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simpxxstan · 6 months

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Nobody Else (part 1)

pairing: chaebol!wonwoo x chaebol!fem.reader

genre: enemies with benefits to lovers, smut (minors do not interact please), mild angst

summary: the girl who was proud about making her own destiny, the boy she swore to never interact with. sometimes it takes a lifetime to know someone, even yourself. because who would've seen any of this coming?

chapter word count: 13k

warnings: honestly, way too much smut. cockwarming, oral sex (m. receiving, f. receiving), usage of sex toys, orgasm denial, gagging, overstimulation, dom-sub dynamics, public sex (i don't even know if it's feasible, please suspend your beliefs about reality while reading aah), unprotected sex (please do not do this irl), breast play, spanking, use of spit during sex, usage of petnames (darling, babe, sweetheart for female), usage of word slut (for female), usage of sir and daddy (for male), sir kink, daddy kink, office sex, use of profanities, lots of bickering. let me know if i missed something out!

a/n: and we're back. (or are we?) honestly, i write when i get the time. and i don't know when i'll get my schedule to clear up again </3 hopefully within a few months my life will be back on track.

hope you enjoy this!!! posting this in two parts because it's way too long otherwise. do leave your thoughts, i swear reading them makes me so happy. open to hearing criticism too so pls my inbox is right there for you to rant. have a nice day!

You’ve known Jeon Wonwoo since the age of eleven, but you’d never thought you’d end up like this. Being in the same social circles as you and your family, the young Jeon heir had never really been your friend. However, that did not mean you didn’t meet him. In fact, you met him quite often. He went to the same school as you, he was always there at the parties you went to, and everyone around you kept talking about him. No matter what the season or the age, everyone was infatuated with Jeon Wonwoo.

Objectively speaking, no.

Subjectively speaking, not at all.

You could never understand why one would find a man with no beauties to his personality, nothing to his merit except a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and those never-changing black clothes, attractive. Apart from that, he never exchanged a friendly conversation with you. Never a moment of warmth. And you reciprocated the feeling absolutely. You had no desire to seek his favour. He simply never left the periphery of your life, and it annoyed you. But not enough to bother you. You’d grown used to the sight of the tall boy, who never spoke to anyone except his tight-knit group of absolute losers. And he should have remained in your periphery, never in your focus. You wanted nothing to do with the cold, arrogant nerd.

So naturally, you’d never, in your wildest imaginations, thought that you’d be here, sucking his dick off under his desk while he engaged himself in a meeting on his desktop. You had been in that position for hours, your mouth lolling over the wetness surrounding his penis, both from your saliva and the slow trickle of his pre-cum. While he has switched from meeting to meeting, both with corporates in Korea and internationally, his suit impeccable and the glasses sitting neatly on his nose, you’d cockwarmed him. That would’ve still been fine, had you not enjoyed it so thoroughly that it had become a routine for you both over the months.

After a solid two hours (and a few more minutes), he’d allowed himself to push back the chair a bit, pull his pants down further, spread his legs wide enough to meet the annoying temptation that had been bugging him for so long, and thread his hands into your hair, indicating you to step out of the haze you’d fallen into and get on with the job. And oh boy, you’d obeyed. At this point, it was a reflex for you. Feeling the way his hands caved your jaws and neck, you leaned into his touch, all while keeping your eyes on the little twitches he made on his face. Perhaps it was his need to be dominant, or perhaps it was just his arrogance, but he never slipped during sex. Even when you were giving him the most mind-blowing blowjob, like right now, using techniques you’d picked up over time, slipping your tongue under his cock to feel his veins throb around your tongue, gently nipping the foreskin to make the red tip burn harder, and taking him into your throat completely without a moment of a gag reflex. He’d never show you how much he liked it, never praised you, never revealed that he wanted it as much as you did.

It was all a part of the act, you knew that.

It was designed to make you more eager to perform well, more eager to earn his praise, more eager to put your all into this.

Jeon Wonwoo, with his signature cold stares and the arrogant tilt of his smirk, would break you every time, and you’d come back for it, again and again, addicted mindlessly, like a drug.

Eventually, his cum would flow down your throat, and you’d feel his body relax against yours, as he let you lay your head on his thighs for a few moments to recuperate.

But never enough.

“Up, sweetheart. I thought you had a party to attend.”

He helps you stand up, smirking at the pool of your cum on the floor where you’d been sitting, with the bullet vibrator parked deep into your pussy, which had given you endless orgasms and sent you into heaven, all while you’d felt the weight of Wonwoo’s warmth on your tongue.

His words bring you back to reality, as you limp towards the washroom to clean yourself, slowly breaking your daze. “I do. When are you going to change?”

“I don’t want to. I’ll look good even if I don’t doll up.” With a snicker he goes back to his desktop, and you roll your eyes at the implication of his words.

“I still don’t understand why you’d ask them to deliver the dress here.”

“It is pretty late. Imagine if I’d have to go back home, change, and then leave for the venue. Too much hassle. I would have to leave an hour back. Your place is much closer to the venue.”

“And so you chose to make my bedroom your vanity room?

From Wonwoo’s vantage point in the study, he has a direct view into the master bedroom, where you’re settling yourself into a fresh pair of lingerie and the jumpsuit, which had been designed exclusively for you, for this occasion. The jumpsuit was perfect, made to look professional and yet classy, just as the event demanded, and in midnight blue, your favourite shade. You smiled while wearing it, your secretary had truly learnt your style well and ordered the perfect outfit for you.

“I’ll be out in ten.” You can feel his eyes on your figure, even from the distance.

You’re too engrossed in fixing the zip on your back to notice Wonwoo leaning against the doorframe, his eyes fixated on you.

“Do you need help?”

You give him a look. There’s that semi-permanent smirk lingering on his face, he knows he’s pushing your buttons. Outside of sex, you would never ask for help. In fact, you wouldn’t ask Wonwoo for anything. What could he do for you that you couldn’t do yourself?

He doesn’t say anything else, he quietly steps in and takes grip of the zip. After pulling it up, he doesn’t say a word, carefully watching you wear your scanty makeup. It could be a little creepy, but you surprisingly don’t mind. Or perhaps you just don’t care.

“Ah fuck. I forgot to bring the lip gloss.”

“But you just wore lipstick?”

“No,” you turn around and outside of Wonwoo’s periphery. Slipping your feet into your heels and putting on the earrings that had also been sent by your secretary, you told him, “The lip-plumping one. It makes my lips look nice. Well, nicer. They’re already quite pretty, as I’ve been told.” You hear Wonwoo scoff behind you, and you turn around to face him.

“Well, how do I look?”

His hands are in his pockets, his shirt buttons are halfway opened and his hair is messy, but he still looks better than you do after all this effort.

“They’ll love you.”

You smile. That’s more than enough feedback from Jeon Wonwoo. He doesn’t have to praise you outside sex if he can’t do it while fucking.

“They always do.”

And they do. The photographers, the journalists, the social elites, the ministers, their wives, their mistresses, the chaebols, their heirs, and their bastards. Everyone loves you. How could they not? You’re perfect in every way possible. At twenty six, you’re at the height of your life- young, charming and intelligent, everybody wants you. Ever since you took your father’s already prospering business to new heights four years ago, straight out of grad school, by introducing Korea to the world of AI like they’d never seen before. The industry had not just been disrupted by your introduction of AI to the field of healthcare and diagnosis, but also awed by the sheer magnanimity of your creations. You hadn’t spent years perfecting your ideas in vain.

Everyone wants a little bit of your time, a little word with you, slipping in a plea and a pickup line in the same tone, and you love the attention they throw at you. Honestly, this is where you were born to be. The spotlight is where you deserve to belong.

But eventually, the crowd dissipates, leaving you walking towards the bar looking for a martini, arm looped into the arm of your sister. “Y/N-ah, I tell you, let’s go to Jeju this weekend! The weather is perfect now- not too hot, not too cold. The forecast also recommends visiting now!” She tugs at your arm playfully, and you smile fondly. She knows your answer, but she never stops trying. “And what about your husband?” “I need a break from him, please. He’s getting on my nerves!” “Darling, it’s your hormones.” She slaps your wrist. “No! Stop saying that. Kyungmin says the exact same thing, in the exact same tone! It’s so annoying. Stop ganging up against me! Anyway it’s not my fault I’m pregnant. The least he can do is take care of me. If he can’t take care of me now, how is he going to be trained to become a father? Huh? How will he take care of our daught-” “You don’t even know that.” “I do. I have a feeling.” “You can just say you want a girl, you know. There’s nothing called ‘a feeling’.” “Damn it. Just because you have a trash sixth sense doesn’t mean you can dismiss mine, my intuition never goes wrong!”

And you’ve reached the bar, and the bartender serves you your drinks- just a virgin mojito for your sister though. “The canapes are great.” “Hmm… But I’m craving oranges! That’s why we should go to Jeju, yah!” “Unnie, you’ve gotta stop. Don’t excite yourself more than you need to. Do you want orange juice?” “No, eww. Not this artificial flavour.” “If you really want to go to Jeju, take Kyungmin Oppa and go. Don’t ask for me- I’ll never be able to keep up with your tantrums.” “Hmm. That is true. Now that you mention him, I suddenly miss him. For all my complaints, I still love him though-” You giggle at the sudden sappy tone of your sister, tuning out parts of her endless chatter, while your eyes search for someone in the crowds.

Jeon Wonwoo stands out, so he’s easy to find.

He’s wearing the same suit he’d worn earlier, not changed like he had told you. He looks tired and yet, good. Before you realise it, he’s looking back at you, and walking towards where the two of you are standing.

“Oh! Wonwoo-yah! How have you been?” Your sister asks, ever friendly. She’s the only one in the family who doesn’t show that the Jeon and Y/L/N families are rivals in business and hence, avoid speaking to each other. That norm wasn’t broken by you. To be fair, even the nights you spent together had very little conversation. No orgasm-induced dopamine could break through the wall of your egos to encourage you to be friendly with each other. Hell, outside of the bedroom, Wonwoo isn’t even attractive enough to catch your eye.

“Hmm, I’m good, Noona. I see your baby is growing fast. How many weeks left?” His tone is courteous, formal, and sweet. Makes you want to laugh at how different he sounds from the usual voice you hear him speak in.

“About eleven weeks to go. This trimester has been killing me, I swear. I’ve told Kyungmin I don’t want any more kids. Ever. I don’t think I can go through this again, and I haven’t even gotten to the pain of delivery yet. I don’t even know if I can go back to skating after this.”

You scoff. “As if. First get over your never-ending honeymoon period. Then talk about not having any more kids.”

“I support Y/N here. The company will need an heir, and I don’t see anyone else providing any.”

You sigh. There he goes. You roll your eyes at him, “An heir doesn’t have to be through blood relation. Merit exists. But then how can I explain this to someone whose existence is owed to nepotism.”

“Rich of you to say so.”

You take a step closer to Wonwoo, too riled up by the calm way he’s speaking. “I’ve built my world from the ground. From level zero. I haven’t just sat on a throne that was presented to me.”

“Forever the brat, huh? Running your mouth even in public, begging me to shut it?” You notice that Wonwoo has also come closer to you, and you can smell the cologne off him. He’s a solid four inches taller than you, even when you’re wearing heels. But you stare right back into his eyes, yours angry and his cold and superior, as usual. You wonder for the n-th time if his blood even runs warm. You’re tempted to retort back, disgusted by the below-the-belt remark, going off-topic, but your sister’s gently pulling your arm, reminding you that you’re in public. “Back off. Don’t make a scene, guys. Let’s not ruin the evening?” She puts on her best smile to calm you down, and you step away, seething in vain. Wonwoo’s smirk never leaves his face as you two bow and walk away. The way he’s looking at you reminds you of other memories.

You suddenly wonder if your sister had heard the comment or not. Considering her though, probably not. Thank god it was her and not someone else.

The rest of the party flows seamlessly. You’re spiralling slightly in your head though- overthinking can’t be avoided. The way Wonwoo was successful in riling you up has shocked you, to say the least. There have been a thousand such instances, but you don’t remember losing your temper to this extent in any of the situations. But somehow, Wonwoo talking about you not being interested to have children vexed you so much? It just didn’t add up.

It’s the first time you’re doubting your current situation. You’d been absolutely convinced that settlement between the two of you was more to your benefit than his. It wasn’t like you had a dearth of men wanting to fuck you. It was quite the opposite. But a few scandals and rumours had taught you that keeping your private life discreet was the optimal choice. Especially if you were a woman and people simply assumed you’d sucked someone’s dick to get ahead in life.

But the arrangement with Wonwoo was so perfect. He wanted discretion, so did you. He didn’t want to get involved with a random hookup who could get pregnant, you didn’t want a random hookup to get you pregnant. He wanted someone to match his wavelength, and you needed a vent for your stress. Now that you consider the drastic improvement in your energy and efforts, in retrospection, becoming Jeon Wonwoo’s submissive had been the best decision of your life.

It had begun quite suddenly. At your sister’s engagement party. Everyone was delighted with the new couple, especially you. Your sister had never shown any desire to join the company, satisfied with following her passion of ice skating. And now she was getting married to her boyfriend of five years, the love of her life, and everyone was left fondly jealous of the pure happiness on her face, even you.

Perhaps it was because of this jealousy that you’d decided to flirt with Wonwoo at the after-party. Against your better judgement, you’d drifted towards him by the end of the night, until your knees were touching on the barstools, and he was leaning back looking over your figure again and again. I was wondering which spot would be ideal for me to bite first- your collarbones, your cleavage, your thighs or your belly button, he would tell you later. God knows why you’d suddenly decided to find him attractive after fifteen years of knowing each other, but that was it. You’d ended up in a hotel bed that night, fucked until tears ran down your cheeks, begging him to go harder and faster whenever he slowed down to look at the mascara dripping down your face, leaving hickeys all over the soft skin of your breasts, not letting you rest of a second of the night, going at it till dawn.

“Wonwoo… I can’t…” you’d begged, your words muffled through your panties stuffed into your own mouth, the overstimulation hitting you hard as you squirmed against his tongue fucking his cum back into your pussy. “You can, sweetheart, give me another one… hmm? Do you want to be a good girl?”

And you had let loose. Given yourself up to him, to make or break you, as he wanted, and then put you together one by one as the sun rose up in the sky as you’d drifted to sleep. The next afternoon, you’d woken up feeling like a new person, and decided it was the best night of your life. The man in question was nowhere to be seen, but you didn’t care. The bliss ran too deep.

Sadly, not deep enough. The overthinking kicked in a few hours later, and you cussed yourself for becoming so easy for an undeserving man like Wonwoo. Just because he’d made you cum and given you a good time didn’t mean you’d go against your rational thoughts. In a way, he was no better than your best dildo. Except you liked your dildo. You simply did not like Jeon Wonwoo. The arrogant brat had been the type of man you’d avoided all of your life. You hadn’t seen him work hard in school, and now that he had inherited his father’s company, you didn’t see him work any harder either. Sure, Jeon Estates was doing better than ever, but that was only because the economy was booming and the housing market was doing well. He had done nothing extra. Unlike you, who had built your world yourself. You’d never taken your father’s prosperity as complacency, and strived to make a name for yourself. And now people knew of Y/L/N Corporation as synonymous to both your father’s name and your name.

And you had, like a silly stupid girl, gone and slept with this very man.

And you had liked it.

That was the worst bit. An accidental hookup would have been fine. But no, you wanted to sleep with him every night, if it meant he’d treat you to the same feast you’d blissed out on last night. There was a certain happiness in giving up to him, letting go of the constant worries that burdened you down, and allowing him to take control, but god knows how you ended up trusting him so much in bed.

Anyway, you reconciled with yourself, it’s just a one-time thing. It’s not like it’s going to happen again.

You were wrong. Jeon Wonwoo had picked you up that evening and taken you directly to his house.

“What did you want to talk about that you couldn’t do in your car?”

“The chauffeur was there.”

“It’s not a big deal, Jeon. You can just say that you regret last night, cause honestly, same. Don’t want to dwell on it.” You were in a rush to leave, because you didn’t want to think about the memories in this same house the night ago.

“Are you sure?”

His question had taken you aback, as he watched you with his hawk eyes, licking his lips.

“Y/N, I … couldn’t tell you in my car that I didn’t regret it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

You’re speechless, waiting for him to continue, as he took another step forward.

“Wonwoo, I… you know this is a bad idea.”

“I do,” he chuckles darkly. “You look like a bad idea, as I’ve known for years now. But when I see you wearing that hideous turtleneck to hide the hickeys and that tiny skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, I keep remembering the way you submitted to me last night. For all your big talk and your attitude, you obey pretty easily, huh?”

You stand up, indignant. “Wonwoo, you can’t use that against me. Listen I know we’re not friends-”

“Be my submissive. I want, no fuck, I need you. You’re perfect.” He’s standing an inch away from you, bending his neck gently to look into your eyes. His mask slips for a second. A million emotions flit through your brain, and you’re deliriously begging for your intelligence to kick in, but there’s something about the subtly layered desperation in Wonwoo’s voice that makes you curious.

“What are your terms?”

You look at Wonwoo across the dining table. He looks as put-together as ever, not a hair out of place, as he converses with the middle aged-men sitting next to him while eating dinner. He quickly notes your glance and looks back, and you turn your eyes away before he catches the blush along your cheeks.

No, there’s nothing wrong with the arrangement. It works perfectly in your favour. As long as nobody knows.

You’re wrapping up a meeting with the board members of the company, when you get a call on your phone. It’s Wonwoo. Excusing yourself from the meeting, you pick up the call while walking back to your office.

“Hello?”

“Are you going to the Paris Conclave?”

The invitation for the event had arrived just that evening, the first time they were inviting your company. It had made you gush with excitement, happy that you’d been able to take your company to this prestigious conclave. Moreover, this would be the first time you’d be visiting Paris, one of the few dream destinations of your life. Due to a packed professional schedule, you had hardly been able to travel for the past few years, and the thought of going to Paris made you naturally happy.

“Yes, of course. Getting fomo? I can get a croissant back home for you.”

“I can get my own. See you there.”

He cuts the call.

What was that? He’s going to the conclave as well? That’s impossible. Jeon Estates had never been invited before this-

“Jisung-ah.” You call for your secretary, who appears at your side quickly. “Has the Jeon Estates been invited to the conclave?”

“Ma’am, I- why, yes. I hadn’t checked the list for their name.” His voice drops as he speaks, mirroring the disappointment rising in you too. So, it wasn’t only you who had been invited for the first time.

Fucking Jeon Wonwoo. Even had to call you to rub it in, the nerve.

“Well, we’ll just have to outshine them there. I’m sure we shall. Please organise a meeting with the team leaders and managers today so that we can get the presentations perfected.”

Your secretary bows to you and leaves you alone in your office.

Paris comes sooner than you had thought, and you’re bursting with excitement. Nervousness too, a little bit. But your confidence isn’t so easy to rattle. You’ve picked out your choicest outfits for the trip, hellbent on making it memorable. You’ve even kept a few days extra in hand to allow you free time to travel the city.

You had asked your sister if she’d wanted to come along, but she had said that her doctor hadn’t deemed it safe for her to travel by airplane now. “I’m so jealous! But there’s nothing to be done.” “Go with your husband and your baby afterwards.” You’d kissed her forehead when bidding the final goodbyes before leaving for Paris.

There was just one little worry worming through your brain. Not even a worry, just an irk. Jeon Wonwoo would also be there. You’d have to compete again for the spotlight. As if the jerk deserved to be there.

“Ma’am, do you want to go through your speech once more?” Jisung asked you from the seat next to you. You smiled, the younger man was definitely nervous by the look on his face. “Why, are you scared I’ll forget? You know I take vitamins every day to strengthen my memory.” “I do, but-” “Don’t worry. Don’t let anxiety deter you from forming the memories of the fun times you’ll be enjoying there!”

Fun.

As if. Jisung knew well enough that you rarely had time for fun, and consequently, neither did he. He saw you overwork yourself every day, staying at the office till late, obsessed with perfection, ensuring no loose ends were visible. Even if you tried your best to send him home when his work time ended, he wanted to stay back out of compassion for you. He was truly the best secretary you could’ve asked for. He was godsent- he’d learnt your habits and your thinking process within days, and soon he produced documents and answers before you asked for them, pre-empting your thoughts. After working with you for three years, he was good enough to be your clone- that’s why you sent him to many events and meetings as your representative if you couldn’t make it. You knew he’d handle it as well as you would, and report all the key details to you at the end of the day.

“Yes, Ma’am. I hope it all passes well. We’ve all worked hard.”

“And hard work always pays off, you know that Jisung-ah. Now, sleep quickly so that we’re not tired due to jet lag once we land there.”

They’ve assigned Wonwoo a seat next to you at the conference table. As if seeing his face here wasn’t bad enough.

“Will you never leave me alone?”

He scoffs, “Me? You’ve been at my tail since you were a kid.”

“Oh shut up. Inside school, outside school, at parties, at funerals, at my graduation, at my sister’s wedding, you’re always fucking there. And now you’re here, to steal the spotlight. Not that you can anyway. Don’t try too hard Jeon, you’ll just look pathetic.”

“It’s funny how vain you are. You think I have any desire to steal your spotlight? Go ahead, be the talk of the party, by all means.”

“And I will! I don’t need your permission for it.”

“Hmm-”

The rest of his words get tuned out as the convenor of the conference begins their speech. You turn your eyes towards them, but you can feel Wonwoo’s eyes burning on you.

“What did you say?” You whisper to him.

“Never mind. Do you want to go out tonight?”

“Go out?” You turn your head towards him, leaning in, incredulous.

“For dinner.”

You almost burst out laughing. “And pray, why would I go with you?”

He scrunches his nose and pushes up his glasses. “You’re going to miss out on seeing the Eiffel Tower?”

“No. In fact, I have plans on going today myself. But you didn’t tell me why I’d-”

“Come with me.” He turns his face away from you, his expression cold and unreadable.

“Hell nah. We don’t know each other, okay? Just because we’re both newcomers here does not mean we have to maintain solidarity or any of that shit.”

“You’ll regret it, sweetie.”

“I regret nothing.”

“We’ll see.”

“Jisung-ah! You were scared for nothing. That presentation was flawless.”

“Yes Ma’am. I know our team always works hard, but the nerves never stop,” the young man looks much fresher after the conference wraps up for the day, his tie undone slightly. You can easily understand how his mood changes reflect in his facial expressions and attitude after the long hours you spend with each other on a daily basis.

“Are you still up for going to the Eiffel Tower tonight? I’m planning on skipping the post-conference dinner. But if you want to stay, I won’t force you to come with me.”

“No Ma’am, I was thinking…” he hesitates, but you raise your eyebrows to urge him to continue. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to visit the Eiffel Tower again, so I do want to go with you … but after that I’d like to go to one of the clubs in the nightlife zones? I’ve heard from friends that the Paris nightlife is crazy.”

“Ooh!” You pat him on the back, “Yes please Jisung, finally you’ve started to act your age. Go, be young and wild, I’ll cheer for you!”

“You won’t come along?”

