind you trying to keep up with your pace. You press your phone to the panel on the door and slide the bar on your phone to unlock. You swing the door open and pull her into the dark hallway, closing the door with your foot and relocking it on your phone. You find the nearest office and pull her inside.

And just like that, your lips are on hers again. Your pounding heartbeat steadies, the closer she is the calmer you feel. Her hands run all over you, your chest, your neck, your hair. She pushes your jacket off of your shoulders as you pull her skirt up over her hips. You pull back and start trailing kisses down her jaw, settling yourself into her neck nipping and sucking until her breathing is ragged. 

She tugs at the buttons of your shirt and slides her hands in to caress your chest. God her hands against your skin feel like fire. You shrug off your shirt before returning your hands to her back, tugging at the clasps of the bustier. They unclasp easily and you pull back to watch it fall away, her breasts bouncing as they’re released from the structured top. You toss the top to the floor before leaning forward and capturing one of her nipples in your mouth. She lets out a moan as her head falls back. 

You tuck your hands under her ass and release her nipple from your mouth with a loud pop. You lift her and she wraps her legs around you. She wasn’t lying, you can feel her wetness against your stomach as you carry her to the desk. 

You don’t even bother to look for the nameplate on the desk before shoving the folders to the side and settling her ass on the cool wooden surface. Your fingers hook on her lace panties and you tug them forward. You both gasp when you hear a ripping sound. You look down and see the fabric is torn in half. She slaps you on your shoulder.

“I liked those!” Her voice is raspy and full of need. Her hands quickly wrap around the back of your neck, almost forgetting her torn undergarments. 

“I’ll buy you a new pair in every color. At least now, it’s one less thing to remove later.”

“Later?” She giggles against you as you resume kissing her neck, slowly moving down to her chest. Your hands digging into her hips.

“I plan to make you cum until you lose your voice from screaming my name. This is just a preview.” 

You reclaim her nipple in your mouth and gently tug at the sensitive bud with your teeth. She groans loudly and shifts her hips forward, desperate for more. You oblige, of course. You run your finger over her entrance and whimper against her skin - she’s so damn wet. You pull back and press your forehead to hers, flashing a devious smile at her before sinking your middle finger into her needy pussy. 

She brings her hands to the back of your head and pulls you to her. She kisses you hard between breaths. You feel your cock throb as she kisses you. Her tongue presses against your lips, but you’re enjoying these moments of teasing. Your finger plunges deeper, earning you a low grunt and shiver. You press your ring finger inside of her, dragging the pads of your fingers against her slick walls.

It seems she isn’t going to let you be the only tease. She bites your lower lip and drags it out as she leans back. You taste the faintest bit of blood on your tongue and make a sound you didn’t even know you could make. You hate how it sounds like a growl, she probably thinks you sound like an animal. As quickly as you think she hated it, you were proven wrong since she is squeezing the living fuck out of your fingers.

As you remove your fingers, she breaks the kiss to whine at the sudden emptiness. She looks down, expecting you to pull your cock out, but instead, you lower to your knees. Her eyes widen and you chuckle as you catch her eye. Your hands slowly caress her calves until you reach her ankles, you lift them swiftly and toss her legs over your shoulders. She gasps and shifts her hips pushing her pussy closer to your face. God she smells divine.

You press your mouth against her, allowing your nose to split her open before dragging your tongue from her entrance to her clit. You suckle her clit slowly as you unbuckle your pants and push them down over your hips to stroke your aching cock. With one hand on your cock, you move your other hand up over her thigh to thumb her clit. 

You shift your mouth away from her clit as your thumb takes over. You turn your head side to side to sink your mouth as deeply inside her as you possibly can. You press your tongue into her entrance, savoring just how sweet she is. She writhes against your mouth as you continue to swirl and push your tongue deeper. You feel her pussy squeeze your tongue and you can’t hold back a moan. The vibrations must have sent her over the edge because she’s gripping your hair and trying (and failing) to stifle her shouts of pleasure. 

“Rafayel... fuck I’m coming ahh- I’m oh my god…”

Her voice is low, she can barely breathe, and it completely unravels you. As if there was a countdown, both of you are coming. All you can hear are the filthy sounds coming from your mouth, the slurping, the moans, you aren’t even thinking about the mess you’re making under the desk. 

When you finally pull back and look up to her, her cheeks are flushed and her chest heaving. She looks down at you and clasps a hand over her mouth to muffle a giggle as she looks to the floor below you. You follow her gaze and see the mess you made. Whoever uses this office is going to lose their shit tomorrow…. 

“It’s always a good sign when it’s messy.”

“Is it now?” 

She smiles as you rise to your feet and tuck yourself back inside your pants. She reaches for you and you settle your hands on the outside of her thighs. She slowly traces her fingers over your abs, chest and down your arms. Your breath catches when her hands return to your shoulders and trial up to your face, tugging your chin upwards to look at her.

“As much as I like seeing this side of you, I’m really glad you invited me today. Seeing your art, you’re incredibly talented.”

“I’ve never enjoyed these events, that is until today. How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel on fire and completely calm at the same time?” 

“I was going to ask you the same question…”

Your heart skips a beat. She locks her fingers behind your neck. She gently pulls you into a kiss. Not a heated, passionate kiss, but a gentle kiss. Her soft lips press against yours, her tongue tracing your bottom lip slowly. She doesn’t tease like earlier, she’s sweet and slow. You don’t deny her this time. She slips her tongue between your lips and she sighs softly as she tastes herself on your tongue.

Knock knock

You pull back and she gasps, quickly wrapping an arm over her breasts as she glances over her shoulder at the door. You quickly scoop her top off the floor and toss it to her. She wraps it around her backwards and reconnects the clasps before shifting it around and pulling the cups up over her chest. Just as you finish buttoning your shirt another knock sounds at the door. 

Knock knock knock

You stride across the office thrusting your arms through the sleeves of your jacket. You glance over and see the gorgeous woman beside you straightening her skirt. She gives you a soft smile and nods. You know the desk will hide the mess you made and there’s nothing else to signify anything unsavory happened. You take half a second to wonder who else at the event had access to the private offices. Maybe Thomas? Is he looking for you?

You swing open the office door and are blinded by a flash. You blink rapidly as your eyes readjust. You hear a gasp behind you and as your pupils return to a normal size, you understand the reaction. Your stomach drops in an instant.

“How interesting… Seems I was right after all.”

McCarthy stands in the doorway, a camera in one hand and her other on her hip. By the shit eating grin on her face, she must think she has something worthwhile to print. You chuckle under your breath and stare at her.

“McCarthy, if you’re not careful, I could easily add stalking to that lawsuit.”

“I have a key. And I’ve used this office before. But I will admit, I’ve never used it like you two just did.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about McCarthy, but if you don’t-” She cuts you off.

“A photo is worth a thousand words, Rafayel. And a photo of a famous playboy artist, his… muse… and her torn panties on the floor of an office is surely worth several thousand.” 

You hold your breath as you look over your shoulder. Sure enough, the torn panties you tossed aside are on full display. By the time you turn back around, McCarthy is gone. You stumble out into the hallway, jogging to the end and back looking for any sign of her or where she could have gone. Your chest starts hurting and you realize you haven’t taken a deep breath in several minutes. You gasp for air and run a hand through your hair. Thomas asked you for one thing.

“I’m sorry…” Her voice is barely above a whisper. 

When you turn to look at her, you see her wrapping her blazer around her torso. You hadn’t realized she’d slipped it on. It’s like she’s using it to hide. You walk right up to her and hold her face in your hands. 

“No no no. Stop. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“If I hadn’t been teasing you, we wouldn’t have even come in here and-”

“McCarthy is the lowest of the low. I’ll call her to see what I need to do so she won’t publish the photo. I’ll even get the fucker who gave her a key fired for good measure. It’ll be okay. You have nothing to apologize for and I don’t want you to think you’re responsible for any of this bullshit.”

“I know you have interviews to do before we leave. But you probably shouldn’t go out there with lipstick on your neck.”

She licks her thumb and gently wipes away the lipstick stain. You smile and lean in to kiss her forehead. You let go of her hips and cross the room to where the discarded panties lay. You stoop down and pick them up, swiftly placing them in your pocket.

“Are you keeping them as a souvenir?”

“What if I was?”

“That’d be pretty hot.”

“What would be pretty hot?” 

Thomas’ voice startles both of you. You glare at him over her shoulder, but as soon as you meet his eyes you know you’re on borrowed time. He’s angry. No, not angry. He’s homicidal. You’ve never seen him look like this. It’s kind of impressive, if not terrifying. 

“Thomas, I’m glad you’re here. Have you seen McCarthy?” 

You approach the door, casually slipping your arm back around her and pulling her into a reassuring embrace. Keep her calm. Defuse the bomb that is Thomas. Bribe McCarthy. Talk to the journalists. Get this woman home to fuck until neither of you can walk. Easy.

“Oh, I’ve seen her. And boy, does she work fucking fast.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rafayel, I asked you for one thing. Just one. And now, I have an absolute shit storm to deal with.”

“Thomas, what are you talking about?”

“Check your phone.”

You pull out your phone just as her phone rings. 

“I have to take this, one sec.” She steps further into the office to take the call.

Unlocking your phone you see a never-ending list of notifications. Social media, texts from friends and other artists, multiple missed calls from Thomas and a call from an unknown number. As you sift through the notifs you finally see what they’re in relation to. Your knees nearly give out. You look up at Thomas, eyes wide.

“What… I… how…”

“You never pay attention to my updates and now it is biting us both in the ass.”

You look over your shoulder and your eyes lock onto hers. The horror in her eyes tells you she already knows. Her eyes glisten with tears and your anger is about to take over. When this is sorted, McCarthy is dead.

“You told me…”

“I told you McCarthy has moved to instant news. As soon as she got that damn photo she was already uploading it. Now the world knows about your little sexipade and her name is trending with the hashtag Rafayel’s girlfriend.”

“Fuck.”

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @crystalrainforest @libriomancer

I wasn't sure I would write another part to this, but I am low key glad I did. More to come I hope!

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny just wanted a nap, was that really so wrong?

He was homeless and tired from being chased around by that weird ninja death cult and the scary leader lady that gave him a back eye a few weeks ago. The injury was long gone now but he's sure as heck going to hold a grudge over it.

After managing to swipe a 12 inch hoagie and devouring it in minutes he started looking for a place to lie down and sleep. Unfortunately whatever city he had ended up in seemed to be a smog filled crime-fest and he couldn't go anywhere without having to teleport people around.

As a rule he refused to fight the living as there were too many ways for something to go wrong, and the thought of accidentally killing someone shakes his core. So teleporting them it was!

Finally, finally he found somewhere to nap. It was a lush garden on the rich side of the city. He just flew up into a comfortable looking tree and immediately konked out.

He woke up to the sound of yelling and looked up at the sky. Hmm. Judging about how much the sun had moved he had been asleep for more than a five hours. Nice. Looking back down he saw a teen around his age wielding a katana and demanding to know why he was there. He also kept calling Phantom a "pit demon", which, rude.

Danny usually isn't into the, "I studied the blade!" guys but other than that this guy was 100% his type. So he chose to actually chat with the other teen rather than just flying away and ignoring him. "I don't know what a pit demon is, but I'm just here for a nap."

"A nap." The green eyed teen responded, sounding rather critical. "In a tree. On the property an where an Al Ghul resides?"

Phantom felt his face twist in confusion, "An Al Ghul? What? Is that some type of exorcist?"

[yowumi]

Hotshot surgeon Gojo x Medical Student Reader Ft. Hotshot Surgeon Suguru [ modern au ] TW. Pregnancy & Love Triangle

Shotgun Wedding CH. 01 | one night, forever?

Summary. Satoru Gojo, The states #1 Neurosurgeon, known for his wealthy clan. He was known for his success, parties, and his willingness to fuck anybody and everybody in a 10 mile radius. Unfortunately, one unlucky night, you make the wise decision to do what any hard working young medical student would do when faced with a sexy doctor…you sleep with him in which changes your life forever.

.

.

.

Warnings. Accidental pregnancy, no protection (wrap it before you tap it), love triangle, roommates (they all live together), arranged marriage, satoru is a bit of a meanie, plot twists, angst, smut, you only end up with one.

A/N. this is my first time writing a fanfic, although i’ve always wanted to! i’m always open to take constructive criticism or any tips to make my writing better! I hope you guys enjoy and definitely lemme know if you have any suggestions, read well luv <3

keep up! // ch. 1 // ch. 2 (coming soon)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

12:09

one, two, three…

this can’t be right, why do these all say positive, there isn’t any possible way this could be happening. You were only twenty two, this can’t be happening.

positive

positive

positive.

the plus sign on the pregnancy test is clear as day. you were pregnant. this had to be some mistake, you can’t even remember the last time you’ve got it on with someone let alone let anyone not use protection.

you’ve always been way too cautious, especially with your mother being a young mother herself, always so strict when it came to boys and using protection.

how could you fuck up this bad?

a tear falls from your face, before many more. you can’t hold it together, not now. you can’t be a mother? you don’t even know who the father is. this is all too much.

beep, beep

Incoming Call: King Nobara

you look at the dumb contact name you and nobara made up one night while you were drunk recalling the night where she had yuji bow down to her passing her drinks while pronouncing her ‘King Nobara’ for getting the drunkest.

You send it to voicemail, there’s no way you could face her right now. nobara would burn down the city if she knew her best friend was crying.

ding

King Nobara: omgggg im so hungover from last night, yuji said him and gumi had to force me out lmao

King Nobara: where did you go btw i was tryna find you all night, last i saw you were with doctor save a hoe 🍆💦

fuck.

14 hours ago.

“Oh my god i can’t believe Shoko invited us here, there’s so many hotties! Oh my god is that Maki Zenin” She slaps your arm playfully trying to grab your attention towards Maki Zenin.

Maki Zenin, She wasn’t a big shot surgeon but she was a quick learner, being the first in her class to get an internship at only nineteen years old, making a special exception straight out of high school. Nobara is a total fangirl for her, admiring her for being a ‘girl boss’ and her beauty.

some would even say Nobara had a little crush, although she would never admit it.

“aren’t we supposed to be here for work” Megumi makes a remark towards Nobara and Yuji who are already shoving wine down their throats.

“Hey man take advantage of the free alcohol, this shit is nothing like cheep shit we get, taste it gumi!” Yuji hands Megumi a glass looking at him like an excited puppy.

Megumi rolls his eyes and takes a sip.

“Whatever, i just hope I don’t see Gojo, he’s always pestering me about how I should let him mentor me.” Megumi gets all creeped out from the thought of Gojo.

Apparently he has known Gumi since he was a kid, they are about 8 years apart in age.

Megumi hates him.

“He’s the #1 Neurosurgeon in tokyo, it isn’t a horrible idea” You suggest, “Being close to someone like that itself is a blessing, he could totally help you out”

“Yeah i hear he’s like loaded rich! he could pay for like your dog food and shit since you buy that crap every day!” Nobara slurs her words and laughs,

Megumi has a lot of pets surprisingly, Nobara likes to joke that he’s ‘Snow White’. He really does buy a lot of dog food though to be fair, his dogs are huge.

“No amount of money is worth spending time with that maniac, I’d rather buy dog food every hour” He finishes his drink

This talk of Gojo is getting him worked up, “His best friend isn’t that bad though, I hear he’s a respectable man and good at his studies” Megumi adds,

“Oh what’s his name! uh Gojo-“ Yuji tries to think of who he’s talking about, the mention of Gojo makes megumi shoot Yuji a glare, “-OH! I KNOW! I KNOW! GETO!” he says excitedly as if he just figured out the hardest puzzle in the world,

Nobara cheers Yuji on, and you take a sip of your drink admiring their immaturity. Something you and Megumi can appreciate from them is how they always keep a light attitude. The pressure of school and work was draining and keeping a light attitude constantly couldn’t be easy.

You all look over to find Geto before Nobara points towards him, “oh my gosh he’s so handsome, you should totally talk to him y/n he’s ogling you like crazy! you need to get over that stupid choso anyways” She says grabbing your arm to motion you towards him,

“ugh don’t remind me, i don’t want to think of that asshole” You say, chugging down drinks before you could think any longer.

Before you knew it, Geto was walking towards you, you suddenly felt nervous, his presence was intimidating. Anyone can argue his beauty is unmatched, he has such a romantic aspect to him, looking at him looks like love itself, you’re struggling to keep your composure.

“Hello, you must be y/n l/n, I’ve heard lots about you, I couldn’t help but introduce myself” He says with a charming smile,

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I admire your medical expertise” You say entranced in his eyes, it felt like he was staring into your soul.

“No need to be so formal, you can call me Suguru if you’d like” He says while taking your hand and kissing it, you realize Nobara has disappeared somewhere.

“You should come by my office sometime, I would be interested in talking more with you soon, i’m afraid i’ve grown too tired to stay here any longer, have to hide before Satoru brings me into some trouble” He laughs off at the mention of Satoru,

Wow, Satoru Gojo really wasn’t a good influence, huh?

You nod and say you’re goodbyes as you watch as he leaves with a blonde man. Nanami Kento, Tokyo’s #1 Obstetrician.

You wander off barely holding yourself up as you bump into someone nearly causing you to fall over. “M-my apologies” You say slurring your words as you look up to see a tall white haired man, he looked like an angel.

His blue eyes pierced you as he smirks and says “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, i was in the way, how about I buy you a drink for my stupidity” He flirts

and it’s working.

You nod and he pulls you gently over to sit down in a corner, there wasn’t many people here, almost everyone left.

As you guys pile up on drinks, you both become ridiculously drunk, talking about debt and studies and about your career, until you both could barely think.

You both just sit in a comfortable silence for a while, before you see the white man slowly pull you into a kiss, his lips were soft and you could smell the cologne on him, he smelt really good.

You’re hand wrapped around his neck, you look around before going any further realizing you two were the only ones left. You get on top of him and sit on his lap as he pulls you closer, tracing the arch of your back.

He holds your hips down on him, feeling the bulge in his dress pants. The kiss deepened as he laid you down on the booth, placing his jacket under you for comfort without pulling away from the kiss once.

He slowly plants kisses down your chest, “you’re beautiful” he breaks away before unbuckling his pants and pulling them down just enough to pull out his dick.

He unbuttoned his shirt next to show his muscular body, you traced the lines of his abs with your fingers before going down to his v line, he groaned a little before lifting up the dress you were wearing to take your underwear off, grabbing one of your clothed plump boobs that were barely staying in the dress.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, promise princess, gonna make this pussy mine” he says as he places his dick against your core, feeling him twitch against your clit earning a moan from you and for him to buck his hips closer.

He enters you and he swears he’s seeing stars as he thrusts into you greedily, he’s slurring his words as he mutters things about how “it’s mine, gonna cum in this pussy” he says feeling himself become closer the longer he’s inside of you.

you haven’t gotten any action in so long, you haven’t even been on the pill, this didn’t cross your mind in the moment of course. Who would think about that when Satoru Gojo is saying he wants to cum inside of you?

“shit, fucking gonna cum inside, so tight, gonna breed you so well, say it. say you’ll let me breed a sweet little baby into you, fuck” he groaned letting lose of the little composure he had before.

“cum inside me, Satoru, want you to put a baby inside of me” and with those words Satoru whimpered in your ear as he kept thrusting hard feeling cum ache out of his balls, filling you up to the brim.

This happened about 3 more times before he had your drive drop you off at home where you’re roommate, Megumi had to carry you inside and he gives Gojo a disgusted look.

After laying you down he leaned down on the car door, where Gojo slowly rolled down the window and looked like a child on trouble.

“What the fuck did you do, Satoru. She is barely conscious.” He says with anger in his voice. He knew Satoru wouldn’t do anything without consent but he wouldn’t be surprised if he took advantage of his pretty privilege with drunk woman.

“So am i, Gumi” he says barely able to stay awake for this conversation.

“Whatever just leave her alone, she isn’t one of your girls, she’s my friend and she has potential to be more than one of your little interns” He says while walking off

In the moment Satoru was glad Megumi left because he was on the verge of passing out. He didn’t think you were one of his little interns, he was listening when you were speaking about your goals and dreams of being a doctor. He really wasn’t trying to get into your pants, but he knew Suguru was been eye balling you for weeks, so he already felt regretful for sleeping with you.

back to the present

you’re brought back from your thoughts when you hear a knock on your door startling you from your head as you take a second to clear your voice so it doesn’t sound like you were crying.

“You alright in there? i heard a noise” Megumi’s voice echos through the door and you grab your composure, wiping away your tears before opening the door.

you put on a smile, “yeah sorry i’m just really hungover, you can come in” you offer noticing he brought you a coffee.

you both sit on the bed before megumi breaks the silence, “Gojo dropped you off last night, are you okay? he didn’t make you join an orgy or something right?” he asks concerned.

You and megumi have been friends since you were kids, his big sister was your best friend before her death in middle school, ever since then you and megumi have been pretty close, you were almost like family. sharing a mutual grief and love for someone close to each other.

“No, he didn’t do anything like that, I promise” you laugh off and he stares for a while trying to find any discomfort in your words before believing your words.

ding

King Nobara: OH YEAH AND YUJI KISSED MEGUMI LAST NIGHT!!!! DONT TELL HIM I TOLD YOU

The phone was on the bed facing right towards you and megumi before his face turns red and he flips the phone over.

you’re face brightens at this news, “Megumi! you have to tell me about this right now, hold on let’s all have a group call!” you say laughing heading towards your phone before he chases you down for it.

You: TELL ME ALL THE DETAILS.

“NO!” He raises his voice a little, face burning red, “I’m not talking to itadori.” He states, looking away in embarrassment.

ding

megumi looks up with wide eyes, “Wait!” he says flustered trying to reach for the phone.

King Nobara: MEGUMI KISSED HIM FIRST

Megumi lays his head in his hands and faces towards the wall like a child who has been punished. “WHAAAAT” you say laughing as you poke at his sides trying to get it out of him.

“I’m leaving now.” he says walking away with hands still in his hands as he goes to find the leashes for his dogs.

you laugh as he walks away.

“Wait Gumi! quick question” you say stopping him, hesitated if you should ask him

He stops at his tracks and turns towards you raising an eye brow in acknowledgement,

“Can you give me Satoru Gojo’s Address”

he looks away almost in disappointment before writing it down on a sticky note before heading out the door, before closing it he pauses before saying, “be careful, y/n”

Now that you have his address, you head off to find his house

knock knock knock

Your nerves were going crazy, like at any moment you would explode. How were you even supposed to tell this to him?

Oh hey! I know your probably don’t remember me because we were hammered but you actually got me pregnant haha surprise!

What were you thinking, as if he would even care. If anything he was gonna tell you to go away or that you were crazy or threaten your career so you will get rid of it.

A rich asshole doesn’t want his life interrupted by this.

Before you turn to leave, you hear the door swing open revealing a familiar face.

Suguru Geto

He looks surprised to see you, he’s most likely thinking ‘how did this crazy chic find my place’

Damnit megumi gave you the wrong address, this is so embarrassing, you should just go home and eat ice cream while crying about how utterly stupid you are.

“Oh, i’m so sorry- this is so weird uh i thought this was Gojo’s house, megumi gave me an address and he gave me the wrong one, so sorry! uh i’ll be going now..” you say looking down in embarrassment, it stays silent for a while before you hear him laugh.

Why is he laughing?

“May i ask why you’re looking for Gojo?” he asks in curiosity,

You try and think fast of an excuse to use, what could you possibly tell him, there was no good excuse to be at his house, it’s not like you guys were friends.

So you do the most believable excuse you could give him.

“I left my uh underwear at his place and i came to pick it up but i was too hammered to remember the place!” you say, that had to be convincing, right?

He nods in amusement,

“aw that’s interesting. Satoru came home alone last night, I would know I live here as well” And now you feel stupid.

Fuck.

“So uh this is his house then…” you say,

Suguru nods slowly before you see Satoru call out for Suguru, approaching the door, shirt off and only in pajama pants.

His eyes widen when he sees you, Suguru can’t know about what happened last night, oh he’s fucked. He has to play it off like he doesn’t know you, it’s for the best.

You look at him in worry, he wonders if something is wrong with the way she’s looking at him. Suguru looks towards him with a smirk but he knew Suguru was pissed by the way he didn’t look him in the eye.

“You have a visitor, Satoru.” He says before leaving back into the house.

Satoru looks at you now, “Hey” he says awkwardly rubbing his head, he somehow feels like your gonna yell at him, he feels like he’s in trouble.

You take a baggie out of your pocket that showed the three pregnancy tests, all positive.

He looks confused at first before he sees it for himself, his eyes widen, fuck.

“What the hell are these fake?! I can’t be the father, haven’t you slept with anyone else lately?!” He says in a panic not realizing how aggressive he is coming off

You shake your head no, feeling tears fall from your eyes

“You can’t keep it! Suguru would kill me, your career is at stake! my career is on the line! It isn’t mine!” He starts freaking out, how could he fuck up this bad

“I can raise it on my own, this was stupid! I knew i should have never told you, you only care about yourself!” you yell before you try and walk away and he grabs your hand.

He takes a moment to get his composure back, to get himself together. “let’s just, let’s sit down” He says calmly not looking you in the eye.

You sit down and you both don’t say a word for a few minutes, satoru runs his hands over his hair and you lay your head in your lap.

Hiding the fact that it’s Satoru Gojo’s child would be very hard, his clans genes are very strong, your child is bound to have his signature white hair and blue eyes.

The only man with those features. It would be puzzled together with no problem, you don’t have any of those features. Would you really have to abort the baby?

You didn’t plan on being a mother but…

it doesn’t mean you didn’t want to be.

“I’m keeping the baby. You don’t have to be in its life if you don’t want to. I understand.” You grab your bag and stand up.

“I will be in the child’s life, it isn’t fair to just leave you with a child, i’m not an asshole. It’s my fault in the first place, I will accept it, eventually.” He said looking down in his hands, for once he seemed mature, like he was serious about what he was saying.

“Are you sure?”

He nods.

“Thank you for showing me, y/n” He looks up and softly smiles, he felt sorry for how he just stressed you out, the least he could do was offer a comforting smile, he wanted to be there for her.

“You live with Megumi right?” He asks even though he knows the answer. You nod.

“That wont do, you will move your things here, there are two doctors here and a maid to watch over you and Gumi’s place isn’t big enough for a baby” He says but it’s almost demanding.

“What do i tell him?” You ask, how were you gonna tell your friends this, Megumi is gonna be so disappointed.

“Dunno, it’s up to you, I wont tell him anything until you do so it’s up to you, you don’t need your bed and stuff, just get what you need, we can get it now” He says going in his house to get his keys, seeing Suguru looking at him from behind the kitchen island.

You walk in as he grabs his keys and look at the floor, still in your head about all of this.

“Where are y’all heading” Suguru asks, sipping on his coffee like a dad interrogating his daughter. Which in this case his daughter is Satoru.

“Getting her stuff, she’s gonna move in here” He says, he knows what he did was messed up to Suguru but he didn’t feel like he owed him an explanation, not now. He still needed to process it himself.

Suguru says nothing to Satoru and turns towards you instead, he places a soft smile of hospitality towards you, “Well make yourself at home” He says before walking off not even looking at Satoru as he walks off.

The rest of the night, Satoru takes you to your apartment so you can pack your things, he helps you and thankfully Megumi isn’t home so it makes things easier. Satoru would get a mouthful from him for sure.

Before packing the last of your things, you leave the money for the bills you pay and a sticky note,

What were you supposed to say?

“I’m going to be moving, found somewhere to stay, thank you for letting me stay with you Gumi, you have my number if anything, the keys are under the mat” and you stick it on top of the money before heading out.

The car ride home is silent, leaving you and satoru both in your thoughts. A man you just met yesterday got you pregnant, and now you’re going to live with him.

Not to mention, you are living with Tokyo’s finest and best surgeons in the country.

How did you get here?

.

.

.

A/N. OMG i just realized that reader wouldn’t be able to find out she’s pregnant just after one night but i already wrote it and don’t feel like changing it soooo let’s just not pay attention to that mistake…

TAG LIST: @jeannieboys @maskedpacific @muimuiwisteria @stuckinmoilalaland

take me to the next chapter! (coming soon…)

[serendipitouslife90]

A/N: It has been 12 years since I have written anything. I keep dreaming of writing again one day. I barely have time for myself, so it never happens. Today I really wanted to break the ice. Just wrote a little drabble that has been on my mind and writing it in midnight middle of my sleep.

P.S. Don't have time to do any form of proofreading. Just typing in my phone.

Warnings: None.

What took you so long?

48 hours ago, if anyone had told Bucky that this would be his future, he would have awkwardly laughed it off. His life always seems to take the most dramatic and surreal turns.

.

.

(2 days earlier)

When Bucky had first talked to you, he was instantly smitten. When he had become friends with you, his crush only became worse. He started imagining and fantasizing the perfect life with you.

The relationship, however, is a far cry from his fantasies. He, filled with shame and regret, wanted to breakup but no one could fool you. You saw right through him. You figured out, quite quickly into the relationship that even the slightest of touches causes his anxiety to spike up. Bucky didn't want to burden you with his problems.

That's the day you assured him, in kind words that he needn't feel pressurized to meet any for of societal timelines in a relationship. You started meeting up with a therapist to get the right resources to be his pillar of support. You were working diligently, with his consent, on his issues. He was grateful. He fell in love with you so deeply that it scared him.

Recently, a tiny thought started reverberating in his brain.

"What if, one day, you realize that he truly doesn't deserve this? He is not worth it. It has been more than a year. What has he offered you? He could barely kiss you on the cheek."

The mere thought of separation just created a visceral reaction in him: his palm sweating, his stomach twisting and he just wanted to puke.