“Oh no. I’m way too old for that. Plus I never was into the club scene. And for real, you should go out and enjoy without me sometimes. People will start thinking I’m your girlfriend.”

Jisung opens his mouth to say something, but ends up just smiling shyly. “Okay Ma’am. Then should we leave for the Eiffel at 7 pm?”

“Yes. Pick me up from my suite then.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Sorry Ma’am, the Eiffel Tower has been booked out for the evening. It’s been a really sudden booking, and we’re sorry for the inconvenience, but it’s just been booked out completely by a private party and no external visitors are allowed.”

You’re wearing your best white silk Gucci dress, the one you spent your entire salary on as soon as it was released at last year’s Fashion week, and a stunning Cartier necklace, ready to spend the best evening of your life atop the Eiffel Tower, savouring life at its finest… but no. Some jerk just had to book it for this evening.

You slide up to the lady at the front desk, whose bored expression does nothing to calm your nerves down. Jisung has tried his level best to convince her, but it’s failed. So you try the one thing you know always works.

“Ruth-” you see her name from her name tag pinned on her chest. “I can outbid the private party.”

“I’m sorry Ma’am, I didn’t get you.”

You laugh, a careful measured laugh, to hide your irritation at having to say it again. “I said, I can pay you more than whatever the private party’s booked it at. I just want ten minutes. Isn’t it a win-win situation for all of us? Ten minutes for me, and your private client can enjoy it for the rest of the night.”

Ruth smiles, pitifully. Wretched woman, she’s clearly not affected by your offer. This is what seeing too many rich people in a day does to a person, it immunes them to bribe, you think. Well, it’s her loss.

“I’m sorry Ma’am, but we really cannot accept your offer. It’s against our rules-”

“Let me speak to your manager, Ruth. Trust me, when they hear my name, they’ll let me in,” you smile again, attempting to remain amicable instead of bursting out into the wildest Korean slang.

Ruth smiles again, “You are, currently, speaking to the Manager here, Ma’am. We simply cannot allow any external visitors tonight. Can we book a slot for you tomorrow? If you’d like to visit again, in the morning or later.”

Jisung tries to interject, but he sounds resigned. He seems intimidated by Ruth, and frankly speaking, you get it. He’s just twenty four and spends over thirteen hours in a day with you, so he’s not used to snarky women. Well, apart from you, and you’re never snarky to him.

“Ruth, my dear. I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I’m here at the Paris Conclave.” You say your name solemnly, expecting it to have the same effect it has in Korea, but alas, the woman remains untouched as ever. “I’m dreadfully sorry Ma’am- wait, did you say Y/N Y/L/N?” Your smile becomes wider. Oh so it does have the intended effect. “So you finally will let me in, huh? You do know who I am.”

Suddenly Ruth’s demeanour changes and she’s smiling pleasantly. “Oh Ma’am, the private client has specially informed us to allow you in. Only you.” “I’m sorry, what? Why would they suddenly ask for me-” “Mr. Jeon told us that you would be here. I’m so sorry for the miscommunication, Ms. Y/L/N-”

“Mr. Jeon?!” You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, you bitch. Aloud you say, “Mr. Wonwoo Jeon?” “Yes Ma’am. He’s booked the entire place for the evening. He has been waiting for you too,” Ruth smiles graciously, doing nothing to relieve your confusion. “There has been a mistake. I don’t think he meant me. We’ll leave now-” “Ma’am, I’m sure there’s no confusion now. Mr. Jeon asked us to bring you up as soon as you arrived. We’re sorry to keep you standing here on your date night.” “Date night? This is ridiculous. Wonwoo and I are not-” Jisung whispers into your ears right at moment, noticing your bloodshot wide eyes, “Ma’am, I think there’s no point fighting with them on this,” he says in Korean. “This lady seems adamant, and you shouldn’t miss out on an opportunity to visit the Eiffel Tower when it’s lit up so prettily. Even if it is with Mr. Jeon,” you wince at his suggestion, and he smiles apologetically. He’s right, you realise.

“Okay, but Jisung comes with me.”

“I’m sorry Ma’am.” Oh I’ve had enough of your sorries. “No one except you are to be allowed up.”

“Wow. First you say no external visitors. Now suddenly I’m allowed and Jisung is not-”

“Ms. Y/L/N, these are simply instructions from my client.”

Jisung bites his lip and says, “Well I guess it’s not written in my fate then. Ma’am, don’t miss out on my account. Please enjoy. I’ll just go downtown and waste the night away. I’ll see you tomorrow then? Please make sure to eat dinner!” You’re seconds away from whining and pulling another tantrum, but Jisung whispers fighting to you in his soft indulgent tone that he uses on you whenever you’re being a brat and he needs to take care of you. And then he’s gone, and you have no option but to face Ruth. That bloody woman. “Welcome to the Eiffel Tower, Ma’am. Please accompany me as we take you to the top.”

At the top, Jeon Wonwoo stands with a glass of champagne in his left hand and his mobile phone in his right.

“If you’re going to work on your phone and not enjoy the view, why the fuck did you book this place out?”

You walk towards the man standing in the open air viewing area, and he smiles at you. The annoyingly handsome smile, where his eyes crinkle up, and his perfectly white teeth are revealed in a rare display.

“You came. I knew you’d come.”

“How so?” A server appears from nowhere and offers you champagne too, which you accept. You’ll soon switch to whisky though, to calm your nerves down.

“You’re easily predictable. You act like any other average tourist, although you pretend to be such a princess.”

“Everyone comes to visit Eiffel Tower on their first day in Paris, Wonwoo, there’s nothing weird about this-”

“Exactly. Average. Me? I personally prefer to see it from the window of my hotel, so that I can see it in its glory without experiencing this slight dizziness and bling of the night view.”

“You’re stupid. That’s why you have such stupid preferences. This night view? Priceless.”

“Let me inform you, darling, it cost me a hell lot to book this. So not priceless.”

You laugh, looking at Wonwoo, who’s leaning against the railing facing you, and then back at the gorgeous night view. The Champs Elysees looks glorious with the lights. You can sense Wonwoo leaning in closer. His cologne and perfume mix to create a dark, musky smell that’s new. You’ve never smelled this on him before. “Why did you book it? That’s what I've been asking since forever.”

“I want to fuck you against this railing.”

You choke on the champagne, before catching your breath and turning back to face him.

“What?”

“You heard me the first time.” He maintains eye contact, but in that cold, nonchalant way of his, like he didn’t just propose the most scandalous thing you’ve ever heard.

“Aren’t there cameras?”

“Will pay for them to be turned off.”

“That’s probably illegal.”

“I don’t care. I’ll pay enough. Plus, I’ve already located the blind spots.”

You take a deep breath. As ashamed as you are to admit this, it does turn you on. A lot. If Wonwoo would touch you under your dress, he’d find evidence of the same. Sex like this- in public, definitely the most outrageous thing you’ve done. But Wonwoo suggesting it? The fact that he booked this place out on a probability that you’d come and a hope that you’d agree to it? The more you think about it, the hotter your body feels. You can feel your nipples straining against your dress in the cold air, and your face turning red with imagination.

“If you don’t want it, we can just eat dinner and leave.” Wonwoo’s eyes have become impossibly gentler but also darker, like he’s seconds away from losing his control. His sight betrays his words as he keeps looking at your lips. Thank god I applied the lip plumper tonight, you think. But then his eyes go to your breasts, like the pervert he is, and he smirks at the sight of the two nubs pressing hard against the soft silk.

You shake your head.

“Say it.”

“I want it too.”

“Atta girl,” his smirk widens, before he leans in to capture your lips. It’s a rough kiss, nothing romantic like one would expect atop the Eiffel Tower, but it sets the right mood for the night. You realise that all servers have disappeared, and you’re perfectly alone, as his lips move down towards your neck, leaving beautiful hickeys along the way. “It was torture and heaven waiting for you. Knowing you’d come, but fearing you wouldn’t.” His hands take away your champagne glasses and place them on a table nearby, before bending you backwards on the railing, making your head zoom more with pleasure. What if I fall off? What if someone catches us like this? What if he takes a picture of me like this in front of the view, with my tits out and my lipstick ruined?

“No bra, huh? You’re so sexy in this dress, I want to fuck you in it. You mind that?” You’re panting as he keeps kissing you in between his words, tongue dominating yours right away. It’s like a switch flipped inside you. Just minutes ago, you were so against sharing the Eiffel Tower view with Wonwoo, and now you’re letting him fuck you here. It drives you crazy.

“Wonwoo just- I don’t care, I need you now.” He bites all over your shoulder, slipping down the straps to grope your breasts in the rough-handed manner you like, sure to leave bruises with the way he kneads them while leaving open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone.

“Just because we’re out in the open doesn’t mean you forget your bedroom manners.” He bites down on your nipple, surely missing his favourite clamps back home, and you squirm in his iron grip.

“Sir please!”

“That’s better, sweetheart. But what do you want?”

“C-Co-” he alternates his bites with little kitten licks, looking up at you. “Articulation, baby. Speak up.” “Want your cock, in my m- mouth, Sir!” He pulls away from you, leaving the cold air to tease your bruised nipples, and laughs. Fucking laughs, but it turns you on again. “If you insist.”

He takes off his belt and ties your hands behind your back, and then pushes your shoulder down and you fall to your knees, and he stands back, tall. “Oh, what a pretty sight,” he sighs, taking in the night sky view, and then looks down at you, but makes no move to open his pants. You assume you’ll have to take care of it yourself, so you attempt to open the zipper with your teeth. It’s not particularly difficult, but in the process you get some drool over Wonwoo’s cock over his pants. “Tch. Dirty girl, drooling everywhere,” he wipes away the drool from the edge of your lips, before you slot your mouth against his erection, now free from his underwear and pants which have slid down his legs. It’s not as hard as it gets during sex, but that’s what you’re here for. Nothing but a slut for him to use. Your ankles burn against your heels in this position, but it’s okay. You’re losing your mind as you swallow his sheath inch-by-inch, until you feel his skin against your nose, and you stay like that for a second, easing out your gag reflex. But before you can move, Wonwoo thrusts deep into your throat, eyes not leaving yours. It makes you roll your eyes, the pleasure of the surprise way more than the pain, and makes you crave for more. He slowly wraps his hands around your head, a strong broad support for you to rest in, and continues to ram his dick inside your mouth. Your body becomes limp as you slowly surrender to his actions, your mind blank, except a crazy wanton desire to please him and make him cum. You’re too sex-crazed right now to reason out why only Wonwoo elicits this reaction from you.

But then his dick gets rock hard, and right when its weight becomes the best and warmest around your throat, wet with saliva and pre-cum, he pulls out. You can’t frame words instantly, but you whine. “Ah, Wo- I- pl- co- please…” He laughs cockily at your state, and you blush with shame at the way you’re acting. “Get up,” he walks away from you, leaving you to your own devices to stand up in those heels.

It strikes you yet again, just how open this all is. Anyone can walk in. The security guard may be jerking off watching this on the security cameras, and you won’t lie, it’s hot as fuck. The thought of Wonwoo and your activities being porn for someone else- oh fuck.

Wonwoo sits on a couch meant for visitors on the balcony. “Come baby,” he beckons, and you sit on his lap. His cock is still hard, leaking pre-cum, and you’re tempted to lick it off, but you won’t make a move until he tells you to. You can’t disobey him now- if he spanks you in punishment, you won’t be able to walk to the conference tomorrow.

“Spit on it.” And you do. Wonwoo likes your spit, for some reason, and you wordlessly obey. Then he pulls out something from his pocket, and you realise- “No Sir! Please, not the paddle today!” It’s a folded paddle, the pocket-friendly one you can buy at cheap sex stores. “I need to walk tomorrow, I can’t if you spank me-” “But you’ve been so naughty. Begging for my cock in a public place like the little slut you are. Not accepting my invitation to come up here and making me wait for so long. Turning my offer for dinner down at the conference this morning,” You try to protest, but he simply inserts his thumb into your mouth, and you instinctively start sucking on it. “Now be pretty, and let Sir show you your place.” While you’re still distractedly sucking the thumb, you don’t even realise when he’s lifted the back of your dress and the paddle hits the ass flesh exposed by your thong. “Count.” “One,” you whimper out, not wanting his thumb to slip out of your mouth. The spanks continue, alternating on ass. He can alternate between asses and keep the same pressure just by one hand, the other holding up your dress, his hands big enough to cover your entire ass cheek. The spanks burn more after the moment’s relief due to the cold air, and by the time you reach twenty, your knees have given up, and you’re drooling on Wonwoo’s shoulder.

“Don’t make a mess. Sit up straight.” As you do so, he asks you, putting away the paddle and tucking your hair behind your ears. “Have you learnt how to behave? Or do you need another reminder?” You fervently shake your head, but he whispers in his insanely sexy tone, “Words.” It makes you shiver, and you respond, “Yes Sir. I’ll not misbehave, Sir.” He smirks, and leans back. “Now ride me like you mean your words, darling.”

You don’t need another command. You sit down on his dick quickly, ready to take the burn without any prep, because you’re already leaking down your thighs. He grips your hips with one hand, steadying you, and cards his other hand through your hair. As you begin bouncing down on him, he shudders and releases low grunts, but nothing breaks his composure. He never once whispers Good Girl, as you cum once, but you still keep riding him to ensure he reaches his climax. Somewhere after your orgasm, he starts thrusting up from below to meet your efforts, and it brings him closer to his orgasm as he scrunches his nose and closes his eyes. When he does spurt inside you, he whispers softly enough that you almost miss it, “Fucking gorgeous.”

That’s enough praise for the night, you think to yourself, as you fall limply against his chest, nearly passed out from the strain, his cock still spasming inside of you. He soothes your hair, and you fall asleep.

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Please wake up! We’re running late. Ma’am? Ms. Y/L/N?” You open your eyes blearily to see Jisung shaking you lightly. Slowly you come to your senses, and you can hear his voice louder, and see the desperation in his face clearly.

Fuck.

What have you done?

“How late am I?”

“Not too bad, Ma’am,” Jisung scrunches his nose as he looks at the clock on your bedside table. “We have twenty minutes to go.”

“Fuck!” You scramble out of bed, not even bothering to check if you’re clothed, and make your way to the washroom. There’s a pain growing in your head, and it’s only when you see yourself in the mirror that you realise that you’re wearing a t-shirt and shorts. What even happened last night? The last thing you remember, as you try to recollect while quickly brushing your teeth, washing your hair and hopping into the shower all at the same time, is that you had passed out on Wonwoo’s shoulder. Then the world had gone blank. Fucked into oblivion, truly. He must have brought you into your room. Oh fucking hell, he owed you at least that much.

By the time you wrapped your bathing suit around you and walked back into your bedroom, Jisung was gone, but your outfit and shoes were laid out on the bed and there was a note, I’ll pack some breakfast for you, Ma’am. Please come down directly to the conference hall. Thank god for Jisung, that was one prayer you said everyday. He’d been partying too last night, hadn’t he? And yet, he had responsibly made it on time and woken you up as well. You were getting too irresponsible, too lax. Your discipline was gone and you mentally bashed yourself for it. All because of that stupid Wonwoo.

After that, it doesn’t take much time for you to get dressed. Jisung must’ve noticed the hickeys on your neck, and brought you a jacket with lapels and a collar high enough to hide most of the marks. You quickly tied a scarf around your neck, making it look fashionable by adding colour to the otherwise beige monotone outfit, and praised yourself mentally for looking this good even without makeup. Dabbing on some lip balm in the elevator, you quickly reached the conference hall, finding yourself a minute late. Again, thank god for Jisung, the boy had reserved your seat, made excuses on your behalf and kept a croissant and coffee ready at your seat, so that everyone greeted you with kind smiles.

Except Wonwoo, who had that unreadable expression again.

Must be pathetic, living like him. What worth was a face like that if it couldn’t express anything?

Four days later, you land in Incheon amidst the wildest of storms the country has faced in the year. You won’t admit it, but you’re glad you travelled in your private jet, where you can close all windows down and wrap yourself up in a blanket burrito to drown out all signs of the storm. You wish storms didn’t exist, and you wish no one would have to see you in this weak state. Not Wonwoo for sure.

After that first day in Paris, the two of you had barely interacted. Primarily, you were too ashamed to speak to him. How could you smile and talk normally to someone after getting railed by them on the Eiffel Tower, especially when that same someone was annoying as fuck in reality? Sure, eye contact had been made several times, over dinners, over the conference tables, when you’d been on the stage presenting, and when running into each other in the corridor. But words? You possibly couldn’t. It’d be too much for the fragile self-respect you’d been holding on to.

You really want to avoid him once you’re back in Seoul as well. The workload seems to have tripled in the few days you were away, with endless tiny emergencies and approvals pending to be resolved. You’re again thankful for Jisung, but there’s only so much the poor boy can do. You make it a point to send him home soon after his scheduled timing every day, but you can’t say the same for yourself.

It’s the fifth night of you eating ramen from a cup noodles pack and sipping on apple juice from a 1 litre tetra pack, that you finally give up on the abstention. It’s a hard decision, but somehow, your overworked brain and sleep-deprived body leads you to one craving, and one craving only.

Thirty minutes later, Jeon Wonwoo arrives at your office. He’s been to your office only rarely, as you both prefer to meet up outside professional areas, but in the darkness of the empty office, he can easily recognise your brightly-lit room. He’s dressed in formals too, as if he’s just got off work himself, and you think he may be in the same boat as you. But definitely not as much as you- you’re a perfectionist who looks over everything yourself, Wonwoo doesn’t even come close for sure.

“It’s one of those nights, huh?”

He gently opens the door and walks in. Everything about him seems to be delicate today: perhaps it’s because his shirt is damp from the rain he’s surely walked in, his hair is wet and falling over his eyes, and his tie is gone. His jacket is soon gone too, dropped off on the couch, and he takes off his shoes. They’re leaving slightly muddy footprints, and you wonder if Wonwoo even drove and came or just ran like a peasant.

“How’s work treating you?”

“Stop wolfing down that ramen, it’s not healthy. Not as bad as you, as I see. I finished up hours ago,” his eyes don’t meet yours, and you know it’s a lie. It’s one of the signs of lying, as you’ve picked up over the years. Wonwoo rarely breaks eye contact while speaking, always honest, and his lie is really odd to you right now. Why would he lie to you about this?

“I was wondering, if…” you stand up from your desk, taking in the figure of the man sitting on your couch now, manspreading and head leaning back. He’s tired, why did he lie about getting off early?

“Come here, princess.”

That’s all it takes, and you sit on his lap and wait for his lips to meet yours. He indulges you in your wish, and immediately the tension in your body eases out. Along with the stress of work, you’d been even more worried that he’d bring up your last night together, and you’d get too ashamed to remain turned on. But he doesn’t, and you’re glad. You let your lips be bitten by him, but then he soothes over the burns with his tongue. He tastes like candy, and you tell him the same.

“Hmm, low sugar.”

Then he picks you up and gently walks over to your desk, holding you in the same bridal pose without even a muscle flinching. With one hand, he clears the laptop sitting atop your desk to the coffee table, and swipes the rest of the clutter on the floor. It would’ve made you angry otherwise, but you’re already entering subzone with the way he’s handling you. Lips still locked on yours, holding you in that pose with just one hand as you hold on to his shoulders for dear life, it’s a crazy show of strength and you’re getting incredibly turned on by it. You let yourself go, giving it up to this person, who seems to be so reliable, so strong, so manly.

As he lays you down on the desk, he takes off your trousers and underwear in one go, and sits down on the chair you usually sit on.

“You’re so wet, so dirty. Did you touch yourself after texting me to come over?” Your pussy is at his eye level, and you’re looking down at him, his eyes menacing and beautiful at the same time. His question makes you squirm, as you reply, “Of course not.” Then there’s a slap across your cunt, and you whine. “Manners?” “Of course not, Sir.” “Liar,” he smirks, and dives headfirst into your cunt.

It’s a treat he rarely gives you. Only when he’s very happy with you- like after you’ve taken thirty spanks, or you’ve eaten dinner with him while having a vibrator stuffed up your cunt, or you’ve let him wash you in the shower (for some reason, Wonwoo likes that a lot. He ties you up to these poles he’s attached in his bathroom, and plays with your body by applying as much oil and soap he wants, making sure not to touch your pussy for hours, denying every release to you even as it builds up just from the oversensitivity of having your nipples and ass played with).

You wonder why he’s so happy.

But you can’t care enough, now that his tongue is working so hard against your clit. The sensation makes you lose all rational thought, as you lean back against the desk, mind empty, and just moaning his name. You remember the first few times he’d fucked you with your mouth gagged, but then he’d told you he likes your sounds way too much, so you’d stopped controlling them too. He gets what he wants. After all, only he can fuck you so well.

“Wonwoo, please-” He moves his head up, licking his lips which are glistening with your slick. “How do you address me baby?” “S-sorry! Sir, please I-” “Hmm?” He leans back in, humming against your clit. His tongue now moves to your hole, nose brushing against your clit. “Can I come? Like this? May I? Please?” When he moves away again for breath, he removes his hands from your thighs, and you see the red marks he’s left there just by how tight he was gripping them. It’s a wild sight, and your climax hits you right then, coming before he could answer. “So impatient, coming all over my face even when I’ve told you not to come without my permission.” But even his scolding sounds gentle tonight, softly chiding rather than his usual harsh coldness. In your post-orgasm clarity, you wonder again what’s gotten into him.

He licks away your cum, and it makes you burn with overstimulation. “Uhhhhh, please-please Sir!” “Stay still.” His hands are back at your thighs, spreading them apart, and he seems hellbent on getting another orgasm from you. Your screams are louder this time, and you’re growing even more desperate to get something bigger to fill you up. You wrap your hands in his hair, and tug unconsciously while he keeps licking at your pussy. His entire face is hazy with your slick, thank god he’d taken off his glasses earlier, but he doesn’t care. He keeps diving in.

“Sir, please, I’m going- uhhhh,” he pulls away instantly and smacks your cunt hard. “No coming until I allow you to. Let Sir have his treat.” “Please Sir I’ll be so good, I promise, I- please let me, just this once.” Another smack, and you’re screaming. Thank heavens the office is empty.

“Do you not understand my words? Should I retrain you?”

“No! I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Hmm, you better be,” and this time he doesn’t just lick your pussy, but also starts entering two fingers alongside his tongue, hitting your g-spot almost instantly. You’re whining yet again, losing your breath, but everytime you’re about to come, he pulls away. You can’t figure out how he realises, but soon two hours pass by, and you’re still being edged. Your legs are shaking, and you can’t think straight. You just want more of his fingers, you want his cock, inside your mouth, your cunt, hell, you just want to orgasm once.

“Girl, stop moving. You’re so filthy, dripping like this. What would your boytoy think if he saw you like this? Should I call him to clean this mess on your desk?” He’s curling his finger inside you, and it’s really hard forming words when you’re seeing stars like this.

“Sir, I-” “What’s his name? Jieun?” “Ji- Jisung. Aaah, please-” “Look at you begging. So pathetic. No wonder your secretary is so pathetic. He really likes you, you know?” Your eyes go wide, trying to register his words. “Why- why are you- how do you–” “Hush. I want to know, is he jerking off to you now? Thinking of how slutty you looked in those grey trousers, how perfect your ass looked? Bet you show off in front of him on purpose.” You’re squirming harder, not wanting to think about Jisung right now. “But- but daddy, I on- only want you!”