"What's the matter Bucky? I can feel your eyes on me," you said, eyes still on your phone, with a smile on your face. That beautiful smile and the voice laced with love is enough for Bucky to stop that mini meltdown in his head.

"It's just ... " Bucky sighed, his broad shoulders slumping forward.

You kept your phone down and looked at his dejected posture. You went near him and held out your hands. He grabbed it almost immediately and you patiently waited, giving him time to articulate his thoughts.

"It's just... It has been more than a year now and I still get clammed up to even kiss ya." He mumbled grumpily but you know the sweat in his palms indicated that this has been eating him for sometime now.

"Bucky... Why are you so hard on yourself?" You said, rubbing your thumb across his palm. "You have progressed so much. Give yourself some credit." A playful smirk appeared on your face when you continued, "Besides, I don't care if you don't even give a kiss at the altar. You are stuck with me."

Bucky's brain just short-circuited. His jaw slacked a bit.

"What?-" You asked, clearly oblivious to what you just said

" You... would marry me?" Bucky interrupted with shiny eyes, his face filled with awe.

"Is that a proposal, James? You winked.

His face blushed a rosy pink. Pure joy danced in his eyes as you lovingly replied,

"Because if it is, I am saying yes, in a heart beat. Let's go to the courthouse right now."

A sheepish smile appeared in his face.

He couldn't stop thinking about you being his wife. He had this goofy grin the whole day, making every other Avenger curious.

......

........

(Present)

Your lighthearted words really did a number on your boyfriend, or must you say fiancé now.

This morning Bucky came to you with absolute conviction and said, "Are you sure you wanna marry me? I am going to hold you to your promise. I am taking you to the courthouse today."

"What took you so long?" You winked.

A/N: Holy shit! It is 5AM already. Gotta catch up on some sleep. Will be posting on AO3 later today. A little conversation with a fellow writer on AO3, LitaKino inspired me to write again.

P.S. And yeah, I am a bit outdated. "What took you so long?" is from the pilot of Dharma and Greg.

[bosbas]

Alternate Ending: I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

series masterlist original ending || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader, anthony bridgerton x wife!reader WC: 5.2k words (whoops I got carried away)

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, benedict being so down bad for this woman, unrequited love, pregnancy and discussions around pregnancy/birth

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: The timeline for this ending diverges after chapter 12!! This is how life would look like if Chapter 13 and onward didn't happen.

March 3, 1820 - B, 

I apologize for my delayed response – I’m sure you’ll understand that I was a tad occupied giving birth. But she’s finally here! It was easier than the other three, so I'm personally delighted, though Anthony seemed just as stressed as usual. And, as usual, he'll most likely be resting for the next five days. If he ever stops looking at her in awe, that is. It would be quite adorable if I didn't need to wrestle her away from him to nurse her every few hours! 

Although, I will say that Anthony being taken with her has worked out quite well for me. I was able to finish my novel and get a full night's sleep last night. I'd love to see you soon if you're up for it. You can meet her and we can discuss your latest painting, which I heard was absolutely breathtaking. Anthony and I will both be home for the next week at least, so feel free to pop by any time.

Yours, Y/I

You finished addressing the envelope to Benedict right as Anthony walked into your bedroom holding the tiny form of your newborn daughter. Twisting in your seat to face them, you cooed when you saw her fast asleep in his arms. She was wrapped in a soft pink blanket, and you couldn’t help but marvel at her tiny fists opening and closing absentmindedly as she slept. She looked so peaceful in Anthony’s arms, and it was terrifying to think that a human being this small would grow up to be an adult and that you would have to guide her through it. Well, she would have Anthony too, you thought. And the thought did a lot to quell your fears.

For as long as you had known him, Anthony had been a steadfast figure in your life. He’d been the eldest of the Beaumont-Bridgertons, and he certainly acted like it, too. The responsibility he felt for his family was evident in everything he did, and it was one of the qualities you admired most about him. Now, seeing Anthony cradle your newborn daughter with such gentleness and awe only solidified your feelings for him.

You had decidedly not been in love when you had married him, but one couldn’t simply have four children with someone and not develop at least a little affection for them. The two of you had been wonderful friends even before you were married, and you still were, but along the way, it seemed that you had learned to love each other in your own funny sort of way. It wasn’t the sort of all-consuming love you had for Benedict all those years ago, and that perhaps you had still in a corner of your heart. But it was comforting and safe and built upon a deep respect for one another, and your life was all the better for it. 

Perhaps you and Ben had never been destined for a life like this, you thought. Your childhood intention to wed Benedict had been just that: a naïve plan. That night in the studio with Benedict, after he had found out in the most unfortunate manner that you and Anthony were courting, you had needed something safe and constant. And Benedict had given you the complete opposite. For so many years, he had been your anchor, but that night you felt like the ground had fallen away below your feet and you were in free fall. You had so much love for Benedict that you didn’t even know where to put it. You could feel it from your heart to your fingertips, and it was terrifying. You thought about Violet and Edmund in that moment, and how destroyed Violet had been when Edmund passed. The thought of that happening to you and Benedict made you sick. The thought of taking the risk and putting your heart in his hands only for it to crumble. 

Maybe running away from Benedict at that moment was the cowardly thing to do. Maybe you should have faced your fears and given in to the overpowering love. Maybe you should have kissed your best friend and dealt with the consequences later, holding his hand the whole way through. But you hadn’t. You had sought out safety instead, running up the stairs to Anthony’s room and knocking incessantly until he opened the door, eyes startled and hand holding a handkerchief to his cut lip.

“We’re getting married,” you had declared, breathing ragged and arms crossed tightly over your chest. 

“Who’s ‘we’?” he asked, hoping you meant you and Benedict but suspecting otherwise given that you were currently at his door looking furious. 

“You and me. And we’re going to do it as soon as possible.”

Anthony uttered a soft, “Oh.” He didn’t know what else to say. “And Benedict…” he added in a questioning tone.

“No,” you said firmly. “No Benedict.”

He had expected you to say more, but you just stood in front of him, unmoving. 

“I suppose I can start the arrangements,” Anthony said finally. “If you’re sure this is what you want.”

“I am sure.” 

God, Benedict must have truly done something stupid, he thought. “Very well, then.”

“Good night, Anthony. We can inform our families of our engagement tomorrow morning.”

He just nodded in response, still too stunned to fully process your words.

You cleared your throat and your stoic façade faded slightly. “And thank you, Anthony. For everything,” you said, suddenly very aware of what being married to Anthony might mean.

He shook his head. “No, no. It was nothing. You are family.”

A month later, you were married at the church near Aubrey Hall. Benedict barely stayed long enough to see the two of you say your vows, citing an urgent problem with his cottage in the countryside. His family was kind enough not to question his obviously fabricated excuse, but he couldn’t miss the endless looks of pity sent his way. He had been hurt. Well, you had hurt him. You hurt him when you walked away from him, and you hurt him when you announced your engagement to your family without telling him first, but most of all, you hurt him when you chose Anthony even after two decades of history with Benedict. 

Maybe none of your fears would have come true, and you and Ben would have been happy. Maybe he would have treated your heart with the same love and care with which he always treated you. But it didn’t do to dwell on what could have been. Your marriage with Anthony was real. It was concrete and it was grounding, and you couldn’t imagine a more stable presence in your life.

Bringing you out of your musings, you felt Anthony kiss your cheek in greeting and ask, “Do you want to take her?”

You nodded eagerly, setting down the letter in your hand so you could hold your daughter. “I’m surprised you’re willingly letting me have her,” you teased, laughing as Anthony all but collapsed onto the loveseat across from you, clearly exhausted.

He had been an awfully attentive father the past few days, ecstatic to finally have a girl after three boys. Though she had brought out a heightened sense of protectiveness he couldn’t seem to shake. It was rather endearing to see him so frazzled over a baby that weighed less than eight pounds, but you suspected there might be something more to it.

“She’s so tiny!” he defended, gaze fixed on her admittedly minuscule form in your arms. “I can’t help it…” He trailed off, deep in thought. You glanced up at him, noticing the change in his tone and his hunched posture. After five years of marriage, you had him memorized, and reading him came as naturally as reading a book. 

“Is anything the matter?” you asked gently, already having a general idea about what was plaguing him.

But he shook his head, murmuring a soft no and focusing on the writing desk behind you instead. “Is that for Benedict?” he inquired, nodding in the direction of the letter.

“Yes, I’m just telling him that she’s here and asking him to come visit,” you answered, still eyeing him carefully.

“So, he’s coming to visit, then?” pressed Anthony, eyes back on your daughter, who was currently sleeping soundly in your arms.

“Well, I don’t see why he wouldn’t. Why do you ask?” You changed tactics, trying to seem nonchalant about your concern. 

“Alright. That’s good. Yes, that’s good,” he muttered, seemingly satisfied with your answer but his mind was obviously miles away. 

Growing increasingly worried, you stood up and carefully laid your daughter in her crib, ensuring she remained undisturbed. With her settled, you approached Anthony, who hadn't shifted his gaze from where you had been sitting. Kneeling beside him, you reached out and gingerly placed your hand on his. The touch seemed to quiet his restless thoughts, and he turned to meet your eyes, acknowledging the weight of his anxiety.

Anthony spoke softly, carefully. “I just want to make sure that you and the children are taken care of. In case something happens to me. I want you to have someone.”

You should have known that this was what plagued him. During the first year of your marriage, you settled into a comfortable dynamic with Anthony. It was not quite love, but something like it had blossomed between the two of you. However, it was after the birth of your first son, Arthur, that Anthony reached a breaking point. He realized that his grand plan to marry someone he didn’t love to avoid any undue heartbreak was not, in fact, foolproof. Even if there hadn’t been growing affection between you, Anthony completely fell in love with Arthur from the moment he was born. It was like nothing he’d experienced before; beyond anything he could have imagined. And it was terribly frightening. 

He had shared his fears with you–he’d had no choice in the matter when you were as stubborn and insistent as you were–and you had shared that you, too, were scared. But you trusted one another, and so the two of you navigated parenthood in tandem and Anthony’s fears subsided. Regardless, you could understand that the birth of your daughter brought back this fear in full force, and he felt a greater need to protect her from danger than he would with his sons.

“Anthony, I won’t need someone. You’re right here, and you always will be.”

He shook his head, looking at you with desperation in his eyes. “How can you know that?”

You pursed your lips, brows furrowing. “Even if you aren’t, it won’t be your fault. You’re a wonderful father. And a wonderful husband.” 

With a deep sigh, he clasped your hand and stood up, bringing you with him. “Just promise me you’ll ask Benedict to take care of you if I go?”

Your heart softened. Knowing he needed to hear you say it out loud, you nodded, “I promise.”

---

 March 5, 1820 – Y/I,

One would think Anthony had been the one to give birth instead of you! I’ll pop by today to give him a talking-to. And to meet my lovely niece, of course.

Yours, B

You found yourself in the nursery this afternoon, your three boys gathered around you and your daughter fast asleep in her crib. It was a lovely day out; sunny but not too hot, but the boys hardly noticed. Instead, they sat still, completely enthralled as you read from your current novel. Though you adored reading to your children, you found children’s books rather boring and repetitive. Thus, you had shifted to reading them excerpts from your own reading material. It made the endeavor much more interesting, and the boys seemed to love it too, evident as they hung on your every word.

“‘Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder,’” you read, and your sons gasped, not quite understanding the meaning of the word but easily catching onto your surprised reaction. You continued, “‘and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man! Yet I ask-’”

“Surely I’ve heard wrong and you’re not reading to your children about murder!” came Benedict’s voice from the doorway. 

Immediately, three voices squealed in delight and Frankenstein was completely forgotten as your sons rushed over to their uncle. Charles was only one year old, but his brothers’ excitement only fueled his clumsy crawl toward Benedict’s waiting arms.

“They don’t exactly know what it means, Ben,” you laughed. “Besides, it’s wonderful literature. And it keeps them entertained.”

He picked up Charles in one arm and Arthur in the other, making his way over to you as Bernard clung to his leg. “Well, I’m sure you know better than me, darling,” he commented and kissed you sweetly on the top of your head. 

“Isn’t that usually the case?” you teased, standing up to properly greet your best friend. Though you hadn’t joined the welcome committee, you were positively glowing now that Ben had arrived. It had been over a week since you had seen him, and you had missed him terribly. You smiled brightly, instantly at ease in his presence.

Eyebrows raised and eyes shining with mirth, he teased back, “You forget I have three very bloodthirsty boys on my side who have just learned what murder is.”

You looked at Arthur, who was completely focused on attempting to undo Benedict’s cravat, and Charles, who had two fingers in his mouth and was unsuccessfully attempting to put in a third, then glanced back at Benedict. 

“Quite bloodthirsty, aren’t they?” you deadpanned as you gently pried Charles’ hand from his mouth. 

Ben couldn’t help the waves of laughter rolling off him as he observed your sons. “It seems they still have a way to go before they get there.” 

Then, spotting the pink crib across the room, he gasped and set down Arthur and Charles and somewhat successfully shook Bernard off his leg. Walking over to the crib, he stared at her, completely awestruck.

"She’s so tiny!” he exclaimed, careful to keep his voice down so as not to wake her.

You giggled, making your way over. “That’s exactly what Anthony said,” you smiled at him. 

But your smile did nothing to soothe the dull ache that had blossomed in his chest as he remembered all the things he could have had with you. The pain was not as unbearable now as it had been five years ago, but he was inclined to think that it would be there for the rest of his life. In the back of his mind, Benedict wondered if he would have been as good of a father as Anthony. He supposed he would never know, having devoted himself completely to his art and extinguishing any lingering hopes Violet had that her second son would ever marry. But you seemed happy, and that was truly all that mattered. 

Ignoring the pain in his chest, he smiled sweetly back down at you. “What’s her name? Something starting with a D, I’m sure. Otherwise, Anthony will have lost his mind.”

“Yes, naturally,” you giggled. You tugged on Ben’s sleeve to bring him closer to the crib. “Benedict, meet Diana Bridgerton.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Bridgerton,” he murmured, intently observing your daughter as she slowly blinked her eyes open. 

“Quite eager to meet her uncle,” you observed, but Benedict was too mesmerized by her to respond properly.

“She’s got your eyes,” he whispered after a few seconds, turning back to you and placing an arm around you. Your arm snaked around his back, and you drew him in a little closer.

Leaning down to place his cheek on your head and hugging you tighter, he spoke softly, “I thought you might name her Daisy. Flower names and all that. Besides, it starts with a D.”

Benedict didn’t quite know where the comment had come from. You hadn’t mentioned flower names in years, but the thought had suddenly popped into his brain quite unexpectedly and he had been unable to stop the words coming out of his mouth. He knew he was so incredibly lucky to know you and to love you and to have a friendship with you, but it was at times like these when he wished he didn’t know you quite so well. At times when knowing you was only a reminder of what he lost.

In that moment, you were thankful to be facing Diana’s crib instead of Benedict, because you could feel the tears prickling at your eyes. The flower names. Of course Benedict would have remembered. You had never truly regretted marrying Anthony, but what you had with Ben transcended anything you could ever have with anyone else, and sometimes it was hard to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t your person anymore.