He laughs, then he leans in to whisper into your ear, “Daddy? That’s a first. Say it again.”

“Daddy, please! I only want your cock.”

“Really? So demanding, like a wife. But you’re just a slut. You’d do this to Jisung as well, won’t you?” “No! I swear- please. Daddy, just, it’s just you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I swear!” You nod feverishly, the sensation building up inside you again.

“Okay baby girl. Come for me. Come for daddy. Then I’ll take you home and fuck you good. This desk is too small.” You don’t need to be told twice. You gush all over his hands and some of your come ends up on your desk and his pants too, but he only chuckles. Licking off the come on his hands, he smiles. “You taste like sugar, sweetheart.”

The sheets you wake up in smell overwhelmingly like Wonwoo. The man is nowhere to be seen, but the blankets next to you are shuffled and the pillow has a dent, and you remember being caved by his warmth at night when the storm had hit Seoul again and you’d woken up for a second before falling asleep to the steady rise and fall of the chest wrapped around you.

You wake up slowly, adjusting your eyes to the sunlight. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in Wonwoo’s bedroom, but this is the first time you’ve slept over. Usually you leave, no matter how late it is. But it feels good. It feels oddly intimate.

Your legs burn when you walk, but you try to look for your clothes.

Your shirt is ripped again.

You strut out of the room after wearing your panties and bra, which is barely holding on to one hook remaining, and find the man standing in the open kitchen, wearing a tank top and sweatpants. He’s drinking coffee, and a book is in his hands.

“Wonwoo, you’ve torn my clothes again. How am I supposed to go home like this?”

He turns to face you, smiling and fixing his glasses, and standing up. He looks so good in the warmth of the sunlight falling on his golden skin. “You’re up.”

“Do you think I can keep buying new clothes?”

“Yes. Now, calm down. Do you-”

“Wonwoo!”

“For god’s sake, I can’t take your shit this early in the morning. You want to fight, please do. Not now. It’s too early. You just always find something up your ass and have to pick on me for nothing, huh?”

His smile has faded, and the warmth in your body seeps away. About time, though. You don’t want to start feeling safe in Wonwoo’s private space. It’s too intimate- waking up in his bed, seeing him walk around in sweatpants, drinking coffee he’s making for you. It’s too much.

“This has to stop, Wonwoo.”

“Okay, fine! I’ll not rip your shirts. Take my card and buy something-”

“This arrangement has to stop.”

He turns away from the coffee machine for a second, and stares at you. You walk towards him, and he looks even better up close. His tank top shows off his arms, and they look soft yet really firm. You want to touch-

“Why? Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s not-”

“Do you want to date someone? You can, you know. I don’t care-”

“Wonwoo-”

“Did I hurt you? Was I too much last night?” he steps closer to you, furrowing his eyebrows in evident confusion, and you suddenly can’t breathe. His expression is very much readable and it only reads as one emotion- concern.

“Wonwoo, please.” You take a step back, hugging yourself with your arms.

“Does it hurt? I am sorry if it does-”

“It’s not your fault. It’s a me thing, I swear.”

His eyes become clouded by even more confusion, and you quietly walk away and sit down on the kitchen counter.

“This is becoming too much for me. I- I got into this arrangement thinking that it would be a good way to vent stress. But it’s toxic now- I can’t think of any other way to deal with stress except this. Don’t you notice how our meetings have become more frequent now, especially initiated from my end? In the last three months, I’ve initiated sex fifteen times, and you’ve only six times. You see? This has become my only solution now.”

Wonwoo doesn’t look at you, but he keeps wincing at your words as if he’s being hit physically. Then he responds, when you’re done, “That does sound like a you problem, like why-”

You slide off the counter with a huff, muttering Fucking jerk under your breath, but he catches your wrist before you can walk further away.

“Don’t touch me if you’re going to react like that. I fucking knew it, why did I even talk to you? I can just walk away, I didn’t even need to expose my weaknesses to you.”

He yanks you closer using your wrist. “This isn’t a war, Y/N. I don’t get off on knowing about your weaknesses, for fuck’s sake. Can you stop being paranoid?”

You sigh. You know you’re always paranoid around him- funny, because he’s seen you in more compromising positions than anyone else. If he wanted to blackmail you, or hurt you, by hitting your weaknesses, he would, you realise. Is that why you’ve learnt to feel so safe around him?

“I’m sorry I reacted like that, Y/N. Talk to me, let’s work this out together. Let’s set up a system to slow our meetings down if you like?”

You bite your lip, and look up at him. “How?”

“Umm, how about you start to find other sources for it? Like hanging out with friends? Developing hobbies?”

You huff again, twisting your hand out of his grip. “Wonwoo, if I had other sources, would I not use them?”

“Darl-”

“Don’t call me that! We’re not having sex right now.”

“Y/N. Take your time to find other sources, then. If I’m your only means of relieving stress, it is extremely toxic. You’ll become dependent on me, and-” his pupils shake, looking away from you, “you’ll find it tough to date and all. Been there. Done that. That’s why I can tell you this.”

You’re about to reply something, when your phone rings out in a shrill tone. Surprisingly, Wonwoo’s phone rings out at the same time too.

You jog into the bedroom to find your phone and pick it up. It’s your sister.

“Y/N-ie! You’re not at home?”

“No. Why? Are you coming over?”

“No, I just made Kyungmin drive us to your place to see your place is empty. Where are you?”

“Never mind where I am. Why did you come over?”

“Mum and Dad want us to have lunch with the Jeons,” you can hear her giggle. But you’re stunned. “With the Jeons? Now? Today? For what joy? Are we buying their company?” She giggles again, leaving you more frustrated. “You’ll find out. I’ll send you an address then, come over directly!” And she promptly ends the call, leaving you blank and confused. Your phone pings- there’s the address of a restaurant, and a message asking you to be there within an hour. You realise only now how late you’ve woken up, and you’re glad it’s a Sunday.

“Why am I eating lunch with your parents?” Wonwoo walks into the bedroom, that confused look on his face again. “I could literally ask you the same damn thing. What’s going on?” “Does it look like I’ve got a single clue, babe?” He smirks at your cluelessness, and walks into his ensuite bathroom, leaving you speechless. Did he just call me babe? You wonder, but then your mind flits back to the issue at hand.

“Wonwoo!” You scream at him from outside the bathroom. You’re sure he can hear you, so you don’t wait for a reply. “Yah! What am I supposed to wear? You’ve torn my clothes, you fucker!” Your stress levels are rising again. You’re going to have to go back home to wear something appropriate. You realise that you haven’t even brought your car. You’ll have to ask Wonwoo to drive you back. But fuck, what if your sister is still at your place? Then she’ll see you both coming together, and undoubtedly she’ll prod and poke you. Then you won’t be able to have the upper hand at lunch when Wonwoo signs his company over to you. But there’s no other option as well. Well, there is- you can always stop at a boutique or a shop to buy something and wear it on the go. But that’d mean you’d have to go out in this hideously ripped blouse of yours. Oh!

“Wonwoo! You dumbass! I hate you! What have you done now? Why are we going for this lunch? For god’s sake.”

“Stop screaming, woman.” The door suddenly opens, and a half-naked Wonwoo steps out, engulfed in the steam from what was definitely a very hot shower. You have to stop yourself from moaning out at the sight. It reminds you of the three times you’ve showered together, and you can’t help but think back to the vivid memories of those sessions.

“How can I stop screaming? I don’t even know what’s going on. You knew about this, didn’t you? Why are you so calm?” Wonwoo takes another step towards you, and he runs his hands along your arms. You shiver under his touch, realising you’re still wearing just your underwear. “Calm down. This isn’t a big deal, you’ve dealt with more serious issues. It’s just lunch.” “But it’s lunch with your family. I don’t even know why.” He presses a hand along your cheek, and you’re feeling even more conscious and nervous. Why? This is really unusual, because Wonwoo is right. You’ve been in worse emergencies. Why is this getting on your nerves? Probably because your periods are due this week. These are just your hormones.

“Just enjoy the food. You’re anyway good at ignoring me in public places, and you can do the same to my family too.”

You bite your lip, and shake your head. “I need fresh clothes.”

“Yeah okay. Get into the shower and clean yourself up. I’ll ask my secretary to send something over.” “What? How-” “I think she’s the same dimensions as you.” “Oh.” You step away from him, swallowing whatever words you had to say. “I’ll go into the shower then.”

Thirty-five minutes and a very nice warm shower later, you’re standing in the bedroom and there’s a very pretty black dress on the bed. There’s also a new pair of lingerie next to it, complete with red roses sewn into black lace. Wow, that’s what Wonwoo asked his secretary to buy, huh. He definitely knows her dimensions very well. And the clothes fit, almost perfectly as if tailor-made. The dress is of unknown brand but the feel of the satin on your skin feels nice enough for you to forget about its origin.

“Done?” Wonwoo steps into the room. “Jeez, can you knock? Scared me.” You’re applying Wonwoo’s sunscreen (frankly shocked to see him owning it, but then, his skin is pretty nice). You’ve also applied the same perfume as his, and combed your hair in a million different ways, to make up for the lack of make-up or your usual products.

“Knock when I’ve seen you naked in this very room a hundred times? No thanks. Let’s go, we’re late.”

“Hmm,” you slip your feet into your shoes and pick up your bag. “I’m ready.” So is Wonwoo, you notice, who’s dressed in a grey sweater and jeans. The softness of his clothes contrast the sharpness of his features, and it… looks nice.

It takes you two twenty minutes to reach the restaurant, the ride passed in silence as you catch up on work mails from your phone.

“I’ll go first, and you come ten minutes later, okay?” “Yeah. And Y/N, don’t tell them you were with me, okay?” “Of course not. I’m not a dumb nut like you.” And you shut the door of the car with unnecessary force as you walk out of the car. You swear you can hear Wonwoo curse behind you, but you give no fucks.

“Oh! Y/N-ie! Welcome!” You walk straight into the arms of your mother, who’s dressed in a gaudy dress that does not suit her figure. “Eomma! How many times have I asked you not to wear these dresses?” “Oh shush! I bought this last weekend. Don’t tell me it looks bad, I’m in a good mood now.” You grimace and walk towards the table where your sister, her husband, and your father are waiting for you, smiling from ear to ear. Mr and Mrs Jeon, and Wonwoo’s younger brother are sitting on the other side of the table, also smiling from ear to ear. The excessive smiles are disturbing you, you’ve positively never seen Mrs. Jeon smile that wide.

“Oh, you look so good! Did you lose weight, Y/N-ie?” Mrs Jeon beckons you to sit next to her, and she takes your hand in hers. You force a smile on your face, still clueless about what’s going on. You can only hope they start talking about it when Wonwoo comes.

Speaking of the devil, he does come way earlier than you asked him too. You’re suddenly nervous, as the families start smiling again. “Aigoo, our handsome boy is here. Sit here, sit here.” Your sister welcomes him and he sits wedged between her and his mother.

“Eomma, what’s going on?” he asks.

“Aah, straight to the point. Forget about that, tell us, did you both come together?” You spill out the drink from your mouth, almost choking. “Us? Together? Hahaha. No, of course not! Why would you think that Mrs Jeon? Hahaha.” “Hmm…” your sister exchanges looks with your mother and Mrs Jeon, before finally giving you that stupidly bright smile again. “Is there something you both want to tell us? We’ll give you a chance before-” Wonwoo interrupts, “Appa, what’s this nonsense? Just tell us without this suspense.”

Mr Jeon, who’d quietly been busy on his phone for so long, looks up and stares a little blankly. His wife nudges him, and then he seems to remember. “Oh, so, Wonwoo. You know you both can tell us what you want.” Your father pipes in, “Yes, same goes for you, Y/N.” Wonwoo and you exchange confused looks before you speak up, “Okay, but really. What’s this suspense for?”

“We know you’re dating.” Your sister blurts out, and there’s a sudden silence at the table.

You think your eyes may burst out from the shock, and the way in which your palms instantly become sweaty is a dead giveaway of your nervousness. “What?! Unnie, are you out of your mind? What the fuck?”

“Language, Y/n-ah.” Your mother says, “You think we don’t know what you both are doing, huh?” And then she giggles. The damn audacity.

“I think there’s some grave misunderstanding, Mrs Y/L/N. Y/N and I are… certainly, not dating.” Wonwoo’s mother grasps his hand across the table, and says, “Oh my son. My dutiful son. You don’t have to pretend about this. Just because Jeon Estates is rivals with Y/N’s company, doesn’t mean you both have to be secretive about dating!” There’s a little cough from both fathers, and Kyungmin and Wonbin, Wonwoo’s brother, burst out laughing.

“Eomma, we’re not hiding anything. It’s a fact, we aren’t-”

“Explain these then. Booking out Eiffel Tower for a dinner date, huh?”

“Eomma, how do you know? Are you spying on me?”

“No! Of course not! We just looked at your credit card bill, accidentally. Then I spoke to Bora, your secretary, and she confirmed that you’d been spending a lot of time with Y/N. Not only that, there’s more-”

“Yes, indeed. Y/N-ie, why didn’t you ever tell us?”

You gasp, feeling lightheaded. “Did Jisung…? That trai-”

“Not Jisung. Jisung wouldn’t open his mouth. So I spoke to your chauffeur. He tells me he regularly picks you up from Wonwoo’s place?”

That’s it. This is it. It doesn’t get worse than this. This is your end. Oh, earth, swallow me up.

“Darling,” Mrs Jeon rubs your back, “Please don’t feel so shy. We know that our husbands haven’t left a great friendship for you two heirs. But you need not worry about all this rivalry.”

Your sister joins, “Yes. I’ve convinced Appa, and our lovely Aunt Jiwoo has convinced Mr Jeon too. Oh you both are so silly, hiding a precious thing like this from us.”

Wonwoo and you glare at each other. You realise there’s no point in explaining things to these people sitting in front of you. If they’ve reached the point where your sister is calling Wonwoo’s mother as aunt, then they must have discussed this extensively before calling you two to this lunch. An ambush, that’s what this is, you think in despair.

“So what we’re saying is, instead of keeping it hidden like this, why don’t the two of you get married? Wonwoo-ah? You’re turning thirty next year, aren’t you? I want to see my grandchildren too,” Mrs Jeon says, and everything falls in place. This is blackmail. Your mother’s been asking you to get married ever since you took over the company, claiming that having a man at your side would help your life be perfect and free of any troubles, and even forcing you on some arranged dates. Wonwoo must be going through the same kind of thing, with him being three years older to you also. It fixes the nail in the coffin, and you stand up from your seat.

“That’s not happening. Mrs Jeon, Mr Jeon, Wonbin-ah, I’m sorry if this disappoints you, and the same goes for my family too. Wonwoo and I are grown adults. What we do is none of your business.”

“But if you are dating, what’s the issue with getting married? And from what I hear, it’s not even a recent fling. All this has been going on for a year now!” Your mother cries out loudly. Although you’re sitting in a secluded corner, the restaurant isn’t quite empty.

“We’re not… dating. That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you all along.”

“Well, then are you guys enemies having movie sleepovers?” your sister adds, and it’s too annoying. “And why did you come over in Wonwoo’s car?” How the fuck? But then you realise, nothing is beyond these women. They may be keeping tabs on your and his car GPS for all you know.

Wonwoo stands up, looming over your figure. “That’s quite enough. Like Y/N said, what we do is not your business. Thank you for your concern, and enjoy your meal. Eomma, since you’ve taken access to my credit card already, might as well use it to treat yourselves with this meal.” He steps out of the chair, and walks over to where you’re standing. He swiftly grabs your wrist, and pulls you away, “Let’s go. This is a waste of time.” And just like that, the two of you walk away.

Six days later, a wedding invite stands ready in front of you, held out in Jisung’s pale hands. “Does it look good, Ma’am? I’ll send it for printing then.”

You sigh, and nod your yes.

part 2 is now out!

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puranami · 10 months

Text

✿ Fever - 1 ✿

A/N: Not included Brook and Jimbei bc I have absolutely no idea how to write them. Also, since Chopper is baby it would feel weird including him, even though it'd be in a purely platonic way. Just because of all the pining going on. Idk, I'd rather keep the themes separate, if that makes sense?

Summary: You're sick and try to ignore it.

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Robin, Franky.

Content: SFW, G/N reader, no serious illness but Usopp's is a liiiiittle angsty bc of his mum, not proofread (effectively) bc it's past 2am ✿

(Part 2)

Luffy

✿ He's honestly oblivious to things at first. You are doing your best to maintain your usual level of enthusiasm but it's so exhausting, and that's the most he registers - that you're tired.

"Hey, did ya not sleep too good?" he asked, entirely too loud for the headache beginning to form. You groan and lean your head into your hand, as if that would somehow soothe things, but to no avail. "Don't worry about it, I swear it won't affect my duties," you say, not sure who you were trying to convince. Apparently it didn't work regardless, as when you looked at him he was just stood there frowning with his arms crossed, and his head tilted. Before you could say anything you were greeted with a rubbery palm lightly smacking against your forehead, earning a surprised yelp from you. "You're hot." "Luffy!" Of course he had to say it that way. If you weren't already burning up with this fever, that would've set your skin ablaze. He really had no filter, and he never realised how the things he said affected you. He removed his hand from your face to grab your own, turning to drag you back to your quarters, not listening to any of your protests on the matter. There really wasn't anything you could do once Luffy had made up his mind, and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't part of his charm. "No duties for you today, 'kay?" It may have been phrased like a question, but you knew it was 'Captain's orders.'

✿ You'd end up sleeping most of the day, with Luffy having gotten Chopper to look after you.

✿What you wouldn't be aware of was his constant presence while you slept, keeping a quiet vigil whilst he made sure the damp cloth on your head was always nice and cool.

✿ He just wants you to get better as fast as you can!

Zoro

✿ One word; clueless.

✿ It just looks like a hangover to him, what with the way you groan at the light, are unsteady on your feet, and complain about being nauseous.

"And I thought I drank a lot last night." he'd comment with a smirk. "Shut up, Zoro, you always drink a lot," you whine. "I didn't drink anything!" "The pathetic whining says otherwise." You threw the rag you'd been cleaning with at him. He raised an eyebrow, watching it harmlessly drop to the floor in front of him. "Your form is off." This man, you swear! You try to growl out an insult, but it dies on your tongue, a wave of nausea hitting in it's place, causing you to clasp a hand to your mouth. "Alright, easy champ, no need to strain yourself," Zoro raised his hands in faux surrender. "Come on, you gotta sleep this one off." He can't help but smile as you pathetically smack at him while he picks you up, opting for bridal style as opposed to flour sack, only so you don't empty your guts down his back. Saying that, he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy holding you like that, though you're far too busy trying to fight him to notice the dusting of pink on his cheeks. "Don't worry I'll get you through this. I know my way around a hangover." "I'm not hungover," you protest as he gently places you in a hammock.

✿ True to his word though, he does see you through it, even if 'it' is the wrong thing. Task failed successfully!

✿ Zoro stays beside you, makes sure you drink plenty of water, and get plenty of rest, even falling asleep himself at one point; his face inches from yours as he was leaning against the post the top end of the hammock was attached to at the time.

✿ Sadly you never saw that as you slept right through it. Would've been good ammunition to use against him when he needed taking down a peg.

Nami

✿ One of the people who would actually do a good job of looking after you. She's not got the gentlest bedside manner; she is firm yet fair, so you're in good hands.

When you don't join the crew for breakfast, Nami took it upon herself to make sure you hadn't gotten tangled in your hammock, or something equally as stupid. You wake up in a cold sweat when you hear your door open, and manage to croak out, "Nami? Oh, did I oversleep?" When you try to get up, she pushes you right back down. "Don't." Her tone indicates that she will not tolerate any shenanigans, and so you do as you're told. "You need to sleep more. I'll get you some water, and later Sanji will make you some soup." She tucks a thin blanket around you, so you don't overheat. "If you so much as try to get out of this hammock I'm going to tie your arms and legs together. Understood?" Unable to stop yourself, you let out a light chuckle. "Nami, you're so cute when you pretend not to care," the fever disabling any kind of filter you may have had. While it did catch her by surprise, you are none the wiser, as you quickly drift back off to sleep. Nami has to take a brief moment to collect herself again, silently cursing the noticeable warmth in her cheeks, then mumbling about how you're an idiot before leaving your room.

✿ Nami basically dictates how your day is. Lots of sleep, plenty of fluids and maybe a warm bath to help sweat this out, and of course she 'requests' (demands) Sanji make a hearty soup to help you get better, which he is more than happy to do for her!

✿ She'll deny it, but she sets up in your room so she can monitor you throughout the day, only going to Chopper for medicine if she thinks it's bad enough, deciding it isn't necessary to bother him with something so manageable.

Usopp

✿ He panics. Something about seeing someone he cares about getting sick makes him think of his mother, and he doesn't want to lose anyone else like that.

Usopp scoops you up and books it to Chopper. You've seen him afraid, but nothing this intense, and no matter how much you try to convince him that you're okay, and that it's just a cold - you can't seem to break through to him. "Chopper, please help! Please!" He begs as he gently places you on a bed. Tears are streaming down his face, as he takes your hand in a vice-like grip. Once Chopper confirms what you already tried to tell him about it being a common cold, he relaxes a bit. You don't hold it against him, clearly this is something deeper for him. Chopper's words, those of a professional, were very reassuring. "You just need rest, but I do have medicine to help with symptoms if you need," he says before putting a comforting little hoof on Usopp's knee. "Everything will be okay, I promise." Usopp takes a moment to collect himself before quietly saying, "Can I stay?" You and Chopper look at each other before smiling back at him, letting him know he is welcome to stay as long as he likes, or in this case needs. Neither of you press him on why this had him so scared, figuring he'll tell you if and when he's ready to.

✿ Chopper will handle all of your care, because Usopp refuses to leave your side.

✿ He keeps you entertained with his stories when you're awake, and scribbles on some loose papers Chopper gives him while you sleep. It's mainly ideas for things to make, and it keeps him calm.

✿ At one point he falls asleep with his arms crossed on the bed beside you, his little fingers linked with your own, like an unspoken promise that you'll get better, and he'll be there when you do.

Sanji

✿ As soon as Sanji catches on that you are sick, he decides to completely dedicate himself to your care and recovery! He's very attentive, and will do every little thing you want or need to get you back to health.

"Darling, I insist!" Every 'it's okay,' and 'you don't need to do all that for me,' will be shot down immediately. "What kind of man would I be if I let someone as lovely as you do anything in this condition?" He clutches his chest dramatically. "No, no. Don't you worry about a thing; I'll make sure you're well again in no time at all." You really don't have the energy to try and dissuade him, so you accept your fate, and let him dote on you the whole day. It's honestly really nice; you love having his attention, and are thankful that the fever hides your blushes, but you also can't help feeling a little guilty with how much he does for you. "Please don't overexert yourself on my behalf, I don't want you to end up getting sick yourself." "Even if I was sick, it wouldn't stop me from looking after you, my dear." You can't help but frown at this. He's so eager to do for others, but is painfully stubborn about receiving that same care. "If you're ever sick, Sanji, I'm gonna do everything that you've done for me - and I won't hear any objection from you on the matter!" You say in as stern a voice as you can manage with a sore throat. "Darling-" "Nope!" You cut him off quickly, "You deserve the same level of care that you give out!" He looks at you a little wide-eyed, an adorable blush creeping along his face. He lets out a small laugh. As much as he'd like to, he says nothing more on it; you're as stubborn as he is it would seem.

✿ Sanji makes lots of lovely food to help aid in your recovery; warming soups, peppermint tea, porridge with ginger and honey. Everything that soothes and settles, no matter the malady.

✿ His bedside manner is impeccable! He's so gentle with you, and he makes sure to check in as often as he can, whilst still doing his duties, getting as much done as possible while you're asleep.

✿ Like Nami, he only goes to Chopper if he feels your condition requires it. He's confident that his cooking will be more than enough to get you back to health.

Robin

✿ A blessing, and a curse. She's very logical, and she knows how to handle such a minor illness, but, she really can't help telling you all about other illnesses that have worryingly similar symptoms.

"Oh, this one is very unpleasant," she beams, and you can't help but press your hands over your ears. "Chopper!" You cry, before she can start telling you about this particular strain of 'instantdeathitus,' practically running into the infirmary with Robin hot on your heels, holding an open book on diseases. "Robin keeps talking about scary diseases and now I'm scared I'm gonna die!" After being given a quick check-up, and much reassurance that, no, you do not have a rare disease that can only be contracted on a specific island in a completely different ocean, and yes, it is just a common cold, you relax. Mostly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Robin says later once you have bundled up and settled down. "Your cold just reminded me of this book, and I thought it was fascinating. I just wanted to share it with you." She clearly felt guilty, and you appreciated that this was just how she is, but you really would've rather she'd chosen a different topic to tell you about. "Maybe, you have a book on old remedies you could tell me about instead?" Robin perks back up at this. She truly values how much you understand her, and she can see why talking about diseases when your ill is not the most pleasant experience, so this is a perfect compromise. "That's a wonderful idea," she smiles, and you swear she puts the sun to shame with how bright her smile is. "There might be one we can try that will help with your recovery."

✿ Once you get past the scary disease hiccup, Robin is a great companion, looking up home remedies, and trying out the ones that are clearly based on logic as opposed to superstition.

✿ If you find a good remedy, she's excitedly write it down, and later pass the information on to Chopper.

✿ She's happy to get you water when needed, and will watch over you as you nap in the library. It's one of the quietest parts of the ship, so there is no way to disturb you there.

Franky

✿ Aside from Chopper, Franky is genuinely the best at dealing with sick people. He tones down his behaviour, and knows exactly what you need to get back on your feet.

Your head was absolutely thundering, at least that's how it felt. Franky clocked onto your condition as soon as he saw you enter the kitchen, and once you had what you came in for, he hurried you off to his workshop. You thought it was an odd choice. "Shouldn't I go somewhere quiet?" "I know it doesn't seem it, but I can keep this place absolutely silent if I need to. No music, no one else barging in and making a racket," he said, keeping his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Also the walls are soundproof - keeps noise out just as well as it keeps my noise in." "Oh! That's really impressive," even when ill, there is a sparkle in your eyes when he tells you about pretty much anything he's designed or built. You notice his cheeks turning red, but assume that it's just from the compliment as he looked so proud when you gave it to him. "That's not all," he grins, "I've been working on a lil something, and now's the perfect time to show you!" That certainly piqued your interest, and he was doing a great job at distracting you from how bad you felt. Franky led you to one of the corners of the room, one that was covered in a large tarp. You'd seen it many times, and you were always curious, but he'd always brushed it off whenever you brought it up, so the thought of finally seeing what was under there was exciting! Pulling down the tarp revealed a little alcove that was almost like a nest considering the amount of cushions. "It's a space for you," he said sheepishly, "so you have somewhere comfortable to sit when you hang out in here. I figured you could rest there whilst you're ill, and I can look out for you." You stared at it in absolute wonder, big shining eyes darting between it and him. "It's absolutely perfect, thank you so much!"

✿ Franky kept the workshop quiet like he said he would, and whenever you needed anything, like water or medicine, he'd go and get it for you.

✿ At some point Chopper came in to check on you, since Franky had mentioned you were ill, but there really wasn't much to do about it besides getting lots of rest, and you had that covered.

✿ He'd work on his quiet projects, the ones still in the planning and design stages, whilst you slept peacefully in your cosy nest.

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cressidagrey · 16 days

Text

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 18

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings:

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Amren Bashing, Low Self Esteem and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

The first time Azriel heard Eira play the harp...was Winter Solstice Eve. She had moved the instruments into one corner of the Living Room and was contently plucking the strings, Nyx on her lap.

Azriel watched from where he stood in the doorway as his mate strummed the harp, the sweet, lovely sounds filling the room. She gently bounced Nyx to the sound of the harp's music, Nyx's head bobbing with each movement.

Nyx was having the time of his life if his bright grin was anything to go by.

Azriel smiled gently as he watched the scene. Eira looked so...so happy, content, sitting there and playing her harp with Nyx on her lap. They were both grinning like fools, and Azriel's smile widened when Eira's gaze flicked up and landed on him.

"Happy Solstice Eve," his mate said softly, continuing the song, the last few notes ringing out in the room. It was decorated with pine garlands and dark ribbons, with little twinkling fae lights in the decorations.

He chuckled at her soft murmur, striding over to them, his gaze flickering across the living room as he moved, taking note of the way Eira had decorated the room. He knew it had been her because he had spent an evening a few days ago helping her string up the pine garlands and tying the bows she had made onto them.

"And a very Happy Solstice Eve to you as well, my love," he replied, resting a hand on her shoulder to give it a light squeeze as he leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. "And you, Nyxie-" he added, grinning at his nephew.

Nyx giggled gleefully at him, reaching out for him with a babble that vaguely seemed to be an attempt at a greeting.

Azriel gently plucked him from Eira's grasp and tossed him into the air in a move that was a little more reckless than usual, catching the babe again a moment later and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I am surprised you aren't in the kitchen baking," he told Eira, who smiled as she watched him and Nyx play.

"Feyre told me to relax," she answered with a sigh. "I am not allowed to enter the kitchen on threat of no presents."

"Well, I suppose we'll have no cake this year..." he muttered with mock disappointment, bouncing Nyx a little in his arms and eliciting a giggle from his nephew.

Eira just snorted. "Have some trust in me, love. I made cookies days ago."

"Oh, did you?" he inquired, bouncing Nyx in one arm. "And where in the house did you hide these baked goods, Sweetheart?"

"Far from Cassian, hopefully," she muttered under her breath. "I have the shadows protecting them."

Azriel chuckled, the sound low and soft. "A wise choice," he agreed. "Or else Cassian would've devoured them all in five minutes."

Nyx giggled then, seemingly finding the conversation funny, and Azriel bounced him in his arms again, pressing another kiss to the baby's cheek.

"Yes, yes, Nyxie, this is all very amusing," he said with a grin, resting the baby on his hip as he glanced down at his mate, still sat by the harp. "Can you play another song, Eira?"

Eira smiled at him, a bright blush sweeping across her cheeks. "Of course," she answered, picking up the harp again, her fingers shifting to a different position on the strings.

Her fingers started to move across the harp's strings, and another sweet, lilting tune filled the room, a smile on his mate's face as she played.

Azriel listened silently, his gaze shifting between Eira - who was still blushing adorably - and Nyx, who was watching her play with wide, fascinated eyes. The baby's head lolled and bobbed to the beat of the music, his eyes tracking his aunt's fingers as they shifted across the harp's strings.

The rest of their family decided to trickle in slowly, even Varian and Amren deciding to show up.

Nyx squirmed in Azriel's arms as people began to fill the room, giggling eagerly and watching the guests with excited little squeaks and babbles.

Eira continued playing softly, nearly absentmindedly, smiling at Nesta as her sister found a seat next to her.

"Only three more days," Nesta murmured and Eira gave her a happy little grin.

"Three more days," she agreed, her excitement apparent in her voice.

Azriel heard her words, and they sent a small jolt of something - anticipation, he realised - through his chest. Three more days...

Nesta caught his eye, raising a brow meaningfully with a smirk on her face that he ignored.

"That does sound better than your screeching," Amren said suddenly and Eira's hands froze. A growl rose up in his throat. He opened his mouth to respond, but Eira was quicker than him.

"I'd like to see you play the harp, Amren." she sniped, and oh by the stars above, the sharpness and the snark in his normally sweet mate's voice was so different, but in a...good way. It was unexpected, but he liked it more than he expected.

"Touchy," Amren answered, but it seemed more like a remark than a real complaint. She had a strangely...amused expression on her face that even Azriel could not interpret, but the look only lasted for a moment before it disappeared again. "You gained some claws," Amren complimented.

"Amren," Rhys said in a warning tone.

"What?" Amren asked, turning to him with feigned innocence in her eyes.

Rhys just rolled his eyes, shaking his head and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like unbelievable.

"Are you done now, Amren?" Eira asked, her voice icy. "I am still waiting on an apology for last time."

"Whatever for?" Amren said with a scoff. Azriel felt the growl in his throat grow louder.

"Oh, I don't know," Eira said in a mock-thoughtful tone. "Maybe for the fact that you called me a waste? That you wanted to turn me into a weapon? Maybe for that? Maybe for upsetting me so much that I winnowed straight into Illyria and burned down a forest?!"

"I didn't say it because I disliked you," Amren said with a huff. "You're so damn...soft. Vulnerable, even. And you have unimaginable power at your fingertips. Not using it is a waste."

A low snarl rose up in Azriel's throat, and he was considering going over there to tear the silver-eyed menace limb from limb.

Eira's hands stilled on her harp, her expression growing cold. Her eyes were like ice, glimmering with suppressed anger as she said, "Then it's a good thing your opinion of me means so little."

A smirk appeared on Amren's face. "You used to fear me," she purred. "You used to run when you saw me coming. But now...now you're a little bit more confident, are you?"

"I have more to fight for, to live for," Eira said coldly.

"Oh, yes." Amren's smirk widened. "I was wondering when you'd..."

That's how far she came. A moment later, lightning crackled in the palm of Eira's hand

"Finish that sentence, Amren." Eira hissed, and the lightning in her hand crackled and glowed, shining like silver in the light of the room.

The look on Amren's face suddenly changed as she stared, almost dumbstruck, at the lightning in Eira's hand. She was, for the first time since Azriel knew her, shocked into silence

Rhys' eyebrows rose as he took in the situation. On one hand, Feyre was giggling into Rhys' shoulder at the sight of Eira holding lightning. On the other...well, Azriel would not stand for anyone disrespecting his mate. Not when they were already pushing her this far.

A glance around the room showed that Feyre and Cassian were thoroughly interested in the scene in front of them. Nesta was watching Eira with something akin to awe, and Mor was leaning against a bookshelf with a slightly amused smile on her face.

Azriel turned his gaze back to his still-fuming mate and the shocked, nearly apprehensive Amren, the baby on his hip still babbling and giggling happily, blissfully oblivious to the scene in front of him.

"My, my, you are feisty today," Amren breathed, her composure back in place with an almost forced casualness.

"And you're far more annoying than usual today," Eira retorted.

The tension in the room was so thick, that Azriel was half-convinced that you could've reached out a hand and physically touched it.

"You have grown bold," Amren said conversationally, seemingly unbothered by the lightning Eira was still holding.

But Azriel could see the flicker of something in her eyes. Something...not quite fear, but similar. She was slightly nervous in the face of Eira's unexpected anger.

"Amren, that's enough," Feyre cut in.

Feyre's voice echoed through the room, stern and commanding. Amren's head whirled around to peer at her as Feyre stared back with a firm gaze of her own.

"No more," she said firmly, her eyes flickering between Amren and Eira.

"I just wanted a peek at her power."

Azriel's eyes darkened. Eira clenched her hand into a fist, the lightning in her hand vanishing as she muttered angrily, "Next time, I won't just give you a peek."

Amren huffed. "Are you threatening me?"

Azriel growled, low and sharp, handing Nyx to Nesta. "She isn't. I am," Azriel snapped. "Either you treat my mate with respect or we will be having a very different sort of conversation."

Amren looked up at him, a flicker of surprise in her silver eyes. It was gone the next moment, but she wisely made the choice to not say anything.

Meanwhile, Eira was still bristling, tension written across her face as she took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm herself.

"I apologise," Amren said stiffly.

Eira's eyebrows rose, startled by Amren's unexpected apology.

A tense silence followed, but it broke a moment later when Azriel said, "That is something you don't hear often, Amren."

Amren shot him a glare, but there was no real malice behind it.

A huff of agreement came from Rhys, and Feyre muttered something that sounded suspiciously like not going to get used to this.

For once, Azriel thought he had to agree with his friend. Amren actually apologising, especially to someone like Eira... He doubted they'd see that sight ever again.

It was something that much was certain.

Cassian suddenly let out a snicker, and they all turned to look at him.

"What?" he asked, grinning in their direction. "That Lightning is badass!"

Feyre chuckled as well, but it quickly turned into laughter as other people chimed in. Even Varian gave an amused chuckle that sounded surprisingly sincere coming from him.

Eira's cheeks turned a little red, as they always did when attention was focused on her.

She glanced up at him, a mixture of embarrassment and something like pleasure at the little caress, and he had to bite back a smile.

His mate, still so shy when confronted with praise or attention.

Azriel kept his gaze on her for a while longer, and his smile widened a little when she let out a shaky sigh.

Her curls were as beautiful as always, and she was dressed in a gown, silver threading winding across the dark velvet of the skirt. On every other female, the dress would've simply been pretty. On Eira, it was breathtaking.

Ours, whispered the shadows, and Azriel had to agree.

She was his in every way- his mate, his partner, his family. He wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

"Can I...May I give you your present already? I think you can use it tomorrow," she asked him softly as the evening came to a close.

Azriel turned his attention back to her, hearing the quiet but excited tone in her voice. She truly was too sweet.

"Of course," he answered with a soft smile. "But what is it?"

Eira just gave him a smile, her eyes sparkling with excitement, and his heart started beating a little faster in anticipation. He'd never seen her this...eager about anything before.

"Something I hope you'll enjoy," she said mysteriously, standing up and grabbing his hand, tugging him to his feet. "But you have to come with me."

She led him up to her room, which was halfway packed up, most of her things already up at the House that she had christened Bluebell Cottage.

Azriel glanced around the room, a flicker of sadness going through him at the sight of the already half-emptied room.

But he had to admit, there was a strange sense of... anticipation in his chest.

The package was soft and wrapped in red wrapping paper. Azriel took the package from her, his eyebrows rising as he felt how soft it was.

"What's in it?" he asked with a hint of curiosity and excitement.

"Unwrap it," she answered.

He let out a little hum, carefully working to open the wrapping without tearing it too much. He could feel Eira's excitement rising as he slowly worked his way through the wrapping, and his curiosity grew as well.

He could hear a few amused chuckles from the shadows, as some of them seemed to know what was in the wrapping.

A moment later, there was a pair of buttery soft, black leather gloves in his hands. He could only stare at them for a moment.

"Your hands start to hurt you more when it gets cold outside," Eira explained quietly. "I lined them with the offcuts from the second pelt you gave me. And I had them enchanted so that they were water resistant."

Azriel stared, shocked and silent, as he held the gloves in his hands. He could tell without even putting them on that they would be perfect- not just for the cold, but also fit snugly around his scarred fingers like they'd been made for him.

He could feel Eira's nerves increasing as he stared at her in shocked disbelief, almost like she was worried about his reaction.

It was an absolutely... perfect gift, and he knew that he could never ever repay her for this. That, for once, he didn't know what to say.

He had never had someone... think about him like this, someone who'd even care about something like the scars on his hands.

"Was that alright?" she asked worriedly.

"You made them for me," he said weakly, not a question.

Eira's eyes widened a little, and he realised that she thought that he was upset.

"Of course it's alright," he said quickly, staring down at the gloves in his hands.

His mate, his perfect kind and sweet and caring mate... He couldn't comprehend how lucky he was to have found her.

But Eira didn't look entirely sure, her anxious expression still on her face as she asked, "Do... do you like them?"

He tore his gaze away from the gloves and looked up at her.

"Like them?" he repeated, his voice soft and slightly awed. "Eira, they're perfect."

The anxiety on Eira's face vanished at his words, replaced with an adorable mixture of relief and excitement.

"You do?" she said, her voice eager and her eyes sparkling as she watched him hold the gloves in his hands.

Azriel just nodded, gently setting the gloves down on her still-untouched bed. He had to fight back the urge to take her into his arms right there and then.

"What did you make out of the rest?" he asked her. She looked at him with wide eyes. “You made the shrug for yourself. You made me the gloves. What else did you make?”

Eira gave him a slow smile.

"You'll see," she said quietly. "Hopefully soon. And now I expect you to win that Snowball Fight tomorrow.“

Azriel raised an eyebrow, both at the change of topic and at the implication of winning that Snowball Fight.

"And what will I get if I win?" he asked, a smirk slowly spreading across his face.

Eira took on a thoughtful expression as if she was actually thinking about his question.

"I don't know," she said slowly, looking like she was considering the idea. "What do you want from me if you win?"

Azriel shrugged casually, trying to ignore the eager, almost greedy shadows.

“A Kiss.”

***

Her sister's birthday dawned bright early, mostly because Eira was already in the kitchen by dawn. It did mean that she got to kiss Azriel goodbye though, before he, Rhys and Cassian disappeared to their annual Snowball Fight...and she got to finish the finishing touches on Feyre's birthday cake.

It was a beautiful morning, one of those days that just seemed perfect, and Eira hummed to herself cheerfully as she finished decorating Feyre's birthday cake.

Despite the fact that her sister was a literal High Lady, she had insisted that her birthday be a quiet affair, no huge celebration or party, just the inner circle and the family.

"Do you...need help?" Nesta's voice came from the doorway.

Eira paused in her decorating, glancing up to find Nesta standing in the doorway.

"I wouldn't say no to the help," she answered with a smile, waving her sister over.

Nesta came over to the counter, silently watching as Eira finished the last touches on the cake.

"It looks good," Nesta said admiringly, studying the cake's smooth dark chocolate surface and the bright silver icing.

"I did stars this year," she said brightly.

"So I see," Nesta said, studying the various silver stars that had been carefully piped onto the cake's surface.

"I think I might've made it a bit too plain, though," Eira said as she looked it over. "I should've added a few more,."

"It looks good as it is," Nesta said, her expression slightly bewildered at the sight of her younger sister worrying over cake decorations. "Feyre will love it, believe me."

"Right," Eira said, taking a step back and studying the cake with a critical eye. "Yes, I think this works."

Nesta looked slightly amused at the way she was looking at the cake, almost studying it, and shook her head, muttering faintly, "You're worse than Feyre with her painting, I swear."

"You did manage to make yourself very clear to Amren though," Nesta said calmly. "I am proud of you."

"I wasn't trying to," she mumbled, heat rising in her cheeks as Nesta chuckled softly. "I was just, y'know, frustrated. I guess I spoke more than I should've."

"You don't have to apologize for putting her in her place," Nesta said, looking amused at the memory of Eira's outburst the previous day. "It was a long time coming, honestly."

"I just-" Eira paused, fiddling with the end of her sleeves.

"It just really made me angry, that she was saying all those things," she mumbled. "I never did anything to her."

"That's because you've always been nice ," Nesta said with a sigh, her gaze and voice surprisingly fond. "In a way that a lot of people tend to overlook. But Amren was pushing it yesterday, and I'm just glad you finally snapped at her."

"It was about time, in my opinion," Feyre chimed in from the doorway, where she was cradling Nyx against her chest. "Amren's been treating you like a doormat for long enough."

"You aren't supposed to be in here!" Eira complained. "Happy Birthday!"

Feyre just smiled, not bothering to look apologetic at all as she said, "Thank you. This looks great."

Nesta just laughed as well, and Eira huffed, but there was no real displeasure in her expression.

"Go away," she said firmly to her sister, shooing both Feyre and Nesta out of the kitchen. "No birthday girl of mine is going to see her cake before they're supposed to."

Feyre let out a mock-offended gasp, but obeyed anyways, ducking out of the kitchen with Nyx still in her arms.

"Spoilsport," she called out over her shoulder, grinning.

Eira just rolled her eyes, even when she was already pulling out all the makings for breakfast.

They spent most of the day playing with Nyx, before Azriel, Rhys and Cassian arrived back, Azriel with his 200th victory in tow.

The three males arrived back not long after lunch time, their clothes rumpled and hair messy from the snowball fight.

Cassian and Rhys headed for the chairs, while Azriel made a beeline for her, looking slightly predatory in a way that made her heart beat faster.

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks under his gaze, his gaze looking like he was ready to drag her off to a privatepart of the house.

She suppressed the urge to shiver, instead asking with forced innocence, "Did you boys have fun?"

"We certainly did," Azriel answered, his voice a low rumble as he closed the distance between them and gripped the waist, pulling her into his arms.

She let out a soft gasp as she landed against his chest, one of his hands resting on her hip.

"We had a wonderful game," Rhys chimed in from one of the couches, earning an annoyed muttering from Cassian.

"Wonderfully brutal, you mean," Cassian said dryly. "I swear, we were closer to frostbite than we were to a friendly match."

"Sounds like someone is just being a sore loser," Rhys said calmly, earning a scoff from Cassian.

"I am not!" he protested, looking more like a child whose favourite toy has been taken away than a centuries-old warrior.

"Want to help me in the kitchen?" she said quickly.

Azriel shot a warning glare at both Rhys and Cassian, before tightening his grip on her waist and nodding.

"Of course," he said, his voice so low that it rumbled in his chest.

They did manage it into the kitchen. And then his hands were suddenly all over her.

Azriel backed her up against the wall as soon as the door shut behind them, trapping her against the wall with his body.

The shadows swirled around them in an almost excited way, filling the room and blocking out the sounds of the voices in the other room.

"You owe me a kiss," he said, his voice a low rumble against the skin of her neck as he leaned down to press kisses against her neck. She shivered at the feeling of his lips on her skin, the heat of his body pressed up against hers. "I won."

"I guess I do," she answered breathlessly, wrapping her arms around his neck and gently running her fingers through the short, soft hair at the base of his head.

His mouth moved against her neck, his lips teasing and tempting, and she had to stifle a soft moan as his hands gripped her hips.

The shadows were almost dancing around them, swirling like they were as eager as she was. His hands were gripping her hips with a possession that made her feel almost faint with want, and the heat in her lower belly was spreading like wildfire throughout her body.

It was like a flame, igniting every inch of her body as his mouth moved up to press against her jaw, his lips brushing against her skin. She was shaking with the effort of holding back her moans, with the effort of holding herself together.

It was harder than she'd expected, with him so close, his presence almost overwhelming and his touch devastatingly good.

His mouth moved across her cheek, his breathing a low growl as he said, "I love it when you get flushed like this."