Shaking your head to will the tears away, you responded, “No. No, I could never.”

“What? You always said you wanted to name your children flower names.”

“No, Benedict. I wanted to name our children flower names.”

He felt all the air in his lungs escaping all at once. It felt as if someone had reached deep inside of him, taken hold of every organ inside his body, and squeezed very tightly. Wanted to name our children. Our children. Our. Just a simple word, three letters in total, had managed to leave him completely disarmed. 

It was silly, really. You were married and had four children with his brother, of all people. And Benedict was still completely and irrevocably in love with you. He rather thought that he would always love you, in some form or another. Benedict suspected that Anthony knew this too, though his older brother was far too tactful to ever broach the subject. 

Seemingly unaware of Ben's internal turmoil as he tried to reduce his feelings to their usual dormant state, you grabbed hold of his hand and led him away from Diana toward the door. “Nurse Edwards can watch the children while we go downstairs to have some tea. I must hear about your painting displayed at the National Gallery! I wish I hadn’t been about two days from bursting so I could have gone to see the unveiling.”

---

November 17, 1820 – Benedict,

Y/N has fallen ill, and I am away on business unable to tend to her. Go to Aubrey Hall as soon as possible and make sure she’s alright.

Please.

Anthony

Benedict could barely hear the rain pouring down outside his carriage over his racing heartbeat. Anthony’s frantic note had left Ben in a state of panic. He had left for Aubrey Hall immediately upon receiving the note, but he still worried that he might be too late. What on earth had frightened his older brother to the point of asking Benedict for help? A million possibilities, each one as devastating as the other, raced through his mind. 

The sight of your home interrupted his catastrophizing, and he swung the door open and ran toward the entrance before the carriage could come to a complete stop. Benedict was somewhat aware that he was getting completely drenched in the rain, but his mind was far too focused on getting to you to care. 

The front door was already open when he reached it, and Benedict burst through, barely hearing the butler’s, “Upstairs in her bedchamber, Mr Bridgerton,” before he was frantically climbing the stairs to get to you. 

Once he reached your door, Ben stopped quite suddenly. He didn’t want to startle you by bursting in unannounced, so he waited a few seconds to catch his breath. Finally, he turned the doorknob slowly, hands shaking nervously as he entered your bedroom. 

In between shockingly vivid dreams and a splitting headache, you vaguely registered what looked to be Benedict’s tall frame standing in your room. You shook your head, confused by his presence and not quite trusting your own eyes, but the effort left you breathless and you coughed violently. 

“It’s alright, darling. You just rest,” he shushed you, shrugging off his drenched coat before he came to your side. 

It killed him to see you like this, pale and sweaty as shivers wracked through your tired body. He had never seen you look so ill, not even when you came down with influenza when you were ten years old, and he was trying his hardest to hold himself together.

“Have you called for a medic?” his voice came out a bit strangled as he asked your lady’s maid, Rose, who had been nervously fidgeting off to the side. 

"Yes, Mr Bridgerton. It's pneumonia," she said softly, her voice filled with concern. "The best we can do is keep her comfortable and give her fluids until her fever breaks."

He nodded, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to calm down. But you had drifted into fitful sleep, and your shallow, ragged breathing was only making him more worried. 

Nevertheless, he had to think clearly. Anthony was away, meaning that Benedict was now entirely responsible for you. The realization steeled his nerves, so he straightened his waistcoat and released a controlled breath, ready to face whatever came his way.

“Where are the children? I trust Nurse Edwards is with them now,” he said firmly.

Rose nodded. “They’re asleep now, but she is there in case they need anything. They’re taken care of,” she reassured.

“Very well. Please let me know if I can be of any assistance to them.” Then, clearing his throat, “Ring for tea, please,” he instructed. “And bring me towels and a bowl of lukewarm water.” 

She nodded, hurrying out of the room. Benedict moved closer to your bedside, his heart twisting at the sight of you in distress. He didn't hesitate, pulling a chair close to the bed and sitting down beside you. Gently, he reached out to feel your burning forehead, but you immediately flinched, the pain evident in your eyes as they shot open.

“Too cold,” you rasped. “Please don’t.”

He cursed under his breath, heart cracking slightly at your reaction. But he withdrew his hand immediately, settling instead for sitting on a chair next to your bed, watching you intently for any signs that your condition was worsening.

You looked awfully pale, paler than he’d ever seen you, and your lips had turned a concerning shade of purple. Though even when you were drenched in sweat and shivering, you still were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, he thought. Even now, years after you had married another man, you remained his muse. The heartbreak he experienced that summer had been an admittedly excellent source of inspiration, and his new works helped propel him forward in the art world. It had served as a distraction, proving especially useful when Ben heard the news that you were pregnant for the first time so soon after the wedding. But now he supposed that art was no longer a distraction, and had instead become his life. 

Maybe it was better this way, he sometimes thought. Maybe fate had never intended for him to be with you, though he couldn't fathom why the universe seemed so cruel. But the conclusion that he most often came to is that this was some sort of punishment. And he supposed he rather deserved it. He had continuously run away from the person he loved most, his best friend, the love of his life, time and again while you had only waited patiently for him to love you back. 

Looking down at you now, he still felt the need to take care of you. The instinct would never go away. But it was a shame that the only reason he was allowed to do it now was because your husband had asked him to.

Your lady’s maid cleared her throat, standing at the doorway with the items Benedict had requested. He waved her in and had her place the tea on your bedside table, but he took hold of the towels himself and dipped one of them in the bowl of water.

“How long have you been here?” Ben asked Rose, taking in her exhausted appearance.

“Since midmorning, Mr Bridgerton,” she responded, stifling a yawn. "But I'm happy to do it. Lady Bridgerton seems to need it, too."

“Well, I think you ought to go to bed now, Rose,” he responded, gently placing the damp towel on your forehead. You let out a soft sigh of relief, and the tightness in Benedict’s heart loosened the tiniest bit. 

Hearing his words, Rose could have collapsed right then and there. “Thank you, Mr Bridgerton. Please call for one of the servants if you need anything,” she said gratefully. And then, before he could change his mind, she hurried out of your bedroom. 

The towel had seemed to rouse you from your sleep, and you sat up weakly so you could take in your surroundings.

You opened your eyes, happy to find Benedict still in your room. “Hello, there,” you croaked, but he shushed you, immediately holding a teacup to your lips. You took a hesitant sip, but the warm liquid ran down your throat so soothingly that you grasped the cup with your own hands and drank the entire thing. 

Ben laughed softly, delicately taking the teacup from you so as not to touch you, not having forgotten your earlier protests when he placed a hand on your forehead.

“How long have you been here?” you asked Benedict, a particularly strong shiver making your teeth chatter. Noting his look of concern, you rushed to reassure him, “I’m fine, Ben. Promise.” However, you didn’t know how convincing you had sounded, given that you started violently coughing immediately after the words left your lips. 

“I can see that. You look great,” teased Benedict. 

“I bet,” you shot back, and he was unable to keep the fond smile off his face. “I’m–” you started, but another coughing fit prevented you from continuing. He looked at you, eyes overflowing with worry, and exchanged the towel on your forehead for a fresh one, hoping it would provide at least some relief.

Once your coughing fit subsided, you were overtaken by a wave of exhaustion. Sliding back down into bed, you turned to Benedict. “I think I need to sleep if that’s alright,” you said softly, eyes already drooping shut.

“Mmm, I think so, too,” he agreed.

You reached out and grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and bringing your joined hands to your chest. “Please stay, Ben,” you said, eyes already closed. 

His heart nearly skipped a beat, having completely forgotten just how right your hand felt in his. “Always,” he murmured, reaching over to kiss you on the forehead. Benedict settled into the chair beside your bed, carefully watching you to make sure your breathing remained even. 

An hour later, a particularly intense shiver ran through you and you woke up to find that you were still clutching Benedict’s hand. He was staring at you intently, and you felt an overwhelming sense of tenderness for him. Even though you had married Anthony, he was still here by your side, ensuring that you were safe. Even though you probably looked about two minutes away from death, and even though he probably had much more interesting things to do, he was here.

“I’m sorry, you know,” you whispered, not quite sure you wanted him to hear but needing to say it anyway.

His brow furrowed, not quite sure why you were apologizing. “It’s quite alright.”

“No, I am. I’m so sorry,” you said, barely registering the tears running down your face and mixing with your sweat. 

Ben wiped away your tears with one hand, the other still holding yours. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he whispered.

You shook your head and the towel fell from your forehead once again, which he immediately replaced with a new one. “I don’t regret marrying him, but I regret hurting you,” you choked back a sob. “It was cowardly of me, and I’m sorry.”

Benedict was at a loss, your confession bringing his complicated feelings to the surface. But before he could find the right words, you had fallen asleep once again, eyes closed peacefully and your breathing even. He sat back in shock, attempting to process the meaning behind your words while still being careful not to move his hand too much so you could sleep peacefully. 

Benedict sat there for what felt like hours, his mind in a whirlwind of emotions. Guilt weighed heavily on his heart as he watched you sleep, your hand still clasped in his. Surely you were at least a little delirious, he reasoned. How could you apologize for something he had caused?

Hours later, the morning sun filtered through your curtains and you stirred awake. You blinked your eyes open, a bit disoriented as you took in your surroundings. You glanced down, seeing Ben sitting in a chair next to your bed, fast asleep in what looked to be an incredibly uncomfortable position. Your hand was still clasped in Benedict’s, his thumb absently stroking the back of your hand. You felt a pang of guilt at the sight and cringed slightly as you remembered your tearful apology the previous night.

Sensing that you were awake, Benedict stirred, half opening his eyes to make sure you were alright. Wincing as his neck cracked, he sat up and asked groggily, “How’re you feeling this morning, darling?” 

“Much better, actually,” you responded.

A sudden wave of panic washed over you. “Who’s with the children?”

“Don’t worry! They’re alright. Nurse Edwards is with them,” he assured you. “Perhaps it’s for the best; they might get to engage with some books actually meant for children.” He kept his tone light and teasing, not entirely sure if you remembered your apology and not wanting to open up the conversation if you didn’t.

“Oh, thank you,” you sighed in relief, relaxing against your pillows once again. Then, swatting his arm, you scolded, “And they enjoy the literature, mind you!”

“I suppose you are feeling better if you had the strength to hit me,” he remarked amusedly.

You rolled your eyes. “I could have hit you last night. Easily.” But your expression turned sincere. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t mean to be a burden; I know you’re working on a new piece.”

“It’s nothing,” he waved his hand. “You could never be a burden.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly, suddenly looking anywhere but at him. “And I meant what I said last night. It was ill-timed, I know, but I am truly sorry.”

“Nonsense,” he shook his head. “There is nothing to apologize for. I didn’t treat you the way I should have and I was the one who hurt you. I’m just glad I can still have you as a best friend.”

You smiled at him, pulling him into a hug. “We seem to be quite good at that, don’t you think? Being best friends.”

“Oh, the best,” he smiled at you, adoration clear in his eyes.

—

orginal ending || next part || buy me a ko-fi!

Tag List: @bellahadidnt16 @like-gabriel-and-castiel @riverraingrayworld @5sos-calm @elissanatok @titanicnerd-blog @noonenuts @moonwayne @lilasblogg @mmontgomeryb @fulltacoparadise @joyfullymulti @sopanngon @fanfiction-she-wrote @aureolinb @ambitionspassionscoffee @bbubbllejisoo @marvelspogue @avengersgirlloriannaa @loliakeoghan23 @cierrajhilll @sadprose-auroras @merlieve @khaylin27 @cherrytop02 @little-duck @angerpearl @shondlenoodle @lyssamay52 @bags10 @angerpearl

[chenfleur]

of rainy nights and roses

summary. in the heat of the moment, jeonghan grows careless with his words. now, he has to bear the weight of saying things he didn't mean.

pairing. idol!jeonghan x y/n ft soonyoung x oc

genre. angst, fluff, comfort, est. relationship, jeonghan is an asshole

disclaimers. literally just a fight, jeonghan is an asshole (2)

word count. 5.8k

released. 01.01.2023

author's note. soonyoung's a W friend ps. happy new year! cheers 🍻

masterlist

The ink on the page turned from blurry outlines to clumps of black nonsense as drowsiness invades your senses. You stifle a yawn, gently putting down the book you were reading. The bright light forces you to squint as you turn on your phone, revealing the time in bold, white numbers. 12:43AM.

Jeonghan still wasn’t home yet. Strange, you think.

Don’t get it twisted—the ‘being late’ part was the farthest from strange, especially during comeback season. If he had come home any time before 10 PM, you’d be worried that Soonyoung had passed out and practice had to end early—because frankly, that’s the only inconvenience that could force that man to rest. It was admirable, how dedicated and passionate he was to his craft, though he could get quite antsy and irritated at times when things weren’t to his satisfaction.

The part that has you scratching your head was that around an hour ago, you had texted Seokmin.

seokminnie 🥹

(11:31PM) YOU: seokmin 😚😚

(11:31PM) YOU: when does today’s practice finish?

(11:37PM) SEOKMIN: practice just finished, noona~ ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

The HYBE building was a mere five minute walk from your shared apartment. Unless he somehow lost a leg along the way, you highly doubt it takes Jeonghan an hour to walk short three blocks.

You throw a pitiful glance at the bowl of spicy noodles that stood lonesome on the marble kitchen island, already having gone cold long ago. A small sigh of disappointment leaves your lips as you decide you would just reheat it when he gets home. Again.

Clicking your phone shut, you let it fall beside you onto the velvet cushion with a muted thud and put your hands in your lap. You try your hardest to stay awake, but sleep triumphs over your willpower as you allow your eyelids to slowly flutter shut, succumbing to today’s built-up exhaustion.

Maybe, when you woke up, you'd be in the bed, rather than on the couch. The only sound you'd hear would be the distant singing of birds, and the tranquil inhales and exhales that came from the one next to you.

Instead, it’s the familiar melody of beeps that played from the front door’s keypad that wakes you from your light rest.

You lift your head at the disturbance, blinking your eyes a few times to rid them of their initial blurriness and adjust to the soft white lights of the apartment. Slowly, they focus in on the figure who trudged through the door, and closed it behind him with a soft click. 

Your lips upturn into a small smile, though it falters when you notice the pure exhaustion that took over his typically angelic face. You see the way his shoulders were hunched, stiff, tense. The way strands of his platinum blond hair stuck to the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

He takes off his puffer jacket, hanging it up on the wooden coatrack before padding across the floor softly, trying his best not to make any noise. He halts as the two of you make eye contact.

“y/n,” he croaks out in a tired voice, “why are you up so late? You should be asleep.”

You don’t fail to catch the faint hints of annoyance and irritation that lace Jeonghan’s tone. It confuses you.

Though, you respond calmly. “I was just… waiting for you to get back.”

Secretly, Jeonghan rolls his eyes, thinking you wouldn’t notice. 

You do notice.