She shivered heavily, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt as he pressed his hips against hers in a way that made her pant helplessly.

And then he kissed her lips. Fitted his mouth over hers, his tongue plundering her mouth with no forewarning.

And she responded instantly, opening her mouth and letting his tongue into her mouth. Her mind was going hazy, her thoughts disappearing in an instant as she clutched at his shirt and pressed her body closer to his.

His hands were gripping at her hips like iron, forcing her body to stay still and taking as he claimed her mouth with a possessive ferocity.

She was completely at his mercy, shaking against him as he completely overwhelmed her with the force of his kiss.

His tongue was everywhere in her mouth, sweeping in and claiming her mouth as his own. She let out a desperate moan, the noise swallowed up by his mouth as his body pressed her up against the wall.

She was almost mindless with desire, her every thought and sense focused only on the feel of him against her, on the way his hands were gripping her hips and the hot, heavy feel of his body against hers.

And then he pulled back, panting. Resting his forehead against hers.

She was as flushed as he was, her lips slick and swollen from his kiss as she struggled to get her breathing under control.

His forehead was pressed against hers, the two of them just standing there, trying to catch their breath, as the shadows danced around them.

"Three days," he whispered.

"Three days," she echoed.

She rested her head back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as she let out a weary sigh.

Her heart was still racing, the heat in her lower abdomen aching like a throb, but they couldn't simply disappear to a private room when they were surrounded by the entire inner circle.

And she was not going to have her first time with Azriel somewhere public.

So instead, she focused on getting her breathing back under control, the heat of his body still overwhelming.

She forced her eyes open, studying his face. He was just as flushed as she was, his breathing heavy, but his eyes...his eyes were still dark and burning fiercely.

"You still owe me a solstice gift," she said with a weak grin.

Azriel managed a strained chuckle, lifting one hand up to cup her face and brush his thumb over her lip like he couldn't resist touching her.

"Indeed I do," he said, his voice still low and husky. "Let's see if we are already at the gift giving portion of the evening.

They heard the sound of laughter drifting in from the sitting room, and Azriel let out a rueful sigh, leaning his forehead against herss again.

"We should probably go back out to the others," he said quietly, his thumb still rubbing against her lip.

She almost wanted to disagree, to tell him that she wanted to stay right where they were. But reluctantly, she nodded in agreement, letting out a sigh of her own as she pushed herself off the wall.

Azriel's hands slid from her waist and hips, but he took her hand as they made their way back out of the kitchen.

They reappeared in the doorway, and Eira had to force down a flush as all of the others turned to look at them, as if they knew exactly what had been going on in the kitchen.

No one commented though, either because they didn't actually know or because they were being tactful for once, and instead, Rhys simply lifted the bottle of wine and said, "There you are. Come and sit down already."

But Azriel just led Eira over to one of the couches and sank down beside her, one arm wrapping around her shoulder to pull her closer. Not that she was resisting at all.

Eira just let herself lean against Azriel, resting her head on his shoulder and enjoying the solid warmth of his touch.

Gifts were exchanged, for Feyre's birthday and for Winter Solstice.

The wrapping paper piled up as more gifts were handed out, Nyx having more fun with the paper than his actually toys and Eira managed to find herself sitting almost on Azriel's lap with his arm still around her.

Not that she was complaining. If anything, she was simply enjoying the close contact and the heat of his body.

There were little piles of gifts before each of them. Eira was quite proud of the embroidered hair ribbons she had made for Nesta, Valkyrie white silk with little silver flames all over them, while Feyre had gotten an embroidered silk scarf. She had made other things, of course, other than the gloves she had already given to Azriel. A bright red silk dressing gown for Mor, even Cassian had gotten a new leather sheath for his daggers, while she had made a notebook cover for Rhys.

The others seemed to appreciate the gifts for the most part, with Mor giving her an overly dramatic show of affection as thanks.

Mor herself had oviously decided to go the route of extravagance that year...with Cassian giving an offended noise at the box she handed him, glaring at it and protesting, "I don't need a face cream."

Which only made the rest of the group burst out laughing, even Amren managing a smirk.

"You certainly need something for those scars and freckles, darling," Mor said with a smirk. "I can see your skin deteriorating as we speak."

"It is not deteriorating," Cassian protested. "That's just the rugged look that I was going for."

Eira bit back a laugh at that, still staring at the dagger Cassian had given her, with a wink and the words "Not quite as cool as lightning. But I think Azriel would be happy to teach you."

She was still staring down at the dagger and the scabbard when Azriel gently leaned down to murmur in her ear, "You like it?"

His voice was a low rumble that thrummed through her body, and she almost shivered at the sound.

Eira didn't hate it. Not as much as she had thought she would. She wasn't quite sure if she wanted to learn to fight. But maybe she didn't need to. maybe she could just learn how to defend herself.

She could feel Azriel watching her closely, and she was sure that he could probably feel the tension in her body.

But she still nodded slightly in response to his question, her eyes fixed on the dagger and scabbard in her hands. And he seemed to get the message, resting his chin on her shoulder and giving her a small squeeze.

The scabbard had been made of fine, supple leather, polished and oiled to shine like satin. But the dagger itself was the real beauty. The slender obsidian blade was polished to a mirror-perfect gleam, and when she pulled the blade out to study it, she noticed the little lightning bolt patterns carved into the blade.

"Here," Azriel said quietly. "That Solstice Gift I owe you."

Eira was only mildly startled as his quiet voice drew her back out of her thoughts, and she blinked at him in surprise.

"You really don't-" she began, but Azriel just shook his head, the shadows swirling with excitement.

"I talked them out of buying you another 3 dozen gifts, but I still wanted to give you something," he told her gently.

Eira couldn't help but feel touched that he'd gone to such trouble, even if she had been firmly telling them not to make such a fuss.

She was still speechless as he pulled a small, silk-wrapped box out of his pocket, handing it to her with an almost nervous smile on his face.

"I thought..well...I...I thought that you could use more pearls," he finally said quietly.

Eira almost gaped at his words as she stared down at the gift in her hands, her heart clenching at the thought that he'd given her pearls.

She carefully unwrapped the gift, her hands shaking slightly as she opened the box and uncovered a King's ransom in Pearls and Diamonds. A Necklace, Bracelet and a set of Hair Combs, all laid tucked into black velvet.

"No Earrings, but everything else," he said quietly.

She was literally speechless as she stared at the jewelry, her heart stuttering in her chest.

It wasn't just the jewelry that stole her breath away, but the thought and care that Azriel had taken in creating it.

He'd given her pearls. Diamonds too, but the pearls just made her throat ache.

Pearls like these very first earrings, like her engagement ring...and now there they were, ready to encircle her throat and her wrist as well.

The pearls were perfect, flawless and shining under the light like they were made of living ice. They looked smooth to the touch and more flawless than anything she'd ever seen before.

"They're beautiful," she told him, her voice a little strangled as she stared down at them. "Azriel...I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he told her as the shadows swooped around her, like they were eager to see the jewelry on her. "Do you like them?"

It was an oddly vulnerable question, and one that made her heart flutter in her chest.

"I love them."

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #the prophecy #Looked to the sky

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authorhjk1 · 7 months

Note

Oh fuck can we expect a part 2 for Haewon where she gets absolutely destroyed?

Blue icing

(Haewon X Male Reader)

You expected her to take a break. At least five minutes. Even one minute would've been enough.

Instead, she goes straight for your cock again.

You just came in her mare moments ago. Some of your jizz is still occasionally coming out of her nostrils in tiny globes. You pretty much destroyed her innocent face a minute ago, making her shed tear after tear. Making her gag as your cock bruises her throat.

Haewon is now staring up at you. Her big eyes coaxing you into becoming hard again. Her tear and cum stained face still looks oddly innocent. What else do you have to do to make a complete mess out of her?

A similar thought seems to linger in Haewon's mind as well.

"Where do you want to take me?"

The idea alone makes your cock twitch.

You ponder for a moment, looking around her apartment. Something in her kitchen catches your attention, but that's for later. Still trying to recover from the tiring face fuck, you nod towards her armchair that's standing in the corner of the living room.

"Ride me."

A mischievous smirk crosses her otherwise innocent face.

One second later, you find yourself sitting in the chair, Haewon hovering above you. She hikes up her skirt, revealing a pink thong underneath. It's actually purple by now. Her juices have drenched the light fabric, darkening it.

"Did you get this wet because I fucked your face?"

You give her a triumphant grin. Haewon frowns in anger.

"I'm wet because your cock is big. Not you. I still hate you."

She tries to sound tough, but you see her nervously glancing at your lap. Her pussy is only a few inches away from getting filled. During your hook up, she thought it wouldn't fit inside her. And you honestly can't even remember if she was able to handle it all.

"Maybe you aren't even tight. I'm just big enough to stretch you out anyway."

Haewon sticks out her tongue. But with her skirt around her waist, hovering above your cock, it makes her look sexy rather than rebellious.

"You wish. I'm the tightest you've ever had."

The young woman proves herself immediately after.

"Fuck."

Both of you groan in union as Haewon slowly takes in your tip. Your head rests against the back rest, but you force yourself to watch.

"Not b-bad, huh?"

Haewon tries to smile, but her pleasure twisted face makes her look like she just had a heart attack. Her lips are tightly pressed together.

"Not bad at all."

You have to admit it. She really is the tightest. But there is no use in telling her now. You don't want to see that satisfaction on her face.

"W-Wait."

Haewon has half your cock inside her pussy. Your hands hold her waist, slowly pulling her down. But when she hisses in pain, you stop your movements.

"I don't think I can take it all."

"Didn't you brag about having the best pussy I've ever been in?"

She shakes her head. Haewon takes heavy breaths, trying to get accustomed to your size.

"T-The tightest."

"Just admit my cock is too big for you."

She shakes her head again.

"Keep going."

You pull her a little further down.

"Stop."

A small whimper escapes her mouth.

"Is this enough now? I've proven I'm tight."

It's your time to shake your head.

"I can't get off like this, Haewon. You either take it all, or we are done here."

You look up at her, seeing how her eyes are shut tight. You don't care if you just lied. Your anger still isn't completely gone yet. You want to see her suffer a little.

"This is never gonna fit though!"

"Okay then."

You attempt to lift her off of you.

A long and loud moan escapes Haewon's mouth as she feels your cock drag along the walls of her tight cavern.

"W-Wait."

Only your tip is inside of her now. You feel her tremble.

"Let me try again. At my own pace."

"Are you being competitive? Or is your inner slut showing, Haewon?"

Her eyes glare at you. The fire threatening to burn you.

"I'm no slut. Even if I were, you would be responsible."

"I'm saying this one last time. It takes two to tango, Haewon. You are a slut. And you know it."

The petite girl on top for your raises her hand. You almost expect her to slap your cheek. Instead, she glances a little lower. In disbelieve, you feel her hand wrap around your throat. And, since her hand is too small, she uses the other one as well.

"No! You are at fault. You seduced me."

You know she can't hurt you. Her delicate fingers barely even manage to make you cough.

"I didn't do shit, Haewon."

By now, you realize that she is halfway down your cock again. Her snug walls threaten to strangle you too.

"Then who asked me to go to his hotel room?"

"Are you kidding me?"

Your hands on her waist encourage Haewon to start bouncing. Not fast or hard. But still incredibly well. As if she had done that her whole life.

"Do you remember what you said at the party?"

"What? Huh?"

Her face is right in front of yours, her eyes throwing daggers at you.

"Make me drunk and put a baby in my virgin pussy."

"I did not!"

You feel Haewon tighten around your cock.

"Yes, you did. You pleaded for it. Begged."

"Fuck you!"

She rides you at a faster pace now. Her hands around your throat squeeze you harder as her pussy does the same with your dick.

"You didn't want to be a virgin anymore. You wanted to feel like a whore."

"You are lying!"

This time, she does slap you. Not hard enough to hurt you. But probably leaving a red mark.

"I'm not, Haewon!"

Your turn to reach for her throat. There is no need for a second hand. Yours wraps around her perfectly. Her wide eyes glare at you, daring you to choke her.

"You want me to repeat all the dirty stuff you said!?"

"Fuck you! You are lying!"

Despite her yelling, her voice seems to tremble a little.

You are still halfway inside her snug pussy, trying your best to hold it in. How long can you resist?

"You said you don't remember!"

"I don't remember what we did. Only images. But I do know exactly what happened right before we went to the hotel."

"Liar!"

Haewon's hands are now in your hair, forcing your head back. It exposes your neck. A perfect spot for her to kiss your skin between shouts.

"If you're gonna call me a liar one more time, I'm gonna destroy your pussy Haewon."

You glare at her, her half open eyes now struggling to focus on you.

"Liar! Liar! Liar!"

Everytime she says that word, she tugs at your hair. And she keeps bouncing, slowly taking more and more of you inside.

"I warned you, slut."

"I'm not a slut, asshole!"

You've had enough of the name calling.

Grabbing her waist once more, you lift Haewon off your lap. She moans and whines as your cock stretches her walls one last time, before she feels completely empty.

"What are you doing?"

She mewls as she has to lets go off your hair.

You stand up, Haewon in your arms. Since you aren't inside of her, your cock rests against her pussy and midriff. Haewon looks down with big eyes, imagining how deep you could go.

"As promised, I'm gonna ruin you now."

You reach her kitchen, putting her down on her feet. Before Haewon can ask another question, you spin her around, bending her over the counter. She is now face to face with the thing she baked a couple of hours ago. Your ex girlfriend's birthday cake. If she stuck out her tongue, Haewon could probably lick up some of the blue icing.

"Wait. Go slow, I-"

It seems like it dawned on her what you are about to do.

"You asked for this."

Without giving Haewon time to reply or to prepare, you push inside of her again.

"Oh god!"

She moans, her head lies on the cold surface. You are already halfway inside, feeling her snug walls around you.

Haewon starts to squirm, when you start to push deeper. You part her walls further and further invading her pussy more and more.

"It's so deep."

She sighs, unable to stop you. Even Haewon herself can't really tell if this is pain or pleasure she is feeling.

You reach forward to grab a fistful of her black hair, unsatisfied with the amount of moans she is producing. A deep growl seems to escape her lips as you pull her head up. You see Haewon's back arch.

The position feels somehow familiar. Even the feeling of being almost completely inside of her seems natural. Are your memories from that night coming back?

"H-How are you so deep?"

Her cute whine motivates you to push further.

"Oh god!"

Another loud moan echoes through her apartment.

"You were right, Haewon. Your pussy really is the tightest."

It feels like she can't even hear you. Her body threatens to collapse, despite the fact that you are firmly holding onto her waist and her hair.

"But that still doesn't proof that you are innocent. You are still a slut."

A whimper escapes the girl's mouth. You can't tell if it's a protest or a reaction to you, pushing deeper.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally come to halt. Your still not completely inside of Haewon. You have to admit that you can't go deeper. At least not now. Her pussy I too tight.

You leave her snug cavern slowly, before pushing back in. The motion makes Haewon's body rock back and forth. Her nails scratch on the stone surface, trying to hold onto something.

"You are... You are so... So big."

It takes her a while to form a proper sentence as you start to actually fuck her. Slow and deep at first. But you gradually speed up and become more powerful with your thrusts.

Now, Haewon can't even string words together to make a sentence. Meaningless sounds escape her mouth, everytime you push into her. Her walls feel like they are stretched beyond repair. And with every thrust, you threaten to bruise her organs.

Usually, you would be fine with slow but forceful thrusts. But this isn't normal. You are still trying to take out your anger on Haewon's body. And the cake in front of her starts to fuel that fire inside of you even more. You can read your girlfriend's name as you fuck her best friend as deep as you possibly can.

"Fuck, Haewon. You are a stupid whore for telling her what happened. Why did you have to ruin this?"

You don't expect an answer. Because she is unable to talk. A small puddle of her drool is staining the counter.

"Did you do this, so you can fuck me again? Is that what it is?"

Your grip on her hair becomes stronger. You use your other hand to slap her ass, making her cheeks jiggle.

"P-Please."

You don't know if that's a yes, or if she is just asking you to fuck her harder.

The sight of Haewon like this and her tight pussy slowly drive you towards your orgasm. You know you don't have much time left. You keep fucking her from behind, pulling her hair. You still need to ruin that innocent face. It would be a shame if you wouldn't. Eying that cake again, you feel your blood boiling once again. You just wanna...

You go deeper into Haewon than ever before, almost bottoming out inside of her.

"Fuck!"

She almost screams as you push her forward. She is now leaning over the table, her feet dangling right above the floor. Her face is now right above the cake.

Instead of pulling on her hair, you suddenly grab the back of her head and push down. Haewon's moans and yelps are suddenly muffled by the cake. You bury her face in it, covering it in blue icing.

"Whore."

You growl into her ear as you chase your orgasm, satisfied with ruining her work. And her face.

Your thrusts make her body move and with that, her head as well. You press her down into the cake, which is turning into a mountain of crumbs.

Seeing her like this finally makes your climax. You pull out, which almost feels like an impossible task, before you start to shoot your cum all over her ass and back. It stains her skin, mixing with the build up sweat on it.

Haewon's face must be a complete mess. Some of the blue icing got into her hair.

You admire your work. A completely messed up Haewon. On the inside and on the outside. Her face completely ruined by the cake, her ass and back full with cum. Her pussy almost looks like it's gaping as if she is asking for more.

Haewon feels like the biggest slut in the world. Used and dirty like a fuck toy. Is that why she tried to end your relationship?

#kpop #ask #kpop smut #anon #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #haewon nmixx #haewon

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flavored-soda · 5 months

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Some BuckTommy head canons to get you through the next week without an episode:

Buck and Tommy spend the night at each other's place a lot. It's not out of lust (although sex is not off the table), but more out of not wanting to sleep alone.

When they do spend the night with each other, it's not uncommon for one of them to drop off or pick each other up from work. The first time Tommy picked Buck up from work, he was coming off a 24-hour. Buck's exhaustion was setting in and he didn't think anything of it when he kissed Tommy "hello" and took the coffee cup from his hand. Needless to say, he got an earful of teasing from the team.

Tommy let Buck set the pace when they first stated dating. Meaning he let Buck tell him when and what he was ready for. But once they had settled into their relationship some more, Tommy couldn't keep his hands off Buck. He always has to have a hand on his boyfriend's back, arm, shoulder, thigh, holding his hand, even just linking fingers. Just simple, soft touches to keep the two grounded.

Tommy truly noticed how low Buck's self esteem is when he went over to try to help rectify the situation between him and Eddie. When the started dating, Tommy made it his mission to try and boost his boyfriend's self esteem whenever he could. Between sending him little text messages throughout the day and telling him all his favorite little things about his boyfriend. Buck loves every second of it.

Buck says "I love you" first. Buck's leg was flaring up again and this time the pain was particularly bad. Tommy had spent the night at Buck's, and it was a good thing he did because Buck never would've told him otherwise. It was at the end of night, Buck's pain meds had just kicked in and he was feeling a bit loopy. They were laying in bed watching with a movie, though, Buck had been watching Tommy for at least the past 20 minutes. He was drifting in and out of sleep when he said. By the time Tommy reacted, he had passed out for the night. In the morning, Buck woke up to his alarm and a note from Tommy that said "I love you too, Evan. Have a good shift.❤️" To top it off, there was pancakes and bacon in the microwave.

Buck babysitting quickly turned into Buck and Tommy babysitting. Tommy loved watching Buck with Chris, Jee-yun, and Denny. Sometimes it would make him wonder what it would be like when they have their own little family.

i have so many more of these, lemme know if you want to hear more. also come scream in my asks about these ones!

#911 abc #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 #bucktommy #911 show #tevan #evan x tommy #evan buckley x tommy kinard #buck x tommy #911 headcanons

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circuitcircus · 5 months

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in defense of kabumisu……..

addressing things I see people say about why kabru being shipped w mithrun is ‘bad’ or why their canon relationship ‘doesn’t mean anything’ while also clearing up misconceptions of the characters some fans have

listen it keeps popping up and I just gotta do this or my brain will melt (if you don’t see it around then god I wish that were me) there’s an age gap!- erm there’s also an age gap in farcille (ily), the most popular ship in the series...also chilchuck looks like a kid but a lot of fans recognize him as a dilf because of his relative age, so there should be no age gap discourse among adult characters because it feels so conditional tbh

kabru taking care of mithrun is racist!- marcille likes to take care of others as well. is that sexist, or just an aspect of her character?

kabru isn’t treated like a servant, waiting on mithrun hand and foot…I mean he gives mithrun a foot massage but no one told him to do all that lmfao

he's also not the only one to care for mithrun. pattadol is shown to worry for him and milsril was the one to start taking care mithrun in the first place after he…...y’know. speaking of which-

they probably met when kabru was a kid!- neither of them showed signs of recognizing each other the entire time mithrun was introduced nor when they were together. and im pretty sure KABRU of all people would show some kind of recognition if they'd met before. it's kabru!!! the people person!!! mr. "i-noted-down-50+-characters-in-this-dude's-backstory-for-fun-and-actually-enjoy-social-gatherings"

you would think some kind of memory would come back to him especially after hearing mithrun’s backstory if milsril had even told kabru about him as a kid. but nope. it’s just fan speculation unless there's a side comic suggesting otherwise that i haven't seen

mithrun doesn't care about kabru, his shapeshift double looked like shit!- it's obviously because of mithrun's (then) lack of desires that it looked like that, but they really grow on each other

i think it's safe to assume it'd look more like kabru after they spent so much time together (also laios can barely even remember kabru's name..also saw his face multiple times and didn’t recognize him when they talked for the first time)

mithrun is racist!- he’s actually the least likely character to be racist since he lost his desires and that includes a desire for superiority over others. he even calls his past self out on that part of himself. the other elves in that side comic were being just as racist to shorter lived races but just didn’t use ‘outdated slurs’

(unfortunately literally every main character in dunmeshi is at least a lil prejudiced, but I believe it’s worldbuilding and a sign of the times rather than a reason ryoko kui is giving to hate each character)

taking care of others is a pain in the ass!- saying this as a reason kabru and mithrun shouldn't be together is basically saying disabled people shouldn't be allowed to have romantic relationships because they're a "burden"...if someone is actually willing to put in the work, then let them be.

that's not even all of their relationship, mithrun is the fighter of their duo and kabru would've been killed by the shapeshifter or something if he'd fallen down the hole on his own since he sucks at fighting monsters. mithrun helps collect ingredients for cooking every time, too (barometz fruits and griffin egg). he pulls his weight and then some!! i feel like people forget that part of mithrun a lot somehow.

+senshi literally cooks for everyone all time. it's kind of an important aspect of the narrative.

+also, while it is a popular fan thing I see around that kabru handfeeds mithrun, he literally never does lol this is mithrun using his own hands to eat:

also here we have him washing his own body

just saying because people like to treat mithrun like a baby even though the narrative respects him as a capable adult who also has special needs because of an accident. he’s captain for a reason

kabru hates taking care of mithrun!- not exactly, he was initially surprised and put off but got used to it quickly. i’m sure he’s grateful for all the times mithrun saved him from a monster and teleported them out of danger as well

he even starts doing “unnecessary” things for mithrun’s comfort and safety like when mithrun pushes himself too hard fighting, even after his mission to take care of him was complete when the canaries came back

here is even kabru resting while mithrun keeps watch (mithrun let him sleep for 5 hours before waking him up from the nightmare earlier, too):

there's nothing more to their relationship!- they actually have had a very tight and consistent dynamic since they met and they incite the most change within each other by the end. kabru is the one who inspires mithrun to create new desires so he doesn't waste away, and mithrun is the first person we see kabru being genuine with and it leads him to be more honest with others by the end instead of tiptoeing around everyone all the time (that mask was also the reason some ppl initially disliked kabru…)

kabru’s relationship with mithrun is honestly so important for his character and vice versa, but it’s often disregarded because of one over exaggerated aspect of it (an aspect that isn’t even the first way they interact with each other) or because people want to just straight up ignore it for some reason 🥲🥲

kui dedicates many panels to them that don't particularly serve the narrative as a whole in order to demonstrate this and i think that's pretty significant

you're taking this too seriously!- as if i'm the first person in the world to be crazy about a ship or the characters 😭 i love analyzing text and it's upsetting to see them mischaracterized when kui lays out the characters so clearly and deliberately

also they end up touching each other like all the time and have the kind of canon validation most ppl can only dream of lol i feel so insane look at this:

and this is just when they're first getting to know each other cuz there's a fuckload more

kinda hard to explain how i don't actually need them to get married or whatever but i'd die on this hill for them and i enjoy their dynamic immensely

haha you thought you were reading ship discourse but it was actually a character analysis 🤪🤪🤪

also don’t somehow take this to mean I think anyone has to ship them, I just need everyone to understand these accusations kind of don’t make sense especially when they can also apply to other pairs or characters

bonus kabru just looking at mithrun:

#dungeon meshi #kabumisu #kabru of utaya #mithrun #dungeon meshi spoilers #i'd rather be able to enjoy their dynamic without feeling like i have to explain it but i keep seeing the same takes i cant do this anym-#i feel like i advocate for kabumisu so much because i see so many people mischaracterizing kabru to make l4bru work like how they want #by saying he’s obsessed w laios because he thinks he’s hot..but he was curious about his autistic behavior and eventually thought his lack #of malice would make laios the best candidate for becoming dungeon lord to prevent another utaya tragedy. tho eventually he doubts that #not that i care that he's shipped with laius. i just want ppl to see kabru for who he IS bc some still think hes nothing but a shady bicth #i think that's best shown through his dynamic with mithrun (other than his own words of course) so i want ppl to acknowledge it properly #like idk if I can trust popular fan interpretations of the characters or relationships anymore after the shit with toshiro bro 💀💀#not trying to attach kabru’s entire being to mithrun or anything either just..saying #hm i feel like the way i worded all of this will make some ppl mad. not my intention but whoops #anyways has anyone drawn ship art of senshi and mithrun yet? anyone?

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thisthatpinkvenom · 1 year

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GIVE HER A LITTLE POW-POW ON HER BABYMAKER

BUSINESSMAN!SAN / HOUSEWIFE!FEM READER

⤏ Synopsis: What Bibi said in "Automatic" but make it domestic.

⤏ Genre(s): drabble*, smut smut smuttity smut but I think it's kinda cute(?) 😗

⤏ Content: rich married couple!au, established relationship!au, non-idol!au, housewife!fem reader who knows how to cook (sorry to anyone who's not a MasterChef)

⤏ NSFW Warning(s): just straight up fucking, unprotected, breeding kink but it's more than a kink, creampie, light choking, light dirty talk, soft dom!San (my knees are weak), lots of swearing left and right, lots of yearning and pet names and it's kinda lovey-dovey but hey, what else do you expect from me at this point

⤏ Note*: this content is completely fictional.

"Ngh...l-let me make you feel g-good."

"Trust me; you already are..."

Earlier that evening, the familiar jingling of keys as the elevator doors opened and signaled San's arrival. His bag dropped to the floor with a thud before he stripped himself of his coat and undid his tie with a grimace on his face. He looked irritable, though the lines on his forehead ceased to be visible when he'd heard your feet padding across the floor to carry you into his embrace. A sequence of small and innocent pecks progressed into longing kisses and relieved sighs. And before you knew it, you were in the nude and on your bed, getting the pounding you'd been daydreaming of all day.

The bed never ceased its squeaking as your husband fucked you from behind. With your hand's iron grip on the headboard—that further continued to dig the dent in the wall deeper—your thighs trembled under all the weight you stressed onto your knees. Your back was flush against his abdomen, skin sticking with his through sheens of sweat. You were fortunate to live in a penthouse that offered you more privacy and freedom to fuck like rabbits, or else you would've received a very heated complaint for the incessant banging on your wall alone.

"This bed's f-fucking annoying," he grunted, frustration communicated through his hand which squeezed your breast in its clutch. "Need a new one, for fuck's s-sake."

You'd never voiced your complaints about the bed frame before, its sensitivity to any movement you made becoming a nuisance to your ears. You wanted to discuss going out and buying a new one but the right time hadn't come yet. Frankly, San had too much packed into his schedule, and you didn't want to pile any more things on his to-do list.

"I-I've been—ah—wanting t-to talk to you about t-that…"

Gradually, his thrusts became tamer until he stopped. The hand on your breast fell to your hip as he sat back on his heels, pulling you with him in the process. Your heart's drumming in your ears and you're trying to catch up with your own breath.

You didn't need to see to know the frown that made its way to his face. "Sannie—"

"And why am I only hearing this now?"

"You're so busy, and I didn't want to bother you. It wasn't a big deal, anyway," you reasoned.

His nose brushed the nape of your neck before he placed an open-mouthed kiss on your collarbone. "Mm, that's silly. Your concerns are my concerns. You should know that already, Baby."

Thank God, you were sitting. Otherwise, you would've melted to your knees if he kept this up. Fuck.

"I'll always try to make room for you," he continued, "no matter how hard it may be." His words melted under the soft sucks his lips made on your neck, his fingers having found your clit to toy with. "How about we go get a new one, this weekend? Then I can fuck you without all the noise."

Your walls clenched around his cock, earning a hiss and a chuckle vibrating on your skin.

"Ride me."

You set a steady pace when you began to work yourself on his lap, the squeaking commencing once again with every bounce you made on his cock. Despite the very vocal bed frame, the squelching from between your thighs couldn't be ignored either—the wet, little mess that your husband liked to play around with so much.

His other hand made its way up to your neck, his thumb and fingers gently pressing themselves into either side. The pressure had your eyes seeing black while your hands searched for his wrists, nimble fingers enclosing around them for any sense of stability. You really needed release, the flesh of your ass and thighs rippling with each hard smack against him.

"One day, I'll make time to put a baby in you. My baby," he rasped, the grip on your neck stiffening for a brief moment. "Ah, fuck…how does that s-sound, Honey?"

You clenched your teeth, eyes squeezed shut at the mention of being knocked up. And when you thought you couldn't be any more wetter, he'd proven you wrong.

"Oh, my God…d-don't say things you don't mean, Baby," you whined.

The pads of his fingers pressed deeper on your clit as they continued to draw circles on the nub.

"I fucking mean it. I always keep my promises."

Everything was just too much for you, your senses were stimulated to oblivion and you couldn't handle it any longer. The inevitable tension of your aroused pussy gave his cock a vice-like grip as you began to see speckles of noise behind your heavy eyes.

"Gonna cum, gonna cum—Sannie, I-I'm gonna fucking cum," you cried. Salt laid on your tongue from the tears that flowed freely down your cheeks, while the hand on your neck moved to your jaw.

He turned your face to his and shoved his tongue between your lips, pausing briefly to murmur, "I know, Baby. I know."

A trembling, soaked pile of mush was all you were at that moment. Putty under his touch, while you let him fuck your sensitive walls until he spurted a warm, white mess inside you. Your hips rocked slower until they settled to a halt, and your wet kisses had become tender. Nothing about this was funny, but you couldn't help but giggle, your teeth knocking against San's while the bliss was still clouding your mind.

"Lunch was really delicious as usual, by the way. Thank you, Honey."

Your thumbs declared a half-hearted war with each other, fiddling with no serious direction. You faced him, lying on your sides with lopsided smiles shared just between the two of you. The soft whirring of the air conditioner filled the room. Otherwise, you were undisturbed.

"You're welcome," you responded dreamily.

He shuffled closer to you, the bed squeaking once again.

"So, what's for tomorrow?"

You grinned, a playful glint in your narrowed eyes. "It's a secret. You can't open it until lunchtime. And don't even try, I know everything."

"Didn't I say your concerns were mine?"

"This one's an exception."

He smirked. "What if I gave you that baby in exchange for knowing what's for lunch tomorrow? Starting right now."

Your cheeks grew warm when the tip of his nose kissed yours.

"You play a really hard bargain."

#ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez timestamps #ateez x reader #ateez drabbles #choi san smut #ateez san smut #san smut #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours

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annwrites · 2 months

Text

you came back.

— pairing: harvey specter x exemployee!reader

— type: one-shot (for now. see author's note.)

— summary: after disappearing from new york & harvey's life for a year, he discovers that you've suddenly returned during a chance-meeting at a bookstore where you now work. desperate to right his past wrongs, he agrees to have dinner with you in your apartment. & then the truth reveals itself & his heart is shattered all over again.

— tw: mentions of rape.

— word count: 9,104

— a/n: i intend to eventually make posts exploring reader's relationship w/ harvey & her time in alaska. | my idea post for this fic

"Excuse me, miss. Would you mind helping me? There's a biography I—"

You slowly turn.

you know that voice. Used to hear it every day.

You'd wondered once—when you could no longer recall the sound of it—if you would still recognize it if you ever ran into him again.

Even if you'd never intended to.

You should've known better.

He stares at you with wide eyes. Into your own, which he thought he'd never look into again. Would never see his reflection in those blooming irises again. Would never see himself as you do again.

And yet here you are, right in front of him, gazing up at him as if...as if you'd never even left.

"You came back," he whispers in disbelief.

You hold the novel you'd been ready to slide onto a high shelf tightly to your chest, your heart running away from you.

"Yes."

His hand rises from his side, hovering near your cheek. And then he cups it in his palm. "You're here."

You swallow nervously, unsure how to even respond. So you don't. "You were looking for a book?"

His brows furrow, hand dropping away. "That's it? You...you disappear for a goddamn year—more than—and that's all I get? No—no explanation, or—"

His voice is raised now, that vein near his temple throbbing in irritation.

"Please lower your voice. I'm at work."

He's left speechless then. He takes a step closer.

You lean your head back, looking up at him.

For how long?"

Your brows furrow. "What?"

"How long have you been back in New York?" He asks through gritted teeth.

You tuck a loose curl behind your ear. "About a month."

He stumbles back, laughing without humor, running his hand down his jaw as he nods. "A month. You've been in the city for a month and not once did you—" He shakes his head.

His eyes find their way back to you. "Do you have any idea the hell I went through after you just disappeared in the middle of the night? That next morning you don't show up to work, so I call. Your phone is disconnected. Email was defunct. After work I go to your apartment, only to find it empty, with not so much as a forwarding address left behind. I—" He stops, fuming, shoulders steadily rising and falling as he stares you down.

"I began to think...I actually wondered at one point if you were dead. No one had heard from you. You just dropped off the face of the goddamn Earth. Where the hell did you even go?"

"Alaska."

His jaw falls open slightly, his eyes searching your own, sure that you can't be serious.

"Alaska," he repeats back to you.

You nod gently.

"We have a fight, so you move across the country. What—did...did you seriously drive that entire way?"

It had nothing to do with the fight. It was due to a reason that was so much worse. You wish it had been due to that instead.

How many times had you blamed yourself? Told yourself that if you'd just never bothered asking him, after all those nights together, with him buried inside of you, 'what are we', then it never would've happened.

But you know now that it's no one's fault except one person's. But that individual is neither you nor him. Even if you'd believed so heavily at one time otherwise.

"Yes."

"Why the hell would you do something like that?"

"It gave me time to think."

He takes a step closer. "Why the hell are you being so short with me?"

You turn back around, finally putting the novel you'd been holding away, picking up another from your book cart, ignoring your shaking hands. "I have to get back to work now."

He stands there, continuing to stare at you.

How did you get here? The two of you? He used to...he used to know everything about you. Used to know every inch of you. Whether in the king-sized bed in his apartment, on a marble countertop, or his office desk—he did.

You still smell like warm cinnamon, though. That much has remained the same, at least.

Even if everything else is different now.

"You came back to work at a bookstore. Do they even have benefits?"

Why wouldn't you have came back to him instead?

"I have no interest in returning to office work and answering to lawyers again. I'm a different person now. I want different things."

"You mean you had no interest in returning to me."

You sigh, turning around, grabbing your cart and pushing past him. "I'm not interested in arguing, Harvey."

His heart jumps at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue.

Like when yours used to roll off of his between your soft thighs. Late at night. The city glittering outside those large glass windows as he held you close, tasting you while you cried out for him in pleasure.

He quickly grabs your elbow, turning you back to him. "I deserve an explanation."

You wrap your arms around yourself. "Do you truly need one?"

He looks at you incredulously. "How can you even ask that?"

You glance out the window, watching for a moment as people mill past, one entering the store—a small bell ringing up front to signal their arrival, welcoming them—and then drag your eyes back to the man in front of you.

"Tonight, then. Once everyone else has left the office."

"You can't tell me now?" He asks, arms flying out from his side in exasperation, hands then settling on his hips.

"You want an explanation, that's my stipulation for giving it."

His eyes flit between both of yours before he finally gives a small, terse nod. "Fine."

Harvey leans back in his seat, hands clasped in his lap—his jacket and tie forgotten atop his desk—as he waits patiently for you to explain yourself. To finally answer the mystery that is your whereabouts for the last year.

You study him for a moment, wondering how to even begin.

Going over this potential conversation for hours in your head after seeing him at the bookstore had been no help, as it now turns out.

You look out the window, at the neighboring skyscrapers, lights slowly turning off as people finally head home for the evening to their loved ones.

And then you look back to Harvey. "I need you to understand that what happened to me isn't your fault anymore than it is mine. That I'm okay now. It took a long time for me to be, but I am."

He just looks at you with knitted brows, wondering where this is going as he rests a bent elbow atop an arm of the chair, finger resting over his lips, thumb gripping his chin, while he remains silent.

"The night we fought...after you—" You want desperately to word this in a non-blaming way. "After you went home, I did, too. It was late, and there were no taxis around. So I told myself just to walk until I spotted one."

You swallow thickly, looking down to your hands. Even now they still tremble slightly. You hate him for still having such a hold over you.

"He came out of nowhere. I didn't see him. He grabbed me, drug me into an alley. He had a knife. Told me what would happen if I screamed. So I stayed quiet."

Everything is so silent you could hear a pin drop.

"He raped me."

Harvey's chin trembles.

"Twice. I just...let him. I was terrified. All I could think the entire time that he was inside of me was...this is how I'm going to die. Everything I ever wanted—meant to do—it's lost to me now. I'll die in this alley with this man's...him leaking out of me. And I'll be the girl on the news who was raped and murdered next to a dumpster. That's how I'll be remembered. That will have been the summation of my life: what he did to me."

You pull nervously at your fingers. "After he was finished, he left me lying there. Once I finally got myself home I wasn't—I wasn't thinking clearly. I took a shower, I threw up, I didn't sleep. First thing in the morning, I called a moving company. Told them I wanted movers to come in, box up all my things, and that i was going to Alaska. I'd always dreamt of seeing it. So I went."

You look at him again, your stomach sinking when you see the tears shimmering in his eyes, the wobbling of his lips.

"Now you know."

He rises suddenly. "I'm going to be sick."

He rushes out the glass door of his office and you give him a moment before following after him into the men's restroom.

You find him leaning over a sink, splashing cold water onto his face as he cries.

"Harvey," you say softly.

He quickly picks up a handful of folded paper towels and wipes his face dry before looking at you.

"Sweetheart, I—" His face crumples. "I'm so fucking sorry. This is all my goddamn fault."

You had wanted so dearly to avoid this. You knew he would put all of the blame upon himself.

He comes toward you, taking you into his arms, holding you to his chest as he cups the back of your head, his body shaking as he sobs into your hair.

"I'm so sorry."

You slide your hands up his back, quietly shooshing him. "It's no one's but his. I don't blame you. It's okay."

"It's not okay. I should've driven you home that night. Instead, I left here angry. Told you to find your own way home. When all you did was—was ask me what we were."

He begins to cry harder.

You remain quiet.

Finally, he pulls away slightly, pressing his forehead to yours, his hands resting against the small of your back. "You never told the police?"

"Like I said, I wasn't thinking clearly. I just...all i could think about was leaving. Going to Alaska. Nothing else mattered to me at that time but getting there."

He firmly presses his lips to your forehead, tears slipping from his eyes. "I want you to know I thought about you every day. That I missed you. That you were—you'd always been more to me than just sex. Losing you—this—is one of the greatest regrets of my life. One of my biggest mistakes. So many times I wished I had just told you how I felt. Had apologized for the shit I said that night instead of just leaving."

His eyes flutter closed. "Can you ever forgive me?"

He knows that even if you do, he never will. He deserves to live with this. All those panic attacks that'd overtaken him in your absence...he had deserved them and so much worse. He should've had a fucking heart attack instead. Maybe then he would've gotten his penance.

"There's nothing to forgive."

He knows he'll never agree.

“Hi.”

Your eyes close for just a moment as you take a deep breath before opening them again and turning around.

Harvey gives you a soft smile.

“I’m on lunch right now,” he states with a shrug, stepping closer.

“Oh.”

He keeps his shaking hands in his pockets as he continues.

“I wanted—” he pauses.

There’s no not-obvious way to word this.

He starts again. “I imagine the answer is yes, but I’m asking anyway: do you have a car yet?”

You nod. “I do. I bought it in Alaska. It’s not a Rolls Royce, but it gets me around.”

You smile. “I’m happy with it.”

Wanting to purchase you one now would’ve still been too little too late, he thinks.

He finally jumps into the deep end. “I’d like to take over paying for your rent.”

Your eyes flit between his, your stomach sinking as you just then notice the dark circles beneath them. “You look exhausted.”

You reach up, cupping his cheek and his eyes fluttered closed at your gentle touch that he’s missed so much.

“Did you…you didn’t sleep last night, did you?”

His eyes slowly open. “Work. New client. It’s a big case.”

You know he’s lying, but don’t push it.

“Thank you for the offer, but I can pay my own rent, Harvey.”

“Utilities, then.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “You don’t need to do this. I told you that you didn’t need to blame yourself. That I didn’t. You don’t have any reason to feel guilty.”

He glances away for a moment, thinking, shaking his head slightly before he returns to looking at you. “You can tell yourself—tell me—all you want that it’s not my fault, but it is. All of it. All it would’ve taken was one car ride and this would’ve been avoided. But just like always, I was being selfish. Thinking of one person. And I cost you everything because of it.”

He steps closer to you, removing his trembling hand from his pocket, clasping it around your upper arm gently. “Let me take you to dinner, then. Something. Please. I’m begging you.”

I have to do something. I’m drowning and you’re my only source of air. I’m so sorry.

Please.

Your lips slowly turn upwards into a small smile. “How about I make you dinner instead?”

His brows furrow. “I should be the one doing that for you.”

You shake your head. “You owe me nothing. You want to do something for me? Then let me do this.”

You’d always been this way. It was one of the reasons losing you had hit him so incredibly hard. You didn’t use him. Not for money or fine things. You didn’t care that he lived in an expensive high-rise apartment. Didn’t lust after his fancy suits. Didn’t care about his proud title of being the best closer in the city.

You just wanted his attention and time. You wanted him—saw him. Or, at least, had.

Finally, he nods. “If that’s really what you want.”

“It is.”

You stick a few beaded bookmarks into their display case, then a pack of fruit-shaped erasers next to them and Harvey just watches you all the while.

Somehow being here suits you. Surrounded by books and trinkets, soft jazz music playing overhead as people mingle silently about the shelves.

Working for someone like him was never going to be where you belonged. You had a heart that was far too honest and good and pure for a law firm—whether you were only serving as an office assistant or not—and loving.

He misses when it had once loved him.

But he’d chosen to throw that all away. And for what? ‘Freedom’? Freedom from what? To do what?

Continue having meaningless one-night stands with shallow women he barely even saw the faces of? Not that he had wanted to. Because the second he did—his erection was lost, along with the fantasy. They weren’t the girl he desperately needed them to be. They couldn’t fill the massive, gaping hole in his chest that your absence had left behind.

So he’d stopped.

Ten months it had been since he’d last been inside a woman. Ten months since he’d so much as wanted to be.

But standing next to you now… Looking you over, your soft curled hair, the satin bow you have tied at the back, your brown dress and tights with a pair of boots—you never had bothered with stilettos or heels in general—and smelling the sweet scent of cinnamon that clings to you—buying you a bottle of Chanel had just been a waste of money that one time, he now knew—he feels his body coming alive again.

And it’s such an incredible sensation after going without it so long. Without you.

Not that he has you back.

He’s unsure that he ever will. In any sense. But if there’s even a minuscule chance… He will do quite literally whatever it takes to win you back. Anything.

Losing you again just might kill him the next time. He’d been surprised more than once that his panic attacks hadn’t landed him in the hospital when he was gasping for breath as his heart squeezed with agonizing pain in his chest every time he looked at your empty desk. Every time he redialed a number that no longer existed, only to be greeted by that empty, robotic voice apologizing that you couldn’t be reached. He’d sent numerous emails to an address that only ever bounced back. But who else did he have to talk to with you being gone?

No one.

He had no one. And he’d made it that way.

All his fault.

Finally, he speaks. “Can I get your address? I doubt you’re at the same apartment as before, but—”

You turn around, finishing up with the mini-notebooks you’d just been seeing to putting away. “I’m not.”

He pulls out his phone and glances up to you, ready to begin typing, taking this in stride as a good first step at repairing what he’s broken.

You swipe the tomatoes you’d just finished dicing up on your cutting board into the pot atop your stove, glancing back to your tablet on the countertop.

“I can smell it from here. Hardly seems fair that you’re making one of my favorites for another man.”

You smile widely, shaking your head as you start on the green bell pepper next. “You say that about everything I make.”

He grins. “Because you’re such a good cook, baby.”

You stare at him for a moment. “One of us has to be.”

He points his finger toward the webcam. “Hey, I can make a really great bowl of microwavable ramen, as you well know.”

“Is that what you’re surviving off of out there?”

He shakes his head. “No. Crabs—sushi.”

“Oh yeah?” Your lip twitches. “Diving in to catch dinner between shifts for the rest of the crew?”

He studies you for a moment, his own lip twitching as well. “You know how I like it raw, baby.”

You burst into a fit of laughter then.

He smiles warmly, wishing desperately he was there to touch you—kiss you. “It’s so good to hear that. I’ve missed it. You have no idea how much I miss you.”

Your laughs slowly cease, your heart aching. “I do.”