A thick silence falls heavy over the room, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere—one that never usually exists between you and Jeonghan. Your eyes narrow at his attitude, though they never leave him, despite the fact that he was looking everywhere else—the hardwood floor, the kitchen, the grey walls—anywhere but you.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Jeonghan eventually murmurs, hands finding their way onto his waist.

You lean your head into your palm, “I’m sorry?”

“Stay up and wait for me.”

“Well, I wanted to.”

“Well, I’m telling you next time, don’t.” he suddenly snaps, raising his voice slightly. He finally moves from his spot, walking towards the bedroom, not sparing a glance at you.

Your eyes widen at the way he mocked you, hurt flashing through them. Hastily, you push yourself up from the couch and follow behind him. Though you feel an unfamiliar sense of fear, you continue to ask him questions. “Jeonghan- why are you back so late? Seokmin said practice ended an hour ago.”

“Got caught up. Soonyoung’s been moody,” he answers bluntly, before disappearing into the bathroom. Your head tilts in confusion at his answer—it made no sense. 

Why is he like this? Did I provoke him? you think to yourself as you slowly climb into the bed. Your brain clouds with possibilities as to why Jeonghan was so ticked, but you couldn’t think of a plausible explanation. A small groan leaves your lips as you drag your hands across your face, battling exhaustion. 

Nonetheless, you continue to wait for him to come out. Maybe then, you’d get a bit of reasoning for his poor mood.

The bathroom door slides open and Jeonghan steps out. You look at him expectantly, but he still doesn’t meet your gaze. He simply slips under the covers on his side of the bed without even acknowledging you. Your eyes trail as he did so, eventually landing on his back. 

It causes a shiver to run down your spine, and a deep frown to tug at the corner of your lips. Jeonghan had never faced his back to you. 

This is new. And cold. And distant.

“How… how was work today?” You quietly speak, daring to break the silence. 

“Good,” he murmurs back, voice muffled from the duvet. He still didn’t face you.

“Jeonghan, can you please look at me? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, y/n. I’m just tired.”

You purse your lips, pausing for a moment, seriously debating whether to say your next words— 

“Jeonghan, you know it’s not good to pent up your emotions-”

—atrocious mistake.

“God, y/n!” Jeonghan suddenly roars, throwing the duvet off his torso. You were startled by his sudden outburst, shutting your eyes instinctively. When you open them, you see that he had turned so he was now lying on his back. Staring straight at you.

It was the first time you saw his eyes that night. Earlier, you longed for him to look at you just once. 

Now, you no longer wish you had ever met Yoon Jeonghan’s gaze. 

What you saw frightened you.

His eyes, his big, round eyes—the ones that have always been a rich, saccharine, chocolate brown; that held golden specks and canopies of stars in them whenever he looked at you—were hooded. Hooded with lightning, with terror, with scorn.

“y/n, I’ve had a fucking awful day. I’d love to be able to get some sleep—but guess what? You’re making it fucking difficult,” he spat coldly.

You feel your chest ache, you could’ve never believed Jeonghan was capable of speaking such words to you—

“Jeonghan-”

“Could you please, just this once, shut up? I can’t deal with everything going on and deal with your bullshit. You just, don’t do anything other than stress me out. You're useless.”

—and he just keeps going, you feel yourself shrinking by the second—

“Can you please calm down-”

“Fucking hell, next time I’m staying at the dorms. I can’t deal with your stupid nagging. Who am I dating- my mom?”

—he just keeps fanning the flames—

“But-”

“GOD, JUST SHUT UP! I FUCKING HATE YOU!”

—until they couldn’t grow any bigger.

BOOM.

The sky is angry. Jeonghan is angry. Fuck, why is everyone so angry?

Your brain hasn’t even processed the venom that dripped off of Jeonghan’s tongue—but your heart has. 

You feel like you had been kicked in the stomach. A familiar stinging sensation in your nose makes itself painfully known. It’s almost poetic how as heavy rain begins to pelt against the apartment’s window panes, scalding, hot tears begin to stream down your face.

You swing your legs over your edge of the bed, not daring to face him again. The tears, they don’t stop flowing no matter how much you wipe at them with the pads of your fingers—they just keep coming, racing to drip down your chin in humiliation. A sharp inhale comes from you, the sound piercing the air, causing you to slap a hand over your mouth in a pathetic attempt to prevent any more from coming out. You rashly card a hand through your hair, trying to regulate your heaving.

Your head is spinning. The rain doesn’t ease—the sounds of the storm roaring in your ears. Your back is faced to him, eyes shut so tightly you could see splashes of colours and pixels. It’s too loud for you to hear the gasp that leaves Jeonghan’s lips, nor could you see the way his face morphs from exasperation to shock. 

Jeonghan is mortified. 

He doesn’t know where all of that came from. All he knows is that he had lashed it all out on you, that he didn’t mean it, and that you didn’t deserve any of it. He let every single built-up anxiety and frustration out in brutal, crashing waves, onto the one person who deserved it the least.

He’s a monster.

“y/n-” he rasps, reaching out to touch your waist.

You stand up as soon as you feel his fingers brush against you, flinching away from his touch. His sudden change in demeanor startled you, leaving you sensitive and distrustful.

The entire city could hear Jeonghan’s heart drop and shatter into a million pieces.

“Oh my god, y/n-” his eyes well up with his own tears. “-please, don’t be afraid. Fuck, please, please, don’t be afraid,” he whispers, desperation so agonizingly evident in his voice. 

After a few moments of heart-wrenching silence, you exhale slowly and finally turn around to look at Jeonghan. A ghost of a smile creeps at your lips as you look at him. His long, soft, wispy eyelashes. His pale, glowy skin. His heart-shaped lips. They all framed his face perfectly.

Even while crying, he was pretty.

But, your pained eyes tell him how you really feel.

“Wait, y/n-”

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, Jeonghan.”

“No, angel, please-”

Without another word, you walk out of the bedroom and close the door, leaving him in the room alone. Jeonghan put his head in his hands, dragging them down his face harshly.

You’re so fucking stupid, you’re so fucking stupid, you’re so fucking stupid- how are you going to make this up to her-

Click.

Jolting up at the sound, Jeonghan nervously looks towards the closed bedroom door. Is she not just in the living ro-

SLAM.

“Oh my god.” he whispers. 

Jeonghan hurriedly pushes himself out of bed, his breathing becoming rushed and panicked, his vision growing cloudy. There’s a knot in his throat, making him suffocate on the repulsiveness of his own actions.

He runs out of the room, stumbling into the living room. There’s no sign of you—just an empty, lifeless apartment.

He finally notices the untouched bowl of food on the kitchen counter. It stood there, staring at him in shame. A weak wince escapes him at the thought of you cooking it for him.

The whole apartment was screaming at him. You hurt her.

Jeonghan can feel his lip start to quiver, his heartbeat ringing in his ears. An angry clap of lightning resounded around him—vibrating through each limb and fiber of his being, stripping away at every little fragment of composure he had left, until it all came crashing down.

He doesn’t have a single coherent thought other than she left. 

She’s gone.

mieun 🤬

(1:06AM) YOU: mieun

(1:06AM) YOU: can i come over?

(1:07AM) MIEUN: this late?

(1:07AM) YOU: yeah

(1:07AM) MIEUN: ofc you can

(1:07AM) MIEUN: just letting you know soonyoung’s staying the night

(1:08AM) YOU: oh please he’s seen me slip and trip infront of the whole cafeteria, he can deal with me crying

(1:08AM) YOU: just don’t eat each others faces infront of me

(1:08AM) MIEUN: YOU’RE CRYING?

(1:08AM) MIEUN: WHICH FATHERLESS INCEL DO I HAVE TO PUNT ACROSS THE UNIVERSE ?????

It only takes two knocks for the wooden door to swing open and reveal your best friend, who was clad in silk pajamas and had a face painted with worry; an expression very different from her typical bold, fiery and lively personality.

“y/n!” Mieun cries, opening her arms. You fall into them, securing your own arms around her waist and giving her a warm, tight hug. 

The two of you separate after a moment, the brunette ushering you inside of her apartment. A few things had changed since you’d last been over, you notice—a new painting had been hung up in the foyer, the TV was about twice the size of the old one, and a distinctively larger pair of black Balenciaga shoes stood among the row of pastel sneakers and heels.

The scent of ramen wafts around the entire home, making you go “ah” at the delicious, savoury smell.

“Late night date at home?” You ask, bending down to take off your shoes.

“Pfft, Soonyoung heard you were crying and ran into the kitchen to make the only thing he’s actually capable of making,” she jokingly rolls her eyes.

“y/n?” 

You look towards the direction of the voice, meeting the eyes of Soonyoung, who had popped his head of jet black hair out of the kitchen to greet you. A big smile immediately breaks out on his face.

“Hi, Soonyoung,” you greet back, offering a small wave.

Mieun tugs at your sleeve. “He should be done with the food soon. Go sit on the couch, and get comfortable because you-” she says, tapping your cheek, “-are going to tell us what happened.” You laugh, nodding your head.

After putting away your shoes and umbrella, you make your way over to the big leather couch in the middle of the living room. A half-finished Netflix movie plays quietly on the TV screen. A slight pang of guilt hits you—you must’ve interrupted their alone time.

“Food’s done!” Soonyoung yells, emerging from the kitchen with a metal pot and three Coke Zeroes in his hands, a trail of steam following him as he enters the living room. You give a small clap, eyes lighting up at the sight of the food. Soonyoung leans down, placing a hot mat before gently setting the pot down onto the coffee table. Mieun, who had been following behind her boyfriend, sets down bowls and chopsticks. Eventually, the three of you settle down. You and Mieun sit on the couch, while Soonyoung sits on the carpet, facing you two.

“So,” Mieun begins, cracking open her drink. “care to explain- Soonyoung, where do you keep getting these fucking Cokes? There’s a goddamn crate in my kitchen,” she suddenly exclaims, staring at the can in her hand. You snort, clasping a hand over your mouth while you try not to choke.

“Jihoon’s studio is like a fucking warehouse,” he mutters. “I’m saving my friend from literal heart disease.” 

Mieun pauses for a moment, before shrugging and taking a sip. “So, y/n. Care to explain why you showed up to my apartment at-” she pauses, checking her phone, “1:29 AM?”

You nod your head while chewing, wiping your mouth before you begin—

—but nothing comes out.

Jeonghan.

God, you almost forgot what he said. His words echo through your ears.

Was he asleep now?

Did he just go to sleep, without a bother in the world?

“y/n?”

You snap out of your daze, looking around aimlessly. Mieun and Soonyoung were both staring at you with furrowed brows and concerned eyes. You notice that your arms had gone limp—the bowl of noodles and metal chopsticks that were close to your mouth before were now resting in your lap.

“Give me a name,” Mieun says through her teeth, a glower on her face and an evident clench in her jaw. Your eyes widen, quickly placing your hand on her arm to get her to relax.

“Yeah, who is it? I’ll make them eat my fist,” Soonyoung adds, anger flashing in his eyes.

You let out a sad laugh at his statement. “I doubt you’ll want to do that to Jeonghan, Soon.” 

An immediate blanket of silence falls over the room. Soonyoung’s rigid grip on his chopsticks grows loose, his expression immediately dropping. His lips part slightly in shock as realization strikes him.

On the contrary, Mieun seems to have gotten even angrier.

“Jeonghan?” She seethes. Slamming her bowl of noodles onto the coffee table, she stares into your eyes with pure fury. “The one who’s supposed to be in love with you? He hurt you?” 

“It… surprised me too..” you mumble, eyes downcast.

“Mieun, let her finish explaining,” Soonyoung says, leaning back onto his hands, an unreadable expression on his face.

The said girl scoffs, turning to scowl at her boyfriend. “Oh, so you’re suddenly going to defend him just because he’s your member? That’s real rich of yo-”

“Mieun,” Soonyoung warns sternly, eyes boring into her. 

Mieun falters, slowly backing down and leaning back against the couch. She crosses her arms infront of her chest and looks over at you, silently telling you to continue.

Watching the two of them solemnly, you shakily exhale.

“God, that fucking idiot!”

You wince at Mieun’s burst of outrage, handing her her beverage. “Drink,” you say quietly, “and calm down. I’m okay, really.”

You bring your hand up to your cheek, feeling cold, dried tear stains. You hadn’t noticed that you started crying again—but, you do feel a bit overwhelmed from retelling what Jeonghan had said to you, and how genuinely terrifying it all was.

“Oh, so I’m the moody one,” you hear Soonyoung mutter under his breath. You turn to stare at him, puzzled. “Sorry?”

“Jeonghan hyung’s been in a piss mood all day. He even snapped at the choreographer when he couldn’t pick up a move properly,” he scoffs. “If I was the one who was being a dick the whole day, we would still be in the practice room right now.”

You retreat in on yourself a little, head hanging low. 

God, he looked exhausted as soon as he walked through the door. I knew he was tired—why did I just badger him with questions and push him to talk? All it did was cause this situation-

“Hey, y/n- look at me.”

You slowly raise your head, meeting Soonyoung’s soft gaze. “Don’t blame yourself.” he begins, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. 

“It’s probably because of the comeback soon. Think about it—it’s been what, nine months? Since we’ve dropped an album. Our fans have been waiting for a long time, and trust me when I say the pressure has gotten to every single one of us. Plus, we’re promoting a lot in Japan this time of year, and he’s probably anxious because he’s got this, like, cult following there. I think he’s also got a few solo activities? He’s never really done those before…” he trails off, looking to the side in thought. “Anyways, my point is that there’s a lot of different things that factor into why he’s being an ass. Just know that they’re all out of your control.”

“Yeah,” you hear Mieun say, making you turn to face her. “While I don’t think any of those are an excuse for him to treat you like trash…” she murmurs, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “They’re all out of your control.”

You beam, eyes crinkling as your heart swells with sheer gratitude. You feel fresh tears pool at your waterlines, making you press your palms against your eyes. “God, you guys are just…so fucking cool. And such great friends,” you say, letting out a breathy laugh.

The two of them laugh loudly, Mieun handing you a tissue while rolling her eyes playfully. “Yeah, you big baby. We know. And also, you’re a much better person than I am. If Soonyoung said he hated me, I would’ve castrated him by now,” she says, making you shake with laughter as you wipe at your nose and mouth.

Soonyoung feigns offense, scoffing, “As if. They mean too much to you.”

“Oh, fucking gross!” You groan, covering your face in disgust. Soonyoung only snickers, throwing his shocked girlfriend a teasing wink.

“Anyways,” the girl shivers before turning to face you again. “since you will be staying the night, aka I’m not letting you go back to him, I’ll go get you a pair of clothes to change into. Soonyoung can sleep on the couch tonight-”

“Pardon?” 

“Did I stutter?”

“Mieun, don’t do that to him. I’m fine with the couch-” you get cut off by the girl vigorously shaking her head in objection.

“No, I won’t be having any of that. He’s not the one who just got absolute shit from his boyfriend,” she replies firmly, her gaze fierce with protection.

Soonyoung whines loudly. “Babe, you literally have a guest bedroom-”

“That room has not been touched since Mingyu passed out drunk in there. It is dingy and cold and lonely. y/n does not deserve that.”

“So you’re going to make your boyfriend sleep on the couch-”

“Oh, please. Like you’ve never slept there before. Anyways, there’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom drawer, a spare towel on the counter rack, and-”

DING-DONG.

The sound of the doorbell resonates throughout the whole apartment, bouncing off each wall. It causes all of you to freeze.

“... and apparently a spare murderer too,” Mieun murmurs, slowly setting down her drink. She stands up from her spot on the couch, flattening out the wrinkles in her clothes before eyeing the front door.

“Babe, sit down.” Soonyoung mutters, also standing up and staring towards the foyer with watchful eyes. 

“You sit down. It’s probably just my delivery package-”

“No.” Soonyoung doesn’t waver, grabbing his girlfriend by the arm and softly pushing her down back into her spot. “It’s too dangerous, Mieun. I’ll go.” he says protectively, letting go of his grip on her and making his way towards the door. 

The girl stares at him defiantly for a moment, before letting out a sigh, her whole body visibly untensing. “Okay,” she whispers meekly, closing her eyes.

You had been biting at the inside of your cheek, staring between the two nervously. Reaching out for Mieun’s suddenly deflated figure, you wrap an arm around her, letting her rest her head on your shoulder.

“Tired?” you ask, eyes scanning over your friend. Feeling her nod her head against the fabric of your sweater, you can’t help but let out a sigh. “Me too.” you mumble in agreement.

Two silent breaths later, you speak again. “Sorry for crashing your date, by the way.” you mutter apologetically. 

The girl on your shoulder shakes her head firmly. “Don’t apologize. I get way more opportunities to love Soonyoung than I get to help you when you’re hurt,” she says earnestly. Her words make you feel endlessly warm, your eyes glistening as an appreciative smile graces your lips. 

Mieun sighs contentedly. “Speaking of Soonyoung- what’s taking him so long?”

What was taking Soonyoung so long to get a delivery package?

You twist your head over the back of the couch, trying your best to peek around the corner of the wall that obscured your vision. It was obvious that he was talking, a conversation very apparently happening; but, they were too far away to be anything clearer than static, stifled voices. You figure Mieun bought something high-value that required a signature.

Finally, Soonyoung’s voice becomes more coherent, allowing you to catch a little of what he was sayi-

“Listen, hyung. I don’t think you should be here right now.”

The other voice had gotten louder too-

“Please, Soonyoung-”

The air around you suddenly feels like it had dropped several degrees. You feel it again—every unstable emotion that you had managed to suppress since you left your apartment was getting thrown back into the equation like they were never even gone. He was here, at two in the morning, you didn’t know if he was here because he cared, but he didn’t just go to sleep—

“Please, I just need to see her once, I need to hear her voice, know she’s safe-”

—and he sounds just as broken as you are.

You feel Mieun bolt up out of your grasp, causing you to wince as you desperately try to bring her down again. But, she’s too fast; her whole body rattling as hot, white fury possesses her being. You watch her round the corner and disappear. A small, delicate moment of peace passes before a fuming shout penetrated the air.

“YOU HAVE A LOT OF FUCKING NERVE TO SHOW UP HERE!”

At this point, the floodgates had opened and there was no shutting them; you were in no different position than you were an hour ago, when Jeonghan took your fragile heart and smashed it against a brick wall. The sound of your friends yelling, the sound of his pleading voice—it was overwhelming your senses and thoughts.

Through your blurred vision, you see a tall figure round the corner again. “y/n?”

You take in a sharp inhale. “S-soonyoung?”

“Yeah. It’s just me, y/n. Hey, breathe.” Soonyoung shushes, slowly sitting down next you on the couch. 

He picks a tissue from the tissue box, bringing it up to your face and gently wiping away the teardrops that glided down your face. Mieun’s voice (you notice a lack of variety among the voices—Mieun is presumably still berating Jeonghan, not letting him get a single sentence in.) has grown much more hushed.

“Please get Mieun to stop yelling at Jeonghan,” you whisper, shutting your eyes tightly and putting your head into your hands. You feel Soonyoung wrap a comforting arm around your small, shaking frame. “I will. She just needs to get it all out of her system…” he mumbles, trailing off.

After several deep breaths and aggressive eye-rubbing, you finally rise from your hunched position. You were going to resolve whatever happened tonight, right here, right now. 

“I'm going to talk to him.” your tone is scratchy and meek, but still firm.

Soonyoung nods, gently helping you up. His arm remains around your shoulders as the two of you walk to the foyer.

Rounding the corner, you take a deep breath. A taller, familiar head of platinum blonde hair peaks out over your friend’s head. When he doesn’t notice you at a distance behind her, you find yourself peeling away from Soonyoung, mindlessly taking steps closer.

“I’ll leave, I swear. Can you please just give her this? And promise me she’ll be safe?”

Mieun snatches the thing out of Jeonghan’s grip, glowering up at him. “She’s perfectly fine here. Now leave,” she snaps, reaching for the doorknob, ready to slam it in his face.

“Wait.”

Your friend spins around, expression morphing from annoyance to surprise. Jeonghan’s gaze lifts from the girl in front of him, realizing you were standing there.

Jeonghan can feel himself grow dizzy—his body tensing, his pulse in his ears and fingertips. You were here, you were safe, were you going to tell him to leave? Or—

Mieun’s furrows her eyebrows. “y/n, I don’t think-”

“Mieun, come here.” The girl whips her head towards Soonyoung, who softly ushered her to step away from the door. She pauses for a moment, before handing back the thing to Jeonghan and throwing him one last grimace. Soonyoung grabs onto her arm, pulling her into his hold.

Now, you’re face to face with Jeonghan.

The first thing you notice is that he’s wet. His hair is damp and tousled, and he’s slightly shivering. His clothes are a shade darker than they normally were, and they stuck to his body like glue. Your eyes dart around his face, drinking him in. His eyes are bloodshot red, and his lips look like they’ve been chewed at. 

“Did you run in the rain?” you ask, frowning.

Jeonghan’s breath hitches, your quiet, weak voice sounding suddenly so loud to him. “I… I couldn’t just let you leave like that,” he says nervously, eyes staying trained on your expression for even the most minor change.

A silence falls between the two of you. Jeonghan didn’t want to scare you again, instead opting to just take a step backward and offering what he had brought.

“I-I brought you this…” he mutters.

Your gaze finally breaks away from his face, looking down. He held out a small bouquet of crimson red roses, wrapped in silk pink paper and tied with a small, messy ribbon. The petals were slightly crimped and the paper had torn in some areas, but they were still beautiful.

Just like when we first started going out. A delicate smile blossoms on your face at the sweet gesture. You gently take it from him, turning it around in your hands before looking back up at him. "Thank you. Where did you get these from?"

"I-I ran- I ran to the convenience store. Sorry, they're a bit ruined."

You shake your head, eyes softening. "No, no. They're amazing."

Your smile tugs down into a frown as you notice the way he had taken another step backward, and his head hung low. His eyes are closed, lips tightly pursed together.

“Jeonghan…” you whisper, but he still doesn’t move, only screwing his eyes shut harder.

He only moves when he feels a gentle tug on his sleeve, letting himself be pulled forward until he limply fell into your embrace.

Above all the hurt and fear you felt, you were understanding. It wouldn't have been possible to make it this far in a relationship with a celebrity if you weren't.

You let him fall into your arms because you can tell he didn't mean it.

Your arms wrap around his torso instinctively, connecting around his back. After a small moment of hesitation, he wraps his own arms around your shoulders, his grip growing tighter the more time passed.

Even though his clothes were damp, even though he was shivering—an immediate warmth engulfed you as soon as you pulled him into your arms. Jeonghan is warm—he is comfort, he is home.

Your heart cracks as he buries himself into your shoulder and the fabric of your sweater immediately grows wet. The sound of sharp, uncontrollable intakes of breath leaves him, making you sigh and bring a hand up to gently card through the locks of his hair. 

Feeling a small pull at your sleeve, turning your head around slightly to see Mieun stepping forward, taking the bouquet of flowers from your hands. You give her a small nod, handing it to her before focusing your attention back on Jeonghan. 

“I’m not leaving, Han.”

The sound of your voice makes him sob harder. He hugs you impossibly closer, like if he were to loosen his grip, you’d vanish. The feeling of him pressing you against his body makes you purse your own lips together and squeeze your eyes shut.

“I’m not leaving. You’re okay, we’re okay.”

Slowly, you pull away, keeping a hand on him to reassure him. You rub his arm soothingly, urging him to look at you.

Jeonghan huffs, looking at you miserably before words began tumbling out of his mouth. “God, y/n. y/n, I’m so fucking sorry, I can’t even-” he can’t even finish his sentence before another shaky sob falls from his lips. “I’m such a fucking asshole. You’re so good to me and all I do is treat you like shit-”

“Jeonghan, Jeonghan.” you frantically say, cutting him off. “That is not all you do. Don’t say that about yourself, it’s not true.”

“y/n, no. I fucking- screamed at you- for what? For staying up and waiting for me to come home? For asking about my day and being concerned about me? You even made me food, for crying out loud- and all I do is treat you terribly. Say ugly things when you only deserve to hear nice ones. Make you feel- make you feel like you’re a bother to me. But you’re not, fuck, you could never be.” His voice breaks at the end, echoing around you.

“So, you don’t hate me?”

Jeonghan crumbles, his old words biting at him like a venomous snake. All he does is clench his fists harder.

“Angel,” he breathes out, looking up at the ceiling in an attempt to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. 

After recollecting himself, he looks down at you again. “Of course I don’t hate you. Fuck, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hated someone as sweet, caring, and incredible as you. I know- I know I treat you like you’re unimportant to me, but you need to believe me when I say that you’re the most important thing to me. You are me. You make me, me.”

Jeonghan notices a single tear that glided down your face. He shoots his hand up instinctively, about to wipe it away, but he stops himself at the last second and lets it fall to his side. You see the action and feel your heart lurch at his hesitance. 

He’s scared to touch you.

Gently reaching for his hand, you bring it up and settle it on your cheek. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes.

“But, I scared you...”

You shake your head vigorously. “You’re the one person I could never be scared of. You make me feel safe, loved.”

Slowly, you let go, and his hand stays there, cupping your face. His thumb delicately brushes the skin underneath your eyes, wiping away the tears that fell.

“I made you cry. How could I make you cry, angel? How could I do such a thing?” he whispers, lip quivering.

“I’m okay, Jeonghan. We all have our off days, and while what you said did hurt me, I’m okay. I forgive you,” you respond. “But, if you’re feeling upset, you should talk to someone about it. The boys are here for you. I’m here for you.”

Jeonghan melts, staring at you momentarily before gently tugging you back into his embrace.

“You’re- you’re so good to me…” he says with a sniffle, carding his fingers through your hair.

“I’m good to you because you’re good, Han. You’re good, and you shouldn’t believe otherwise,” you say genuinely, rocking him back and forth.

A brief moment of peace passes before a small mumble leaves Jeonghan’s lips.

“Please come home.” 

It’s so quiet that you can barely hear him—but you do, and you nod, even though you were already home.

Home is wherever Jeonghan was.

[idrawfunkythings]

DCAtober Day 14: Knock

Words 1,700+ Summary: You hang out with some friends, and try your best to make Moon's circuits fry, apparently

Somehow, you’d managed to drag your ass out of bed after a fruitless attempt at sleeping. It was 12:00 am, the moon was out, and you were exhausted. The constant switch between night and day shifts was starting to get to you. Since the layoffs, management had assigned you way more night hours, and you didn’t want to give them an excuse to get rid of you too.

The drive to work had you so zoned out it was a miracle you hadn’t hit anyone. Your walk inside is a daze, and you only register what you’re doing when you’ve been twisting the handle to the security office for so long you realise you haven’t unlocked it.

You grumble as you dump your stuff, pulling the staff lanyard from the hook on the back of the door over your neck and checking the alarm system. Thankfully, your list of tasks was blissfully short for tonight. Clean out Chica’s room, repaint Roxy’s nails (her PAs were all out with some unspecified illness, apparently) and check up on the Staffbots in the lobby and atrium. Since the outage a few weeks ago, there’d been an increase in reports of glitches, and Fazbear wanted to minimise the bad press.

You nod to Vanessa as you leave the office, having seen her enter at the front doors. She smiles back at you, waving enthusiastically. If your memory served you right, she’d been hired about a month ago, and only worked security shifts. She seemed nice enough, but you never had the chance to exchange more than a few words with her.

“Are you on the atrium today?” you call.

“No, I’m in the tunnels tonight. Something about a glitch in the cameras? I don’t know.” She shrugs, fiddling with her badge as she tries to pin it on her shirt. “Moon’s doing the rest.”

“Have fun in the tunnels, then,” you say, and she makes a face. “I’ll be by the main stage if you need me.”

“Thanks,” she says warmly, swearing when she stabs herself. She waves you off when you offer to help, and you oblige, taking the side doors to start the night off with Chica.

When you open the doors to Rockstar Row, you know he’s already waiting. You don’t bother looking up. “Hey, Moon Man. Did you miss me?”

Moon drops down inches away from your face, hanging from the roof upside down like spiderman. The bell on the end of his hat jingles. You jump, even though you expected his arrival.

“Not at all,” he chuckles, taking delight in your momentary terror. You playfully bat at his head, crossing your arms.

“Quit it,” you say in what you hope is a stern voice, but is definitely not. His faceplate does the usual spin, smile remaining in place. “You like scaring me too much. It’s like you feed on terror.”

Moon flips in the air until he’s right side up. He brings his hands up and wiggles his fingers, making his red optics shine brighter for added effect. His voice becomes gravelly, like nails on a chalkboard. “Of course I do, my dear. I’m the boogeyma-”

“Hi!”

Moon freezes, clearly having been caught unaware despite his usual constant surveillance of his surroundings. He turns to the side slowly, looking very much like he wants to leave right now. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel bad.

Chica is standing with Roxy, the chicken waving energetically just in case you’d missed her greeting while the wolf rolls her eyes, inspecting her nails with annoyance. Clearly she wasn’t coping very well with the sudden lack of PAs.

“I thought you two would be hanging out! Roxy’s been waiting for ages and she’s getting desperate.” Chica looks to Roxy expectantly, and the latter shoves her hand in front of your face for you to inspect.

“They’re chipped from the keytar,” she huffs. “I need them repainted.”

“We got the paint and stuff all ready!” Chica chirps. “It’s in my room. I’ll clean while you do her nails.” she grabs your hand excitedly. “It’ll be like a slumber party.”

Moon is hanging awkwardly in the air, playing with the ribbons around his wrists. In some aspects, he really was like Sun. Chica gasps and looks at him.

“Oh, and you can come too, Moon! I wouldn’t want to separate you two.” She gives you a sly grin as she says this, and you shoot her a glare back. Moon is too anxious to be aware of what she’s saying, and Roxy just doesn’t care, but still.

“I…”

You give him an understanding look. “It’s okay, I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do.”