You look back down to the pepper, cutting it into small pieces. “It’s been…difficult. Sleeping at night. Without you here to…to hold me.”

Your eyes flit back to the screen.

He doesn’t hesitate to ask it. “Do you need to come back?”

Your brows furrow. “I just got here—”

“Doesn’t matter. If you need to come back to Alaska, then you do what you did before: you get movers in there tomorrow morning and we get them to drive it all back. I’ll get you on a plane first thing so you can come home.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “It’s not about that. It’s just being apart from you. Which I still would be, even if I jumped on a plane—while living in darkness for the next month all alone—I can’t do that without you. Having you there was the only thing that got me through it last time.”

He nods. “I know. I just had to ask.”

You finish up with the pepper, adding it in next.

“I think it’s just that when I first got here—between settling in and finding a job—I was keeping myself busy. Now I have more time to think. Dwell…”

“On him?”

You glance to the screen, wondering which one he’s referring to. So you simply ask. “Which one do you mean?”

“Either. Both.”

“I know I’ll never see my rapist again. Or, rather, if I walked by him on the street, I obviously wouldn’t recognize him. It’s in the past now. I worked past it in therapy. You know how much I liked going to group,” you say with a shrug, and he nods with a smile.

He’d been grateful to the people you met there for helping pull you back from the edge. Liked that you enjoyed going and talking to and confiding in them so much.

You continue. “As for Harvey…I just hate that he’s going to have to live with it now. Like me. That all the time it took for me to no longer blame myself—he’s at that starting line.”

Charlies thinks how best for a moment to word it, but there’s really no other way to. “It’s not your job to absolve him of his guilt.”

You glance to him, mentally raising a brow at his tone. There was only one of you who had moved past heaping blame upon him.

“He couldn’t have known.”

He sighs, about to have a conversation the two of you have repeated time and again. “No, but he allowed a young woman to walk home alone late at night in New York. I don’t give a shit how angry he was—not that you asking for someone to love you back is something I can ever imagine being angry at you for. Nothing excuses it.”

He stops talking then, knowing he could go further—has in the past. To just throw you away like that… He can’t fathom it. Not now. Not with you being his entire life. But he’s never been the kind of man to take good things for granted, either.

“I could’ve gotten on my office phone and just called a cab instead of hoping to spot one from the street.”

He rests his arms atop the desk he’s seated at, softening.

“It’s one person’s fault,” he reminds you.

Even if he’ll always resent Harvey, even minimally—doesn’t matter that he has no idea what he so much as looks like—he will. Because he had hurt the girl he loves in such a terrible way.

You nod, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “I know.”

You sigh, grinning. “So, about your famous ramen—”

There’s a knock at the door then and you turn your head in that direction.

“He there?” Charlie asks.

You set your knife down, turning back to him. “Well, it’s either him or my boyfriend.”

“That’s it, I’m getting on a plane,” he replies with a playful smile.

You giggle.

“Alright, I’ll let you go. I need to soon myself anyway.”

You nod, ignoring the tears that sting your eyes as you force a smile. “Be careful. And…make sure you’re eating enough. And staying warm. And—”

“I am, baby. I promise. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Because you don’t worry about me?”

He shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Another knock.

You sigh.

“I love you, sweetheart. Let me know how it goes tomorrow.”

“I will. I love you, too. More than anything.”

“Bye, baby.”

“Bye.”

Once he’s ended the video chat, you stare at your reflection in the black screen and your face crumples as you wrap your arms around yourself. You wonder if he ever does the same—falls apart for even just a moment after being forced to say goodbye yet again. Doing it dozens of times still has yet to make it any easier.

Finally, you take a deep breath, gathering yourself, and head for the front door.

“I brought wine. Hope that’s okay,” Harvey says, handing you the bottle.

You take it from him with a smile and a nod. “It is. Thank you. You really didn’t need to, though.”

You head back in the direction of the kitchen, retrieving a corkscrew from a drawer, and hand it to him.

“Would you mind? I need to stir the pasta.”

He shakes his head, taking it from you—his fingers brushing against yours—watching as you turn back toward the stove, doing a brief taste-test.

Once he’s opened the bottle, you nod toward the cabinet next to him. “Wine glasses are in there.”

He retrieves two, handing you one once he’s filled it enough for a sample.

“Tell me what you think.”

You take a small sip, nodding. “It’s good. I’m just glad it’s not white.”

He grins, leaning back against the counter, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, I got a kick out of the look on your face the night I bought a five thousand dollar bottle of it to try and impress you, if nothing else.”

You add in a bit of Italian seasoning, placing the small bottle back on the spice rack. “I was just as happy to have a glass of ice water.”

He stares at the back of your beautiful head of hair with a soft smile. “I know.”

Harvey takes a chance to take a look around your apartment then, stepping into the living room that’s just behind the counter he’d been previously leaned back against.

It’s small, but cozy.

Warm.

Homey.

Like you.

To his right is the front door he’d just come through, directly in front of him your couch, a coffee table in front of it, a small entertainment center with a flat screen standing atop it pushed against the wall, bookshelves on either side of it.

Behind the couch are more shelves with floor-length windows in-between. Beside the entertainment center is the bathroom and beside it, your presumable bedroom.

Blankets, pillows, books, candles, plants, and adorable knick-knacks are very-much in abundance. Along with rugs here and there—paintings, and a quilt hanging on the wall that has patches of warm, neutral colors sewn together.

“You get this in Alaska?” He calls from the living room, taking a sip of his wine.

“Hm?”

“The quilt by your front door.”

“Oh! Yes, I did. There was a craft fair in town. I entered into a raffle for it and I won.”

You’d wanted it so badly that Charlie had joked that if you didn’t win it, he’d mug the person who did just to get it for you.

Harvey smirks. A craft fair. Sounds like you.

He returns to the kitchen then, admiring your small herb planters resting on the windowsill in front of the sink.

And then he studies the various magnets stuck to your fridge. One being that of the Empire State Building, which makes him smile.

And then his brows furrow, a cold feeling overtaking him as he slips a photo free from a magnet of the state of Alaska that holds it in-place.

A man with a short beard and short, messy blonde hair smiles at the camera—your arms wrapped around his neck as you place a firm kiss to his cheek—snow-capped mountains in the background, the sun shining in the distance.

“Who—who is this?” He asks, glancing to you.

You turn off the burner on the stove, glancing to him, then the photo he grips between his fingers. “Oh, that’s Charlie. My fiance.”

His heart squeezes painfully, and he suddenly feels lightheaded.

“You’re getting married?” He asks with a tone of disbelief.

You keep your back turned to him as you retrieves plates from the cabinet. “In a little over a month, when I go back to Alaska.”

He stumbles back, dropping the picture. He coughs, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, struggling to breathe.

He had thought he was past these.

The world begins to move in slow motion, his body feeling disconnected from his mind—heart jumping and beating unevenly in his chest. His hands begin to tremble as his throat tightens and constricts.

He rushes toward the bathroom, ignoring as you call for him in concern as he slams the door behind him, doubling over the sink before his legs give out and he falls to the floor—knocking something over.

“Harvey!” you call from outside the bathroom with a panicked tone.

You knock a few times in rapid succession while he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to count backwards from ten—desperate to breathe.

You finally open the door and your eyes widen in fear at the sight of him doubled over, a hand clutching his chest as he takes in wheezing breaths.

You drop to your knees in front of him, taking his face firmly between your hands as your eyes flit between his—wide and frightened. “What do I—oh God, should—do I need to call an ambulance? Are—are you having a heart attack?!”

He swiftly takes one of your hands in his, squeezing hard. “Panic—”

You shake your head, desperate to understand. “Are—a panic attack?”

He nods repeatedly.

You seat yourself next to him. “What do I do? Are you supposed to take something for it? Is it in your pocket? I don’t—”

He suddenly wraps his arms around you then, pulling you toward him, burying his face between your breasts, closing his eyes as he begins trying to count again while he breathes in your comforting scent.

You suddenly quiet, reaching up and wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders while you run the fingers of your other shaking hand through his hair.

You have half-a-mind to start singing him a nursery rhyme, having no idea what else to do—desperate to help—but eventually decide against it.

Finally, his breathing steadies, his body loosens, and he’s left feeling utterly drained as his heart returns to a normal rhythm at last.

He doesn’t let go of you, however.

“You’re leaving,” he mumbles, cheek resting against the plane between your soft breasts while he listens to your heart for comfort.

You caress his head in your hands. “In a month, yes.”

He tightens his arms around your body. As if holding you now will prevent you from leaving again later.

“Why come back in the first place just to leave again? And so soon? Especially if you have…him there waiting for you?”

“Did you know it’s essentially night in Alaska for two months? Every year?”

He shrugs. “I think I heard that once.”

He closes his eyes.

“The only thing that got me through that darkness last time was Charlie. I think I would’ve had an easier time about it if—” You stop.

“If you hadn’t been running from what happened to you here,” he finishes.

You swallow, nodding. “He’s working on an off-shore oil rig right now. I just…the thought of going through those two months all alone—sixty days—I couldn’t. So we talked about it. I know New York is a long ways away. But I came here for two reasons. One, it’s familiar. So there was comfort there. Two, to face my fears. Which was—is—simultaneously uncomfortable, but…it’s something I needed to do for myself.”

“So what are you going to do when you go back and in another ten months it gets dark again?”

“Once I get back, we get married, and then we’re moving out west. To Wyoming. And then we’ll start our new life together.”

He feels his heart stutter again.

“I thought—” He stops, opening his eyes again, ignoring the tears that cause them to sting. “I thought you’d come back for good.”

He pulls back, looking at you. “I guess that’s why you didn’t try to reach out to me. That, and the fact that I only serve as a reminder.”

You shake your head, taking his face between your hands. “You’re not.”

“Then explain it to me. Because had I not walked into that bookstore I never would’ve known. Would I?”

You release him then, settling your hands in your lap, crossing your legs. “You’d made it clear that last night that we were done. So I moved on. I saw no reason to try and get back in touch with you.”

He leans back against the tub.

“Did you not—” He stops, sighing, not wanting to make it about himself. “Somewhere along the way, you didn’t wonder what you suddenly up and disappearing would’ve left me to think?”

He looks at you then, watching as you stare down at your hands, fidgeting with your engagement ring that he’d failed to bother with noticing before.

Entitled.

That’s what he was for thinking you couldn’t have possibly moved on. For thinking that you still belonged, somehow, to him within your heart.

You shrug. “Honestly? I figured you would’ve gotten past it fairly quickly. Even at that, that you’d have my position filled before the end of the week.”

He turns toward you, resting an arm on the edge of the tub, shaking his head. “That’s how little you thought you meant to me?”

Your eyes meet his then. “Isn’t that what you said?”

He shuts his mouth, his eyes filling with sadness for you. For the destruction he wrought.

How many times has he claimed that he doesn’t get attached, when he knows otherwise? But it’s only when the other person dares ask for more that he finally lashes out. As if he’s not guilty of wanting it, too.

He’s just too much of a coward to allow himself to have it.

And now? Now it has lost him everything.

Again.

He slumps back.

“I don’t…remember you having panic attacks before,” you say quietly.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “They started after you left.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh.”

He crosses his arms. “They got pretty bad. I was having them every day. Sometimes multiple times just in one. The day I collapsed in front of a client was the day I knew I had to finally get help. That they weren’t going away on their own.”

He could still remember it.

He’d been in a conference room, meeting with them, and a girl had walked past—from the back she had resembled you so closely—so he’d froze as he stared, mouth still hanging open from being mid-sentence. From her hair, to the way she was dressed—she’d even had the right build. And then she’d turned around to speak to someone and he’d seen her face.

And his body had gone cold all over, and then his knees gave out.

“I’m…I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not your fault.”

He smirks, wryly. “My therapist tells me I have abandonment issues, apparently.”

Your face crumples. “I didn’t intend for my leaving to… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry, Harvey.”

“You don’t need to keep apologizing,” he says, settling one of his hands over yours.

“I’ll stop as soon as you do,” you say with a small smile.

He doesn’t return your humor.

You sigh then. “Would you still like to have dinner?”

His eyes flit to the doorway. “If I’m being honest, I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

He twines his fingers between yours.

You clear your throat awkwardly. “I could send you home with some tupperware?”

His head jerks back to you. “You want me to leave?”

Your brows furrow and you begin shaking your head. “No, of course not. I just meant when you are ready to go.”

There’s a beat of silence before he finally stands.

He offers you his hand. “I should at least try it, since you went through all the trouble to cook for me.”

The two of you remained fairly silent through dinner.

Harvey had eaten slowly, but he’d cleaned his plate, which had pleased you to see.

You’d told him about how beautiful Alaska is, and about some of the odd jobs you did there—waitressing, assisting at a small library, cleaning at a local rec center. And he’d told you about some of his recent cases.

It became quickly apparent that the two of you weren’t sure how to talk anymore. Not unless it was about the elephant—rather, elephants—in the room.

Harvey was chomping at the bit to discuss Charlie, but the thought of willingly asking about him—the man who had taken you from him…he’d refused.

So, he’d instead stared at you every chance he got—trying his utmost not to make it glaringly obvious, but being near you again made it near-impossible not to.

He smiled softly as you gushed about the serene nature of Alaska—the mountains, snow, and rivers, the animals and lakes. The small-town people, and how much you enjoyed the jobs you did and the small house you’d rented.

And then you’d brought up group therapy. And how much it had meant to you—helped you. How Charlie had been the one to encourage you to try it. And you were beyond thankful that he had.

Harvey had smiled and told you that he was happy for you—about all of it. But it only served as further proof of the things that still meant the most to you—not being material ones, that is.

He’d been so ignorant to think that money was ever going to be the thing which would make and keep you happy.

Even if that fact had only served to make him fall even harder for you as time went on. But it’d also made being with you all the more difficult—at times, at least. At other instances, it made it as easy as breathing.

In any other relationship, pleasing a woman was a simple task to accomplish by gifting her a box from Tiffany or a shopping bag from Saks—dinner and drinks at a high-end restaurant.

But every time he presented you with a bracelet of sterling silver, or a Swiss watch, or a new dress from Dolce and Gabbana, you’d give him a smile and a polite ‘thank you’, but the look in your eyes always said the same thing: What do I do with this? It’s not what I’m here for—you are; I want you. Can’t you see it yet?

You didn’t want a brand new diamond necklace. You preferred an antique locket—preferably with the photos still inside—from a flea market. You didn’t want skimpy lingerie that cost a few hundred dollars—a warm sweater from Target was enough to please you. You didn’t want thousand dollar dinners at bougie restaurants. You preferred Chinese takeout and a movie playing in the background as you curled into his side on the couch. You didn’t care about being driven around town in sports cars. You enjoyed walks in the park, with your arm wrapped around his, while you sprinkled seed for the birds and watched families playing with their children.

“Did you keep any of it?” He finally asks.

He wouldn’t blame you if you had set it all ablaze with a bottle of lighter fluid instead.

“Hm?”

“All the gifts I bought you.”

You set your fork down, settling your hands in your lap, looking down nervously.

Your body language alone serves as his answer.

“I donated it, actually.”

He doesn’t hate you for it. He’s not even surprised by it. You having a charitable heart wasn’t a new development.

He’d tried taking you shopping once uptown, and after showing you a three-thousand dollar dress he’d wished to see you try on, along with a pair of Jimmy Choos, you’d looked at the price tags and then at him—your smile quickly fading.

You’d merely asked him, as you placed it all back, for him to use that money to make a difference instead. So, the next morning, he’d called you into his office and made you watch as he wrote a check for the same amount to a local homeless shelter.

His heart had melted as he watched you fight back tears at the gesture.

He’d done it for you. Just to make you happy.

He hates the look of guilt on your face at your answer. So he decides to lighten the mood. “Even the lingerie?”

You grin and he breathes a sigh of relief.

“I did keep one thing.”

He raises a brow.

You stand, padding over to your record player and you retrieve an album and return to the table.

He smiles, nodding as he looks it over. His first gift to you.

“The thing you kept was the one thing I didn’t buy.”

He hands it back to you, but his grip stays strong as you go to grab it.

Your eyes meet his.

“Do you remember the night I gave it to you?”

You nod.

He stands, releasing it, and you quickly hug it to your chest.

“Do you want to do it again?” He asks, one hand sliding into his pocket, the other cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing against the apple of it.

You take a small step back, shaking your head—knowing that one thing had led to another that evening, and that you’ll never go down that road again.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

A beat of silence, and then he asks the question that's been gnawing at him all through dinner. "Does he know about us? What we had? Does he know I'm here right now?"

You nod, heading toward the kitchen. "We have no secrets between us. Honesty is something we both cherish and something we both agreed upon early-on. That we would tell each other everything. No matter how uncomfortable it may be. Being able to bare our souls to one another... We don't see a reason in being together if we can't."

He wonders what kind of man would allow you to be alone with someone like him after all he's done. All the pain he's caused. But even more than that: after the sort of relationship that'd carried on between the two of you before.

A better one, perhaps. One that doesn't make you promise that you belong only to him while he refuses to give you the same in return.

A man that trusts you wholly.

Harvey leans back against the counter to the right of you, watching as you finish with loading the dishwasher, wiping down the sink.

His heart pounds rapidly in his chest—so hard it hurts, his mouth dry, and stomach twisting with anxiety.

He shouldn’t say it. Shouldn’t even be thinking it.

There’s a lot he shouldn’t have.

He should be a better man than this, but he’d made a promise to himself, and he was nothing if not a man of his word.

“I want you to leave him and come back to me.”

Your spine stiffens.

Meanwhile, he ignores it and goes full-steam head.

“Marry me. We’ll go to the courthouse first thing in the morning—as soon as they open—and become husband and wife. I’ll buy you any diamond ring you like. I’ll throw you as big a wedding as you like. I’ll get you a brand new car—fresh off the lot. I’ll buy you any house you want—fully furnished—in any neighborhood you want. And if you want your job back at the firm, I’ll make it happen. With a raise. Better benefits. Whatever you wish. Just tell me, and I’ll do it. You won’t have to worry about another thing ever again if you just say yes. I’ll take care of you.”

He grows silent then, his underarms sweating, his body practically vibrating from nerves.

And then you reply quietly, and simply. “No.”

He refuses to accept that as your final answer.

“I know this seems sudden. But I made a promise to myself that if you ever came back I would fight like hell to keep you. To fix what I’d broken. I wouldn’t just let you go again without giving it everything I could to win you back.”

He steps over to you then, turning you around, cupping one side of your face in his hand while the other slides around your waist to hold you close. “I lost you once. I don’t intend to do it again. Next time…next time it might just finally kill me. I can’t live without you. I know that now. I learned from my mistakes. Just—come back to me. Please.”

“Charlie is my home,” you say quietly, tears shimmering in your eyes.

His own flit between yours. “Is he willing to give you everything I just offered? Can he give you the kind of life that I can?”

You press your hands to his chest, but he refuses to loosen his hold.

“He’s not buying me a house, Harvey. He’s going to build us one—our dream home. He isn’t purchasing me some flashy diamond ring. He’s giving me his mother’s. And he’s not trying to bribe me back into a relationship with the offer of an empty, unfulfilling job. He’s going to provide me a life where I can stay home and care for our children while he takes care of the rest. And his proposal wasn’t an attempt at rectifying some mistake of previously taking me for granted. He proposed because he knew early-on that he couldn’t imagine going back to living a life without me in it.”

He swallows thickly, his throat bobbing.

“After all this time you still don’t see me. Don’t understand me.”

He shakes his head, his eyes searching your own, wanting elaboration.

“You still think that money will solve all of your problems when that was never what I cared about. Harvey, you had me. I gave you my heart, but you threw it away, because all you wanted me for was my body. It took me driving over four thousand miles away to see things clearly. But I finally did. You treated me like some…some call girl—some prostitute—instead of with respect. You made me feel disposable. But I put up with it because I thought if I held on tight enough, and for long enough, you’d eventually love me back. Even now you’re willing to ruin another man’s life, so long as it gets you what you want. It has nothing to do with me.”

“That is bullshit,” he spits. “It has everything to do with you and you know it. You really think I’d ever make these kinds of offers to another woman? You’re what I want. Baby,” he leans in closer to you. “I’m sorry, alright?”

Tears fill his eyes. “I’m sorry for what I did. That I broke your heart. That I destroyed your life. But mine was left in shambles, too, the day you left. I can’t take losing you twice.”

You shake your head. “You don’t get to try and guilt-trip me into a marriage with someone I don’t want to be with anymore.”

He flinches.

“The truth is that you and I would’ve never worked out in the long run. We want different things. We’re too different. Charlie doesn’t buy what other men make. He does it himself with his own two hands. He’s not materialistic. He’s sentimental like me—he finds joy in the little things and the quiet moments. And he’s not ashamed to let other people in—to be vulnerable. If he had been…”

You sniffle. “I don’t know if I’d even be alive right now if it weren’t for him. He came into my life when I desperately needed someone and I fell for him instantly, despite being terrified. Of everything. He saw me. And I tried to pull away. I can’t tell you how many times I did. But he knew why. And he refused to go. He held on tight with everything he had because he knew from the first day he set eyes on me that…that I was what he wanted. Who. That we’re meant to be together.”

Harvey’s chin wobbles as he rapidly grasps for something—anything—to say to still turn this around.

He stares down at you. “Tell me you don’t feel anything for me, then. That you don’t still love me.”

You grow quiet for a moment, a tear slipping down your cheek, which he gently brushes away with the pad of his thumb.

“A part of me may always love you, Harvey. But I’m not in love with you. Not anymore.”

His brows furrow. “What’s the goddamn difference?”

“Loving you means hoping that you find what I have. Being in love with you, means hoping it’s with me. And I don’t.”

He lets out a small sob, his heart breaking in two.

“Charlie is my home” you repeat. “I don’t…expect you to understand what that feels like—”

“I know exactly what it feels like,” he says, cutting you short. “Now imagine losing that suddenly and without warning. What kind of hell do you think that would put you through?”

“I didn’t make that decision. You chose to let go. I offered you my love on a silver platter and you threw it back in my face. But in the end I’m glad you did. Even after what happened to me… I never believed before that everything happens for a reason like so many say. I just saw life as a series of random choices we’re all forced to make every day. There’s no rhyme or reason to any of it. It’s just the way things are. But when I met him that changed. We were meant to find each other.”

Finally he says the only thing he has left to try and pull you back.

“But I love you.”

Your lip trembles. “I love him. With everything I have. My heart, my mind, my body, my soul. I gave him everything I can because I want him to have it. Because I trust him to hold those things in the palms of his hands. Because with him, they all have value. With him I feel like I do. I never felt that with you. With you I just…settled.”

The two of you stand there, staring at one another, him wracking his mind with something else to offer.

“I’ll move to Wyoming and open my own firm, then.”

You glance away, shaking your head.

“I’ll…I’ll build you a house. I’ll figure out how. And you can be a housewife if that’s really what you want—”

You pull away from him. “Stop.”

“I can’t. I let go once and it destroyed both of us. I won’t let it happen again.”

“Your wants are not the only things that matter.”

He grows angry. But not with you. Himself.

He knows it’s over and done. Has been since that last night.