Chica looks much too upset for her offer to not be steeped in an ulterior motive. “No! We haven’t hung out in ages! Come on.”

“I have patrols to do,” Moon says, clearly grateful for your out. Roxy rolls her eyes.

“If the cheese head doesn’t want to see us, let him miss out.” Moon’s eye flickers black for a moment, and his grin strains. You knew him and Roxy were on… rocky terms, after watching him dump a bucket of water from Gator Golf on her head when she went searching for her bracelets one night, and when she’d flipped the light switch after trapping him in Kids Cove (it had taken you about an hour to get Sun to calm down). “Can we just get on with fixing my nails?”

You give Moon a smile. “I gotta check on the Staffbots after. See you then?”

He nods, before shooting up into the rafters and out of sight. Chica seems very disappointed, but she drags you back to her room to get started with your tasks anyway.

You pull a stool over to the vanity and begin, doing your very best not to get the paint anywhere but where it was supposed to be. It was hard, considering Roxy liked to talk with her hands when she got mad, and Chica had brought up Monty hiding her hairbrush, but you were nothing if not patient. Also, you were terrified of her, so that helped you stay steady.

Chica continues her gossip as she cleans the room, gathering trash into garbage bags and leaving them by the door. Thankfully, the trash was inedible, so she wouldn’t be sticking her beak into it tonight. “Ooh, did you guys hear that Adam got caught cheating on his wife?” Adam was a supervisor for the Staffbot production. Roxy gasps dutifully. You scrunch your eyebrows together as you maneuver the paintbrush over to a particularly tricky spot. “Yeah. She came here to meet him last night! But his wife was visiting with the kids.”

“Oh, that’s vile,” Roxy laughs.

“I know! Anyway, that’s why they closed off the car park. There’s stuff everywhere. She went off, somehow she got to the paint buckets!”

Speaking of paint, you were finally done with the last coat on Roxy’s nails. You slide her hand under the dryer and stretch. “Adam’s a bastard anyway, it’s not like this was the first time.”

“Ooh, do tell,” Chica squawks, pausing from tying up another bag (this one filled with broken crayons and old autographs they can’t legally give out anymore) to look up in excitement.

Unfortunately for her, a knock at the door cuts you off. Then another, and another increasingly annoyed one over the fact the door is not sliding open, and then a thud.

It opens automatically, as it does when there’s security cleared movement on the other side, and the three of you are greeted with Moon’s upside down face. Ah, no wonder the door didn’t register him. It scanned the floor for any movement. “You’re late,” he says shortly.

You check your Fazwatch. He was right - it was 1:30, and your shift ended at 4. You get up apologetically. “Sorry girls, I gotta run. Duty calls.”

“Yeah, whatever. Thanks for my nails,” Roxy says boredly, inspecting her new coats. Chica sighs dramatically, leaning on her trash bag.

“You’ll have to tell us everything another time,” she says seriously. You nod. Of course you would. She eyes Moon and her eyes glint cheekily. “Have you come to take them away?”

“Come to get them to work,” Moon responds curtly. “No overtime allowed.”

You walk outside, waving to the girls. “Thanks for the help, Chicken.”

“Have fun with your prince!” Chica calls, and you move out of the way of the sensor so the door slams shut on her. You turn to Moon.

“We can start-”

He cuts you off. “You look terrible.”

Wow. “Okay, rude.”

“You haven’t slept in days.” His eyes are pixelated, meaning he’s currently scanning your condition. You do your best to act like a person who gets a healthy amount of sleep, but it’s hard, because now that he’s mentioned it, your eyes are drooping. “Tell me that my sensors are wrong, and you have slept more than five hours in the past two days.”

“You’re wrong?” you try, but he’s gripping your shoulders and marching you over to the lobby doors, still suspended in the air. “Hey, I have a job to do.”

“I’ll handle it,” he says through metaphorically gritted teeth.

“Moon-”

“You are going to take a nap.”

Okay, well, you couldn’t exactly argue with that. Mainly because if you did, he’d probably tear your arms off. And a nap really did sound nice about now.

Moon guides you to the red daycare doors, then stands in front of you sternly, hunched over so that you can’t escape his gaze. “You are going to go inside. You are going to get the blankets and pillows from the cupboard. When I return, you will be asleep.”

“No overtime,” you remind him halfheartedly.

“I will clock you out. Go.” He points to the doors.

“You’re bossy,” you try, but now you’re really pushing it because you think if you say anything more he’s actually going to kill you. “Okay, okay. I’m going to bed.”

Your phone dangles in front of your face. That son of a bitch. You reach for it, but it’s tucked away into his chest cavity before you can blink. “You will get this back when you have slept.”

There’s no use arguing. You give a mocking salute. Moon opens the doors, and you walk through, not looking back until they clang shut behind you.

You yawn instantly. He was right - you needed some sleep.

[throneofsapphics]

the moth and the flame part 12: the passing

poly!Nessian x f!Reader

summary: after meeting Nesta in a bookshop, you find the darkest parts of yourselves bonding with each other. Naturally, Cassian finds himself entangled with the two of you.

warnings: addiction/struggling with

a/n: I did tear up a little writing this last chapter, thank you all so much for your support <3

series masterlist

Biting back was easier said than done. 

You stood over the trash can, hand gripping the pill bottle. All it would take was one twist of your wrist, why was it so damned hard? 

You’d begged the doctor for these, despite his hesitation, ready to fall to your knees just to reclaim your nights but this wasn’t the way. 

This wasn’t how you were going to do it. There was a better way. 

Glancing at the clock. 7:43. You’d been standing here for exactly 51 minutes now. Better than an hour, you told yourself. A small consolation, but right now you’d take anything you could get. 

“For me,” you murmured, using your other hand to tip the bottle, the grip of the other seemingly white-knuckled for an eternity now. 

It didn’t feel like all of the self-help books you’d read said it would. Instead it felt like an emptiness, but a sweet sort of empty, the kind that brought comfort in its nothingness rather than oblivion. 

You knew it wouldn’t last, and thanked the gods the trash went out in the morning. You could last until then, you had to last until then. 

There was no way you’d be digging through your trashcan for those. You dumped some old compost you usually kept in your icebox until the last minute on top of it, then your bathroom trash. 

Hopefully that would deter you. 

You weren't entirely convinced it would. 

In your peripherals, you caught your reflection in the mirror. Only it wasn’t you. 

Two lovers entwined, arms wrapped tightly around each other, your flushed face. Cheeks hurt from smiling aggressively all afternoon, from other things that reminded you just of her. 

She’d come into your life in a whirlwind and now you were entangled together so deeply nothing could separate the two of you. 

Only something had, and you’d never gotten a concrete answer on what exactly did it. 

Maybe you didn’t need one, not anymore. Perhaps you could survive without it. 

What would you give for five whole minutes with her? With him? With them?

An hour ago, you might’ve said a whole bottle of pills, but you’d already tossed those in the trash. 

But now ... there was nothing you wanted to give them, in this very moment. Surely your dreams would say something else but right now you could take some comfort in this small win, this small bout of independence and freedom from their hold. 

As if your thoughts had summoned them, wings flew past your open window. You hated yourself for running to it, running to see the figure disappearing in the distance. Flipping your middle finger up, you cursed audibly at them. You were surprised you hadn’t heard any complaints from your neighbors yet about your behavior. 

Bed, you might as well head to bed now. It was close to nine anyway, and you ... well you didn’t have to work in the morning but you’d find something to keep yourself busy. You’d needed to get good at that. 

You laughed as you poured a bit of wine into a pan, glancing at the recipe book balanced on a bookstand to your right. One Nesta had picked up for you since you’d taken up cooking more frequently. 

It was one of your favorite things to do with them, all of you try a new recipe together, and Cassian had started the tradition of it happening each Saturday night. Sometimes Sunday’s if they both had duties to attend to the previous day. 

Imagining the two of them with their arms wrapped around each other, watching you, perhaps with fond expressions on their faces, you turned around slowly. 

Smiling faces changed to twin looks of horror, bloodshot eyes, blood leaking from noses and mouths, eyes rolling back in the head - screams. 

Shooting up in your bed, you exhaled a shaky breath. The nights still belonged to them, they still haunted your fucking nights. After the first one struggling to sleep, you’d sought out those pills you stupidly threw away earlier. 

You wanted sobriety back, but right now ... you just wanted your nights back, to free it from their hold. Right now they had an iron grip on you and you needed to reclaim that space. There was only one way you could think of doing that right now. 

It was exactly 1:31 a.m. when you returned to stare at the trashcan, fingers tightly wound together to keep yourself from tipping it over. ‘Addiction is ugly’ the priestess had said so long ago, and she was right. You racked your mind for other things she said during your sessions, before they’d come to an end. 

“If a day comes when you need help, you can ring our bell seven times, any time of day and someone will be there.” 

Grabbing your coat, you swept it over your shoulders. Forgetting shoes, you didn’t turn back to look. Turning back to look meant you would go for the trash can, and you couldn’t reach that realm of desperation. Couldn’t let yourself. 

Just the ring of a bell, seven times. Seven movements of your hand. You could do that. You took off into the brisk night, uncaring of what your feet might touch. 

Nothing mattered except getting to that fucking bell. 

Streets bled together, you broke into a sprint crossing the Sidra, your breaths heavy as you reached the outside of the library. There was no fucking bell. Tears slipped down your cheeks as you crashed to your knees. She’d promised and lied. 

So many had lied to you. Said they’d love you forever, that they would be there for you no matter what, and where did it get you?

Barefoot on a city street, broken glass etched between your toes, the one true effort you’d made for yourself done in vain. 

A hand, scarred, reached in front of you. You knew who that was, and ignored it, letting your head drop to your chest instead. 

Minutes passed, glancing up through your lashes the hand was still fucking there. 

You didn’t need anyones help. Pushing your palms down on the cobblestones, you rose to stand. 

“What?” You didn’t bother sounding pleasant. He didn’t seem affected. 

Instead he jerked his head, a follow me, gesture.

Pressing your lips tightly together, you did follow. Despite them breaking your heart, you didn't think they’d try to kill you. 

He led you to a small alcove, a shining silver bell glinted. 

An angel of death led the daughter of darkness through the moonlight to sanctuary. 

-

series taglist: @breadsticks2004 @shamelessdonutkryptonite @rowaelinsdaughter @fightmedraco @acourtofbatboydreams @readinggeeklmao @krowiathemythologynerd @kooterz @anxious-study @lilah-asteria @nestaismommy  @idkmyoldonewasembarassing

general taglist: @rowaelinsdaughter @bookishbroadwaybish @nestaismommy @erencvlt @book-obsessed124 @callsigns-haze

acotar taglist: @lilah-asteria @yeonalie @I-am-a-lost-girl16

[kasagia]

Can't catch me now... pt. 2

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling xgrisha! reader Summary: The Hunger Games in Ravka. 12 districts. 12 tributes. 12 mentors. 11 young people die every year. 1 winner. Aleksander was a mentor to many. But only your face will haunt him for centuries. Inspired by: The Hunger Games. I changed the world of both of them a bit. Word Count: 4,4 k Taglist: @flostvs1508 @watersquirtpewpewboomm @aoi-targaryen @summersummoner-pat @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi @msblacklupin Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist PART 1 ~•♤♤♤•~

"You look like death. Have you even slept an hour?" You shrug at Genya's question. The woman sighs and works on your face to make you presentable. "The general was furious. He's a good man, despite everything they say about him. You have to understand that... he didn't expect this turn of events, and his stoic attitude was violated. I swear, this is the second time I've seen him lose his cool. And I've been here since I was a child."

"When was the first time?" You ask curiously, not believing her for a moment. You couldn't trust anyone here. You could only count on yourself and no one else. You missed Alina a lot.

"I will tell you this with a complete twist. Anyway, if someone asks, you didn't know it from me. 40 years ago, in the Hunger Games, the General was... asked to be a mentor. Her name was Luda. She was brave and beautiful, with a good heart and a pure soul. She was a healer in her village. She volunteered. In exchange for her younger sister."

"And what happened? He scared her with his shadows because she was a vegetarian and didn't want to eat meat to get stronger?" You mock, as she is making final amendments to your look.

"She died." An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Genya was blindly combing your hair, obviously thinking about her. You could see from the look in her eyes that she must have been especially close to this tribute. "She was... close to the general. He had been mourning her death for a very long time. And I don't want to spread rumours, but the tribute who killed her and won the Hunger Games was found hanging in the forest near his home village. His family was soon convicted of conspiring against the crown and hanged in a more… spectacular way."

"I feel like you're not telling me this just to satisfy my curiosity." You guess as she finally pulls away from you.

You don't know what's worse, when she fixes your face with her strange power or when she looks at you intently, looking for something else to improve your appearance. You weren't used to caring THAT much about yourself. Because who would want to look at an orphan?

"I just want to warn you that… our choices don't necessarily affect only us." You roll your eyes at her attempt at intimidation. Of course. He couldn't make you do anything himself, so he sent his minions to convince you. Quite pathetic, like for the terrible Darkling, who everyone feared.

"I am an orphan. There's nothing he can take from me. I... I have nothing left to lose or to care about..." You say it quietly, rubbing your wrist with your hand. You try hard not to think about Alina and Mal. Your only family... all you have left after those you lost.

"And your life?"

"We're all going to die someday, Genya." Your soft whisper seals the uncomfortable silence.

You think about your parents and siblings—everyone you lost—and the life you could have had that fate ripped from you before you learned how to fight for yourself. You lost everything as a child. There's nothing left for you. At least nothing good.

"Here. You look amazing. There is only one thing missing." She says this with a smile and takes out a long, black coat with black and white embroidery from the closet. It's a kefta. A fucking kefta.

"What the hell is that?" You ask angrily, standing up from your chair and looking at the piece of clothing in utter disgust.

"The general ordered it especially for you. You are a Grisha. You are one of us, and you should present yourself as such." She says this and puts the kefta on the chair.

You walk up to it and run your hand over the material. You expected something rough—just like the general's character—and uncomfortable to wear, since the keftas protected Grisha from every blade and bullet, but this... was nothing like armor. It was soft and cozy. Like velvet. Nothing you may have experienced in your district.

"Black? Isn't that his colour?" You ask, trying to reassure yourself of how terrible this damn thing is.

"Merzost is closely associated with the Darkling bloodline in our culture, since he used it to create the fold. Consider it a… coincidental coincidence." You snort when you hear her explanation. If anything, it was a sign of belonging. The general's new toy. Freak of nature. What a pity he'll lose you before he can use you for the good of his fucking Grisha.

"Other people won't see it like that. You know this, so stop lying to me." The redhead sighs, running a hand through her hair.

"Just put it on. People need to know that the king broke his word to Grisha to force you to participate in the Hunger Games, breaking part of the covenant between us."

"This isn't my war to fight, Genya. Besides, I'm going to die in games anyway, so what's the difference?" Your response only enraged her more.

She didn't raise her voice, and you wouldn't have recognized her emotions unless you saw her hands tremble slightly before she placed them behind her back. You wonder how many times she has had to hide her true feelings.

"You have Merzost in your veins, the most powerful force you can draw from. Do you really want to give it all up? Lose the opportunity you have in front of you? Do you know how many of us have been waiting for you?" She asks with resentment in her voice, but you really don't want to argue with her.

You know it doesn't make sense because they are all here believing in some stupid children's story, a fairy tale that made you a savior in their eyes, and now, since you have finally arrived, you are supposed to fly around and pretend to be a hero you know you are not. As if you could do anything you wanted.

"I was dead long before I was chosen for The Hunger Games. Year after year I was only prolongs the inevitable. I am sorry, but that's the truth. Don't get your hopes up."

"I see that my favourite suicide is in good shape today." Your discussion is interrupted by the appearance of the Darkling. You sigh, rolling your eyes at him. You seriously considered throwing yourself at the spear of one of those ancient armored knights that decorated the halls of the palace. At least you wouldn't have to endure his presence any longer. "Are you rested? Fed?"

"Don't you have something else to do instead of keeping an eye on me? Or send your minions to do it for you? This is getting tiring and irritating." Genya gives you an offended look. She huffs, leaving the chambers as she gets a nod from the Darkling.

"I am your mentor. It's my duty to take care of you." He says, clasping his hands behind him once you're left alone. He looks at you carefully and takes a step towards you. This time, you don't step back but stare at him defiantly.

"Then it is with great pleasure that I would like to relieve you of this obligation." Your words only make him chuckle. He straightens a piece of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. His fingertips brush against your cheek, making you shiver. However, you do nothing to let him know how much his proximity bothers you.

"Oh, you won't make it. Only a king can do this. Do you like your kefta?" He asks, changing the subject. You turn your head towards the offending fabric still hanging on the chair.

"It looks like a floor rag." You say, not hiding your disgust. He chuckles darkly again. He takes the kefta in his hands and unfolds it, pretending to look at it carefully as he walks over to you again.

"Then Karamzin must be richer than I thought, if this is what your floor rags look like. Especially the orphanage."

"Have you been rummaging through my files? What for?" You ask in shock, trying to mask your fear. If he finds out about Alina and Mal… you don't want to have any more deaths on your conscience.

"Better put it on if you don't want to find out very soon." You decide to follow your better judgement instead of your pride and turn your back on him, letting him put on the hideous kefta. Surprisingly, the material hugs you perfectly. You feel warm and soft—the complete opposite of what you know. You gasp in shock as he reaches for his belt and pulls you towards him. You bump into his chest as he tightens the belt around your waist. "Good girl. Now, put your hand in the crook of my arm and smile nicely, and everything will turn out great today. And if you keep behaving as a good girl, you'll get dessert tonight."

"I'd rather gouge out my eyes and sew my mouth shut than be an obedient little doll that you can dress however you want and show everyone."

"I'd reconsider it if I were you. The chefs baked a chocolate cake today. With chocolate-covered cherries on top. Have you ever had a chance to eat something like it?" He smiles, almost mischievously, as he stands next to you, still waiting for you to follow his instructions.

"Son of a bitch." You mutter under your breath and he laughs. He must have been drunk. He couldn't be in such a good mood. Not him.

"That's actually very ture, my little wellspring." He says and leads you to a slaughter worse than the Hunger Games... he leads you to a party for the Games. Among the nobility. You shudder just thinking about this nightmare (not because he puts his bigger hand on yours).

"You have a very beautiful dress!" You force a fake smile on your lips when a noblewoman compliments you.

"Thank you." You say, sipping your glass of wine. The only good thing that happened to you at the party was alcohol. And even then, the Darkling tried to limit you to this one pleasure, making sure that you didn't drink too much.

Your head hurt from all the nonsense conversations with all these people who were only famous for being born into rich families. Terrible. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice several tributes also struggling to maintain their composure. At least you weren't the only one.

However, after you turned out to be Grisha, the rest of the tributes tended to avoid you. You knew from the beginning that you wouldn't have any friends among them, but it would be nice to have one friendly soul in this terrible place.

"I didn't think the people of District 12 would fit into our community so well, but you, darling, look absolutely perfect." You barely stop yourself from throwing the glass you're holding at her. Instead, you tighten your grip on him and smile politely at her, gritting your teeth in anger.

"I'm glad I can surprise you."

Fortunately, you don't have to talk to her anymore. The general approaches you quickly, noticing your tenseness, and with his natural grace, he places his hand on your waist, starting a conversation with a woman who turns out to be a close friend of the queen. Oops. It's better that he came to you, because you wouldn't apologise if you accidentally allowed Merzost to break free and turn her into a volcra.

As you stand next to them, as larger crowds of women begin to gather around you, you realize a terrible truth. The Darkling was your only support here. Him and Genya.

You flinch as he suddenly tightens his grip on your waist and guides you away from the group of noblewomen, who giggle as you both walk away. You allow yourself to roll your eyes at them.

"What the hell was that?" He asks you angrily, setting your glass down on the table. You automatically reach for it again, but he grabs your hand before you can take it and keeps it away from the alcohol.

"I was just about to ask you the same fucking thing." You respond in a defiant tone, glaring daggers at him. Your stomach was starting to growl, and the bastard wouldn't let you touch anything to eat until you fulfilled your end of the bargain and behaved yourself. As you and he can see, you didn't do very well.

"Don't grimace around them as if they were pouring salt into your open wounds." He says it angrily and lets go of your hand. He reaches for something from the buffet. You freeze when he hands you a tiny plate with some fruit. You lick your lips, staring at your food for a moment before looking back at him. "It's for avoiding causing a drama. Partly. Try harder, and I'll let you eat whatever you want."

"But that's what they do! Do you have any idea what it's like to have to stand there smiling and nodding your head while these snobs from the capital talk about how your people and the city are octopus and beneath them?!" You hiss so only he can hear it, but you take the plate of food from him anyway. God knows when you'll get something again.

"I'm Grisha. I know exactly what you are going through." You would laugh at him mockingly if you didn't have a mouth full of food. He looks at you disgusted, and you quickly get the hint and eat smaller portions.

"Please. You've been doing fine since the Hunger Games. At least your people don't have to die every year to the delight of a bunch of sadistic idiots with stuffed bras and fake hair." Your comment makes him bite his lip, but he still can't help but smile a little. Few people could make him laugh and laugh at the same time. As you can see, Merzost wasn't the only special thing about you.

However, your hostile look reminds him that you are in the middle of an argument, and it is his turn to present his argument. God, how much work he had to do with you. You will kill him before he can get you safely through the Hunger Games.

"But years ago we were hunted by all of you, and somehow I don't spit on every Ravkan and kill them for it."

"Because you didn't experience it. If you were there, you would act differently." You sound confident. He shakes his head, wondering how you would react to the truth. Although now he seems to be more interested in food than in anything he has to say. He had to finally feed you. His Merzost Holder couldn't go hungry. It's enough that you experienced hunger and poverty in District 12.

"You think?" He asks, setting your empty plate on the table and offering his hand to you. You look at him for a moment, confused by the sudden… change in his attitude.

"General?"

"You can dance, can't you?" He asks, taking your hand, and without waiting for your response, he leads you to the dance floor. The rest of the mentors have no such idea, so you both are closely watched by all the participants in the ball.

"A little." You say shyly, something he's experiencing from you for the first time. He smiles fondly at you, which, of course, you don't see, too embarrassed to look at anything other than your shoes. But others see. The general's small smile does not go unnoticed by his closest soldiers.

"I guess I have to work with that." He says this and gently lifts your chin to look at him. He places a hand on your waist, and the other holds yours in an iron, steady grip. "Eyes on me. Put your hand on my shoulder and try not to fall. Keep up with me, and everything will be fine."

All you can do is trust him, which you do with surprising ease for him. Somehow, he can't take his eyes off you. You looked gorgeous in the black kefta, especially with his symbol embroidered on the back—a little thing you didn't need to know yet. And so, looking at you, Aleksander can't help but wonder what it would be like if he met you under different circumstances. Maybe if he were younger, less experienced... if his mother's words didn't ring so loudly in his head every time he started to feel something akin to tenderness towards you. Maybe if he hadn't lost so many...

Meanwhile, you try to fight the strange feeling he gives you every time his skin touches yours. You feel a strange pull, a calling, and you realise how your power, the same one you tried to ignore and forget for so many years, comes to life under his touch. You hated it. And him. For trying to break down the walls that you put up for so long and so hard. For trying to make you the Grisha you hated. For making it so easy for you to sink into the arms of the Black Heretic ancestor.

And at the same time… it was nice to feel important for a change… even if just for a moment.

So you dance with him, agreeing to this little moment of truce between you two. Deciding that you would look for answers later as to why you felt so attached to him. And why every time he touched you you felt so… powerful.

"That was awful." You groan as you finally return to your chambers, with the Darkling by your side, of course.

He hasn't left you since that dance. He was always somewhere next to you as you talked with the nobility. You have gained several sponsors and the favour of important people in Os Alta. The Darkling was pleased. And you're exhausted.

"And wonderful. You did great, much better than I expected. The servants should bring our dinner soon." He says, sitting next to you on the couch, watching as you take off your kefta and throw it in the corner of the room. He bites his lip, deciding not to comment. He already expected a lot from you today. The manners lesson could have been taught another time.

"Our?" You ask surprised, not expecting him to stay longer than necessary.

"Do you mind?"

"Yes." You answer honestly and straight away, to which he just laughs.

"I wish I cared." He replies with a mischievous smile. You roll your eyes as you take off your shoes and try to pick any pins out of your hair. Genya seemed to enjoy tormenting you. There were definitely too many of them. "So a healer? Really?" He asks, referring to your last conversation. Someone asked you what you wanted to do before you got into The Hunger Games. You decided to answer truthfully once. Of course, you were laughed off and called a sweet, naive soul willing to help. You wanted to vomit on their polished, gold-plated shoes.

"Why not?" You ask angrily. He raises his hands defensively with a smirk, seeing how fed up you are with everything that happened today.

"It's rather… a thankless profession among the common people. Healers usually come to them when they are dying. Relieve suffering. They are the harbinger of death, almost like a reaper. Usually, they are not coming to actually extend their lives."

"So you must have had similar experiences." You scoff, making him think about it. This wasn't what you expected. You were expecting a rather harsh answer. Not a pensive, almost sad look. For a moment, you think that maybe he, too, could just be human. You shake your head. No. He was just one of them. He couldn't have any... human feelings or know the real pain.

"Painful but true. They don't get excited when they see me either." His whisper should make you change the subject, but after the terrible day he put you through, all you want to do is stick a pin in him where it hurts the most.

"I wonder why..." You start, but he cuts you off before you can finish.

"Don't mock. You were behaving so nicely. I prefer you to smile than spit acid."

"I wish I cared." You repeat his words from a while ago, trying to imitate his tone of voice. He rolls his eyes at you, but somehow you both do nothing more than make snide comments to each other. Taking advantage of the relatively quiet moment between you, you decide to ask him honestly. "What do you want from me?"

"To win." He replies simply, playing with the ring on his finger. He rolls it over on his finger, resting his chin on his hand as he looks at you intently. A shiver runs through you as the dark depths of his eyes meet yours. Undeterred by his short, evasive answer, you continue, knowing that this is your only chance to get something from him.

"And then what? You won't let me go back to my district." You say, knowing perfectly well that this is not an option for you. IF you win.

"You are right. You will live here. With Grisha. The people you belong to." You frown, dissatisfied with his answer. You weren't Grisha. You will never be. No matter how much he pushes and forces you to become one of them.

"Unless I die, which is very probably since I am not going to kill anyone on the arena." You remind him. He doesn't seem to take your promise seriously. You don't convince him. He will see for himself in the arena how serious you are about your decision.

"You won't die." He says it firmly, as if it were an obvious fact.

"How can you..."

"YOU WON'T!" He yells at you, standing up. You sit stoically in the same position as before, watching as the shadows in the corner of the room gather around him. He sighs and waves them away. "I've been waiting a long time for you, Y/N. You are the one of your kind and even more precious than a Sun Summoner. I won't see your dead body. No matter how much you want it."

"Leave." You say, too tired to argue with him, to tell him that you have no intention of being an obedient tool in his hands, that you won't be a weapon that he can use.

"That's my palace." Furious at his words, you get up to face him. You look at each other with pure hatred.

You are too tired to notice that a dark mass is beginning to form around your arms. But Aleksander sees it. And he watches with fascination as you let your powers slip through. Out of curiosity, he summons his shadows behind you. Just a small black cloud. However, for some reason, under the influence of your powers, the room is plunged into complete darkness. He looks at you in shock, realising that you had unknowingly empowered him by providing him with energy from Merzost. Unbelievable.

"And my room for a while, so prove to me you can sometimes be the nobel man everyone told me you are and leave me alone." You whisper; all you can see in the dark surrounding you are its irises, analysing you with undisguised fascination and admiration.

If only you trained, if you learned to control what was inside you... Aleksander wouldn't have to take anyone into account; he could just declare himself tsar, threatening the Ravkans to expand the fold if they didn't recognise Grisha's greatness. All he needed was you.

"As you wish." He says, deciding to let you win this fight. He takes your hand and holds it tight as he calls his shadows back to him. They come back in a second. One blink, and the darkness in the room disappears. Impossible. Even his mother didn't have that much control in her glory days. He wondered if you would have this effect only on him or on other Grisha as well. But no. He won't share this secret with anyone. Not yet. For now, you were only his little wellspring of power. "Tomorrow is the first day of your training. 7 A.M. Don't be late, or I will drag you out of your bed by myself." He says, letting go of your hand and walking towards the exit, trying hard not to steal glances at you. He would have to look into his grandfather's journals and old books. You were a real mystery. And he was just waiting to see what more you could do besides complete him perfectly.

"Go to hell." You mutter under your breath, rubbing the hand that was in his iron grip a few moments ago. You felt that stupid electric thrill again. It definitely had to have something to do with your strange connection. Darkling and Merzost Holder. You had to find out more about it. Maybe you need to start being nice to Genya after all...

"Excuse me?" He asks, turning around in the doorway when he hears the insult from you.

"Sleep well." You reply with a sweet, cynical smile. He shakes his head in amusement and decides to ignore your behavior. He'll give you a hard time at training tomorrow. See how far your skills range. With a little training, who knows... maybe you'll be able to bring people back from the dead.

Involuntarily, his thoughts turn to Luda. If he had you by his side earlier… no. He couldn't think about her. He knows that history would have turned out the same way. Because even if you had revealed yourself to him earlier, he would have been too busy with you to see anyone else.

Aleksander promises himself that he will do everything to prevent you from becoming his second Luda. He had enough ghosts of his past tormenting him at night. And you can't become another one of them. If necessary, I will kill these tributes myself. He will find a way. He always did.

Unless someone dares to interfere with his plans... just like last time. That's why, immediately after leaving your chambers, he goes to the only person he knows who will be able to protect you from his greatest enemy.

"Ulla?! Sister?! I have an offer you can't refuse!" He calls from the shore of the lake in the gardens of Little Palace.