He hurt you. In such an unimaginable way. He wants you to repay it.

“You really think some rough neck that works on an oil rig is a better man than me?”

Your eyes fill with loathing then. You he can talk about. Charlie? No. That you won’t allow.

“So he has rough hands. As if that means anything—”

“It means everything to me.”

“He won’t be enough for you. You’ll get bored with playing Little House. And when you do—”

“Stop.”

“When you do—”

“I said stop it, Harvey. I know what you’re doing.”

He shuts his mouth.

Your anger quickly melts away into heartbreak. For him.

“We can’t do this to each other again. We can’t let our last words to each other be in anger. Twice. Haven’t you learned yet? Don’t you get tired of it? Punishing yourself?”

He looks away, crossing his arms, finally breaking as he begins to cry. “I fucking destroyed your life.”

His shoulders begin to shake as he sobs.

You come toward him, wrapping your arms around him as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, pulling you into him.

“I’m so goddamn sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

You choke back a sob. “Shh. It’s not your fault. I forgive you. You don’t have to feel guilty.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to live without you.”

“I know.”

“Please come back to me, I’ll do anything you say. I can fix it.”

The lump in your throat grows so large that you can’t form words over it, so you instead begin to cry with him.

Once you’ve both begun to quiet and calm, you break the silence. “You won’t feel like this forever, Harvey. I promise.”

You pull back just enough to take his face between your hands. “I thought I’d never make it out of that dark tunnel that swallowed me whole. But one day I found a glimmer of light at the end and I fought with everything I had to hold onto it. The pain of what happened to me will always be with me, but one day it was just…easier to bear. Especially when I found someone willing—wanting—to help me carry it.”

You press a kiss to his forehead. “One day you will find her: the woman you’re meant to be with. You just have to give yourself permission to be happy. Give her permission to make you as much. And you cherish what you build together.”

“What if I already did?” He asks, tears slipping down his cheeks.

You smile. “Sweetheart, we would’ve eventually made each other miserable. Because one of us would’ve had to settle so the other could get the life they wanted. I hate the city and you would’ve hated the country. I hate the idea of dedicating my life to a career, while yours is your life. You like flashy, expensive things, while I prefer second-hand finds that I can give another life to. You may’ve loved me, but you would’ve hated the life we had and vice-versa.”

He pulls you close to him again, cupping the back of your head. “I love you so much.”

More tears begin to slip down your cheeks. Nothing you say is going to—

“And it’s because I love you that I know I have to let you go. For your sake this time instead of mine.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “You feel like home to me. But that’s the thing about home—is that it’s just that: a feeling. And in time…maybe I can find it again.”

You nod, smiling. “I think I might know a good place to start when you’re ready.”

You lean back, gently running your fingertips through the short, soft hairs just above his ear. “She knows everything about you. And she’s been waiting all this time. Get Donna back as your secretary. Tell her how much she means to you, and go from there. Don’t let her slip through your fingers again, or you’ll never forgive yourself. She’s the one, Harvey. I know it. Just like he is for me. You don’t even have to go looking, because she’s already right there in front of you. It’s not too late.”

His eyes study yours for just a moment, and then he nods.

“Thank you,” he starts. “For giving me a chance to do it right this time.”

“I think it’s part of why I came back. I just didn’t realize it until now. Being able to say goodbye the right way. Not with anger or heated words. I think this closure is something we both needed.”

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours, and you let him.

He kisses you.

And you kiss him back.

And then he whispers goodbye.

As do you.

And then he leaves.

And it’s with peace in his heart, which beats steadily in his chest.

#fic: suits (harvey specter x reader)#harvey specter x y/n #harvey specter x you #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter imagine #suits x reader

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deezneezz · 1 month

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Leona & ADD

I got a few ppl (on twitter) wanting me to elaborate on Leona and ADD, so I figured I will share my thoughts here as well, please be nice it's just a personal hc. You don't have to agree at all!! Since it contains some personal experiences I ask of people to please be kind about it!

Anyway, Leona and ADD.

I think a lot of people usually agree on Floyd and Kalim having ADHD, but Leona actually shows a lot of lesser talked about traits of ADHD. Namely Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD), sensitivity to clothing/textures (he doesn't like restrictive clothes).

He also has the more commonly talked about traits of course, executive dysfunction being a big one. And his depression definitely exacerbates these traits, when i was undiagnosed and depressed i used to sleep my entire days away. I wasn't getting anything done anyway.

Not to mention not sleeping properly, so I was desperate to find moments to sleep during the day. I've slept on floors, on toilets, in an abandoned corner in uni instead of going to class. I was just *so* tired all the time I didn't want to sit in class, I wanted to sleep.

I was lucky I passed classes without studying, cause i would've never gotten through uni otherwise. I still took longer than necessary. The moment my support system (Ruggie, anyone?) graduated and left I had no one taking care of my basic needs, and I certainly didn't.

I had a dorm mate who cooked for me, made sure I had even an ounce of self-care, and also looked at my room and said "hmm, Deniz, maybe it's time to clean up a little" and then I very reluctantly admitted that it may have gotten a little out of hand.

She would just sit in my room sometimes chilling around while I cleaned cuz that was one of the few ways I cleaned at all (this is a real thing for ADHD, called body doubling. It works). Ruggie arriving at NRC and Leona suddenly performing tons better in school is no coincidence.

Coming back to RSD.. I mean I don't really have to explain it do I.. book 2, Lilia's scathing remarks, the shame of disappointing his dorm, etc. I know a lot of ppl call book 2 an 'overreaction' but like, this is genuinely what it feels like internally when RSD triggers

book 6 too, Jamil's over-protectiveness is clearly (to the audience) smth that's mostly Jamil's own habits and trauma doing. But to Leona it's a rejection/insult to his ability to take care of himself, his skill, etc. This was genuinely smth that set me off too.

"How dare you try to explain to me smth I already know, do you think I'm stupid?" "You're not like me." The unwillingness to admit that someone may be relatable in any way because making any comparison to yourself makes you vulnerable to what you haven't achieved for yourself.

"I would ace these classes too if I wasted my time and life studying as much as they did, but I actually love myself." <- guy who was jealous and did not know he was coping and didn't study cause of executive dysfunction and concentration issues.

Leona clearly knows a lot about the things he genuinely cares about, Ancient spell language, chess, magishift, so its kind of funny to see him so low effort in classes. Though honestly i know the game also says that "Leona already knows all this stuff" so.. who knows really...

Now I'm more chill but I used to legitimately go off the handle a little cuz RSD doesn't really care about whether the shit u feel is proportional to the offence it physically hurts in your chest and you just wanna burn down the world at that exact time and... IS THAT NOT LEONA...

TLDR: give Leona therapy and meds, lol.

#twisted wonderland #twst #leona kingscholar #hc #PLS BE NICE U DONT HAVE TO AGREE AT ALL <3

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littlest-w01f · 13 days

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Protection

Eris Vanserra x Reader

For @erisweekofficial

Eris week 2024 Masterlist

Day 1: Bonds

Summary: Eris Vanserra didn't share much with people, but the attachment he shares with you, someone who was meant to be nothing but one of his father's human slaves, is too different.

Cw: Mentions of slavery/sex slavery, Eris is touchy with his human

The new day had started quicker than you wanted, but humans were never treated well in the Autumn Court, so you stood in the kitchen, cleaning dishes and placing them in their spot by hand when the Fae could've easily used magic. But you didn't bother ranting about it to anyone, you didn't have a choice, but thankfully, none of the Vanserras had chosen you to be 'theirs', those poor humans who were chosen, lived far worse lives than you. So you quietly scrubbed away at the plates.

Eris walked into the kitchen early in the morning, his red hair wet from the bath, spotting you immediately. His eyes trailed over you, taking in your form. His expression darkened, he had always wanted to keep you as his, he felt a serge of protectiveness over you that he didn't feel for any other, even if he didn't let it show. "And why, may I ask, are you up so early?"

You paused your scrubbing, the last two weeks had been a lot on you, with the party that happened, the comments some faeries made at you and your fellow humans, and even if you knew Eris was jesting, you couldn't hold the madness that bubbled in you, you had had enough of faeries, and Eris' cheeky grin was pissing you off. "Because you sick freaks burned the maid who would've been up cause she spilt a little wine." You almost growl, remembering how one of Eris' brothers had burned her using his power.

Eris looked precisely like that brother, the middle one, the poor maid had spilt a single drop and he had charred her in front of everyone, "And don't even get me started on all the hollering you do, absolutely horrid." You set a plate down harshly before grabbing another, after every such party, you needed a few days before you could be out otherwise you always knew you would say something that would get you killed, "We're just playthings, right? Fuckers."

Eris's brows furrowed at your outburst, clearly taken aback by your sudden display of anger. He stepped closer, his amber eyes narrowing slightly as he studied your face. "Playthings?" he repeated, his voice low and measured. "Is that really how you see yourself here?"

"Playthings, toys, pets, slaves, entertainment, servants... call it anything you want, but the job description is the same." He stepped closer to you, taunting, watching as your spine straightened and you stiffened at his approach. "And I suggest you keep a better leash on your tongue, you're addressing a son of the High Lord of Autumn."

As if on instinct, you grabbed a knife from the sink, holding it to his chest. "Stay back." The knife trembled in your hand, but you still held it.

Eris's eyes widened briefly at the sight of the knife pressed against his chest, but then narrowed again as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Well now," he drawled, not seeming particularly concerned about the blade. "Aren't you my feisty little thing?"

He took another step forward until the tip of the knife was practically touching his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. "Go ahead then, human rebel." he purred, his voice dripping with mockery. "Stab me. See what happens because you're either brave or extremely stupid."

His eyes glittered with challenge and amusement as if daring you to actually follow through on your threat. It was clear he didn't believe for a second that you would truly hurt him.

"I haven't slept in two week cause I've been waiting literally 200 year old children hand and foot, you do not wish to test me." You scoff, turning back to your work.

The fact that this simple human was standing up to him, in his own home, it set his blood aflame, even if admittedly it was rather fascinating that the flames were burning something like lust rather than anger. "Two hundred years old children who could reduce you to ash in the snap of their fingers," He reminded you, his gaze following the movement of your hands as you worked.

"Yes, you still need branded slaves to bring you food, massage your feet, be your entertainment." You rolled your eyes, and you talk to yourself but he can clearly hear, "Oh, human press my legs, massage my back, what are you staring at? Why aren't you working? Do I need to shove my cock down your throat since you think you're on some break?"

His smug smile only grew wider at your words, though there was a hint of curiosity lacing his tone. "It seems my brother's actions have left quite the lasting impression on you," he said softly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"I assure you, most of us aren't quite so barbaric," he added, leaning back against the kitchen slab casually, seemingly unfazed by your proximity and the blade you had once held dangerously close to him. "Though it's certainly amusing seeing you stand up to me."

"I'm just tired..." A sudden tear lined your eye, but you refused to let him look at you.

Seeing the lone tear track its way down your cheek, Eris frowned, momentarily losing the playful edge in his demeanour. "Tired of what exactly?" he asked quietly, tilting his head to the side as he regarded you with newfound interest.

There was genuine concern laced within his voice, despite his earlier taunts. He pushed himself away from the counter, stepping closer to you again, this time without any sign of mockery or aggression. "Talk to me, as a distraction if anything, what do you dream of? What does freedom look like to you?"

"I don't even remember..." You whispered, you knew you could talk to Eris, with how many times you had threatened him and were still alive to do it again.

Seeing your defeated posture and the raw emotion in your voice, Eris's expression softened considerably. He reached out slowly, hesitantly, as if worried you might lash out again, but placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Everyone has dreams, even those bound by duty and servitude," he murmured softly.

"I think you know that better than anyone," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Even the strongest among us crave something more than the life we lead. But dreams can be forgotten, buried beneath layers of despair and hopelessness." He squeezed your shoulder gently, offering comfort in his own way. "But I won't let you forget, not anymore. Tell me, what is it that you desire?"

"To rest..." You slump slightly against Eris, "Or something..."

As you slumped against him, Eris wrapped an arm around your shoulders, supporting your weight as he guided you towards one of the chairs at the main table. "Rest then," he said gently, easing you down onto the seat. "Take all the time you need."

He crouched down in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees as he gazed up at you with an intensity that made your breath catch. "As for something else," he murmured, his voice low and enticing, "Perhaps we could explore that together. I've grown quite fond of our little exchanges, haven't you? You threaten me, I laugh at your audacity, repeat."

Seeing your exhausted state, Eris decided to take matters into his own hands, or rather, use his magic to help you find some much-needed relief. With a swift motion, he traced a delicate pattern in the air, the dishes cleaned themselves up, and stacked properly.

His fingers traced idle patterns on your knee, sending tingles up your spine. "I've watched you, you know. Seen the fire in your eyes, the strength in your spirit. It intrigues me, draws me in like a moth to flame."

"You shouldn't say such things, my Lord." You gasped as his hands were behind to massage your calves from where he was kneeling, such a submissive posture, to kneel in front of someone, like he was with you, one your body too had perfected over the years.

"Eris, please," He corrected, his touch firm yet gentle as he kneaded the tense muscles of your calves. "And why not? I find myself increasingly drawn to your company, regardless of the circumstances."

His thumbs dug deeper, pressing into the knots of tension, seeking to alleviate some of the stress that seemed etched into every line of your body. "And besides," he added with a sly grin, "I enjoy making you squirm. It's quite… entertaining."

He moved upwards, his hands now caressing the backs of your thighs, applying just enough pressure to make you arch off the chair. "Let me take care of you," he offered, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down your spine.

"Take care of me how?" you ask, hesitation in your voice.

Eris's fingers trailed higher, grazing the sensitive flesh just beneath the hem of your skirt. "In whatever ways you allow me to," he replied, his voice husky with promise. "A massage, perhaps, to soothe these weary muscles of yours."

His hands slid further up, teasing the smooth skin of your inner thighs as he leaned in closer, his warm breath ghosting across your ear. "Or maybe a soothing bath, scented with lavender and chamomile, to wash away the fatigue of the past fortnight."

He nipped playfully at your earlobe before pulling back to gaze at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Of course, if you prefer something a bit more… intimate, I wouldn't object to exploring those desires as well, to give you pleasures humans only dream of achieving."

One hand crept under the hem of your skirt, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of your thigh. "All you have to do is say yes," he murmured, his lips hovering just inches from yours. "Give yourself over to me, and I will worship every inch of your body until you're drowning in ecstasy." His other hand cupped your face, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "What do you say, my little rebel? Will you let me take care of you? Make you mine so no one else can order you about?"

His words hung heavy in the air between you, tempting and tantalizing. There was a pull, a magnetic force that drew you in and made you consider his offer in earnest. The thought of being taken care of, truly cared for, instead of simply ordered around.

Your heart races, pounding loudly in your ears. This was madness, insanity even. You knew you shouldn't trust a faerie, but Eris had every reason to kill you, yet he actually enjoyed your company and damn if it didn't sound appealing, incredibly appealing. You swallow hard, your throat dry.

"Are you going to brand me?" You ask hesitantly, you had seen a few 'private' slaves the brothers kept, some had multiple, but you had never really seen one with Eris or Lucien.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Eris's lips, clearly amused by your question. "Brand you?" He echoed, feigning surprise. "Why would I want to do that? Unless, of course," He added, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur, "you wish to bear my mark, a symbol of ownership and affection."

His eyes glided from your thigh, trailing upward along the curve of your waist, coming to stare just below your breasts, then your shoulders. "Perhaps," He mused aloud, "A small emblem somewhere discreet, a reminder of who you belong to when I'm not near." His thumb brushed over the swell of your breast, teasing the fabric of your dress. "Would you like that, my fiery little rebel? To wear my insignia proudly, proclaiming to the world that you're mine?"

"Please, no." You shake your head, "I really would not..."

Eris chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that sent pleasant shivers down your spine. "No branding then," he agreed, his hand sliding down to rest possessively on your hip, the other playing with your neck, tracing circles. "Though, a collar might do, hmm? You're mine after all. You need to have something that tells others to fuck off."

With a sudden, fluid movement, he stood up, towering over you. His hands found their way to your shoulders, massaging firmly as he leaned down, his breath hot against your neck. His hands began to work their magic once more, tracing lazy circles along your collarbone before slipping down to tease the neckline of your dress. "Mine," he repeated, savouring the word as if it were a fine wine. "That's all I want to hear, my sweet rebel. That you're mine, and only mine. I've wanted you since the day father bought you. I should've claimed you sooner."

The sensation of his hands on your skin, the heat radiating from his body, it was intoxicating. The way he spoke, the way he looked at you, it was all meant to ensnare you, and it was working.

"Yours," You breathe out, the word escaping your lips before you can stop it. It feels right, natural, like a secret you've been holding onto for far too long. Your eyes flutter closed, savoring the feeling of his hands on your body, the warmth of his presence enveloping you.

"Say it again," He commands, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. "Tell me who you belong to, my little rebel. Who owns this body, this soul?"

His hands slide lower, gripping your hips possessively as he pulls you flush against him. You can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, evidence of his desire, his hunger for you. It's intoxicating, knowing that you have such power over him, that you can reduce this powerful man to nothing more than a slave to his own lust.

"I belong to you." You whisper again, a faint smile on your lips, watching how his eyes darkened further. "And I would like to sleep."

Eris laughed softly, "Well then, your first order is to get some fulfilling sleep, and you can't rebel against me, no matter how much your firey heart desires to." His fingers traced your jaw, "Can you do that for me, sweetheart?"

"Yeah..." You nod gently before Eris winnowed you to his room, leaving you there to follow through with his command and drop on the bed.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo}

{Eris Taglist- @fxckmiup @slut4acotar @secret-third-thing @shadowsingers-mate @fieldofdaisiies @st4r-girl-official}

#erisweek2024 #acotar #acotar series #acomaf #acosf #acowar #eris acotar #eris fanfic #eris vanserra fluff #eris vandaddy #pro eris vanserra #eris vanserra #autumn court #high lord eris #eris x reader

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navybrat817 · 8 months

Note

I saw an Instagram reel - https://www.instagram.com/reel/C2H-mV3y2ng/?igsh=dHNlYWl2N3RpbWdz - that immediately made me think of Stud and Smartie! They’re one of my favorite pairings that you write about and I can never get enough of their story, they are perfect for each other! 🥰❤️

I hope you have a good weekend, Navy 🥰

I love this, nonnie, and it's very Stud and Smartie coded!

Just Because

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky gets you a card just because.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Fluff, established relationship, inner monologue, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Lovelies, your girl is worn out, but I hope you enjoy this Stud and Smartie ficlet. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You yawned as you let yourself into the apartment, but quickly smiled when Alpine and Soot rushed to see you at the door. They brushed against both of your legs once you got your shoes off and set your keys down, your smile widening when they purred. You half expected Bucky to call out to you or make a joke that the cats were crowding his girl, but all that greeted you was silence.

No music, no television, nothing.

“Honey, I’m home!” You called out, frowning when Bucky didn't answer. “Where is he, huh? Is he taking a nap?” You asked, crouching down so Alpine could rub her head against your hand. Soot patiently waited until she was done for his turn. Like Bucky, he was crazy about his other half. You were convinced that was the case.

Okay, but if he’s actually taking a nap, I’m crawling into bed with him because I deserve all the naps and cuddles and orgasms. I mean, it’s not like I did anything extremely worthy of those things today, but adulting is hard, so I actually really do deserve love and warmth and hot sex.

You ceased the ramblings in your head as you headed toward your room to get into something comfortable that you didn't plan to be in for long. You felt your heart jump when you saw an envelope taped to your door, a smile spreading across your face when you recognized Bucky’s handwriting. It had to be something special or important, otherwise it would've been a post-it note.

But what is it?

You lightly bounced on your feet as you carefully took the envelope from the door. Part of you hoped it was not the first clue to a scavenger hunt. Not that you wouldn't enjoy that, but you wanted to set something like that up for him as a birthday surprise. Or a romantic gesture.

He deserves it.

Happiness bloomed inside you when you opened the card. It was reminiscent of the puzzle he had made for you when he revealed his feelings to you, the different pieces creating a heart. There was even a smaller envelope that held the “missing piece” for you to finish it.

YOU COMPLETE ME.

You thought your heart would burst from how full it was.

Gasping when you felt a warm, familiar chest against your back, you smiled as Bucky pulled you back against him by the hip. “This is beautiful. What’s the occasion?”

It isn't our anniversary. Not my birthday. Already engaged. Wait, was it the first time we made a pizza together? Is it the anniversary from the first time I blew him?

Bucky chuckled as if he read your mind. “I’m glad you like it. And there’s no occasion for it.”

“Okay then,” you said, whining when he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “So, why get me such a nice card then?”

It was a sweet gesture. One he clearly put some thought into since the card looked homemade. You'd have to get it framed.

“I got it for you just because I was thinking of you. I got it just because,” he said against your ear, making you shiver. “Because I love you, Smartie.”

He is the most romantic, perfect man and I will not burst into tears. I won't.

You turned in Bucky’s arms so you could face him, taking care not to drop the card as you put your hands around his neck. Tears sprang to your eyes anyway when he smiled and nuzzled his nose against yours. Love was in the small things and he reminded you of that every day.

“I love you, too, Stud,” you whispered, watching his blue eyes soften at your words. “Thank you.”

He leaned in for a kiss, your heart aching from how tender it was. “I’m glad you liked it. Otherwise, I would've had to make you fall in love with me all over again.”

You giggled as he kissed the tip of your nose. “Bucky, we’re engaged. I’m very much in love with you,” you reminded him.

Always will be.

“Yeah, my ploy worked,” he smirked at you. “I got you to move in with me.”

“You had a cheap room and a nice cat,” you deadpanned. Both things were true, but they were bonuses compared to the amazing package of a man holding you.

“And I made you fall in love with me.”

Cocky, but true.

“It’s because you're adorable,” you said with a tilt of your head.

Yes, my beefy fiance is adorable and easy to love.

“I try to be,” he said, pressing another kiss to your lips. “Don't want some book boyfriend taking my place.”

“A book boyfriend wouldn't get me the best puzzle or cards,” you said, though you did enjoy how he acted the last time he got jealous of you reading a romance novel. “Or take a nap and cuddle with me.”

He trailed kisses over to your ear. “Or give you orgasms.”

How did he know I was thinking that?

“You are welcome to take me to bed then,” you said, still a bit surprised at yourself for not jumping on him over the sweet card. But you stopped him when he reached past you to open your door. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“These ‘just because’ gestures? And every gift you’ve given me? They really mean so much to me,” you said, hoping he understood how much you appreciated them and him.

You still couldn't believe some days that he was real and in love with you.

He swallowed before he spoke in a quiet tone. “You deserve the entire world and I just wish I could give it to you.”

“You already have,” you promised, pulling him against you this time so you could kiss him.

Bucky had given you everything you could ever dream of by loving and believing in you. And you would get him the perfect gift as soon as you could. Something that said you were thinking of him. Something just because.

Because you loved him.

They bring me such comfort. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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throwaway-yandere · 9 months

Text

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting.

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either.

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white.

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?"

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man.

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts.

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species."

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

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