#you need to actually say if you are available as everyone else is waiting for your fucking availability

[palmtreepalmtree]

Why are people so bad at making plans!? WHY?

[ugh-yoongi]

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? ���Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.

[baby-yongbok]

𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚

Fem!Felix x Fem!Reader

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: Smut 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 3.5k 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Your best friend is curious about a certain taste so you offer some help like a good friend would. 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Oral sex, Rule 63 - Felix is depicted as afab in this fic, 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆(𝒔): Felix is referred to as Lix & Lixie + No use of Y/n + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: Cherry by Lana Del Rey, This is what makes us girls by Lana Del Rey, Cola by Lana Del Rey

♡ Masterlist ♡

 "What do you think it tastes like?" You peer up from your laptop screen, your curious eyes take in your best friend staring down at her phone screen, her platinum blonde bangs covering her furrowed brows and her glossed bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“What?” She tilts her phone towards you, showing you the filthy video she's been watching on loop for God knows how long. 

“Gosh, Lixie, in my room? Really? Right now?” A chuckle escapes you as you watch the video replay.

“I'm sorry, I know, I was just scrolling and it popped up. You know how unpredictable Twitter can be.” You only half heard what she said, you can see why she stopped to watch this video. Whoever that lucky lady is, is getting her pussy devoured in a way that you can only dream of. 

“But seriously… what do you think?”

“Uh, I actually already know what it tastes like. Well, everyone is different but -”

“Pause.” Your brown eyes shoot up to meet her wide ones. “You've done that before?” 

You can't help the blush creeping up your neck. “Yeah I did, I mean it wasn't planned and it was just -” 

“How did I never know this?” 

“I don't know but you won't find out much more if you don't let me finish.” Lix locks her phone, throwing it to the side and sitting up on her knees so that she faces you with shining eyes. Her plaid skirt rides up her thighs a bit as she gets comfortable on your bed. It’s way too short so that doesn't surprise you. It was her idea to get matching skirts but when the one she wanted was only available a size smaller than what she needed she decided to squeeze into it so that the two of you could match. 

“Start talking.”

“Okay okay uhm, it happened at my old friend's 18th birthday sleepover. It was a classic case of girls just messing around and things going too far. I went down on my friend while everyone else was sleeping, we always had some tension between us and we were both questioning if we were into girls so we just said fuck it and went down on each other.” She stares at you, blinking a couple of times as the information sinks in. “I’ve done it other times since then but that was the very first time.”

“What… does it taste like?” Her Australian accent decorates her words as they slowly fall from her lips, she bites at the inside of her cheek as she waits for your reply.

“Uh, kinda like nothing? Some girls taste kinda bitter and some kinda taste metallic? It depends on where you are hormonally but it generally tastes like licking the back of your hand.” You giggle a bit when her eyes flicker down to her hand. She makes a fist and brings it up to her lips to slowly run her tongue over the skin. You watch her closely, taking in her reaction. She licks again, closing her eyes this time and following with a low hum. 

“Then why do guys say that it tastes sweet?” Her brows are pinched together as her eyes flutter open. “I never understood that.”

“It’s just cause it sounds good I guess? It makes us feel good.” Lix sits back against the headboard to your bed and rests her head on your shoulder. You tuck your curls behind your ear so that she can get comfortable. “Have you never tasted yourself before? You don’t kiss Hyunjin after he goes down on you?”

“I mean, yeah but I just thought it would be a bit different I guess? He always says that I’m sweet so that’s what I expected.”

“I think that they say that when they really like you, ya know? Maybe Hyune likes you a lot.” The scoff that escapes her makes you chuckle, you can already tell that she’s rolling her eyes. 

“He likes everyone, he'd never actually wanna date me and that’s fine cause I’m not interested.” She’s not wrong, Hyunjin is the flirt of your friend group. He only started sleeping with Lix after they shared a drunken kiss and Lix went down on him. Ever since then he’s been trying to sweep her off of her feet but your friend isn’t easy to impress.

“Then why do you fuck him?” You turn to look down at her and she’s already looking up at you with a coy smile. 

“He’s got a big dick.” A loud laugh ripples from her throat as you stare at her with a slack jaw and big eyes. So the rumors are true? “I’m not telling you anything else.”

“Come on, you can not basically tell me that what everyone says about Hyunjin is true and then shut the conversation down!” She kicks her feet as she sinks further down onto the bed.

“I don’t wanna talk about how big Hyunjin’s dick is, I’ll show you a picture later. I wanna talk about how I think I might be into girls.”  She pauses, waiting for my reaction. 

“Oh, you are. You always have been. Everyone knows it, you’re late to your own party.” You slide down to lay next to her, resting your head on her chest. 

“No one was gonna tell me?” She chuckles, playful pushing you off of her. “Some friend you are.” She runs her fingers through your hair mindlessly as she stares up at the ceiling pondering her thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long. I already know what my pussy tastes like. I wanna know what others taste like.”

“Are you interested in anyone? Like, any girls?” A comfortable silence blankets the both of you while she thinks, her eyes trace the blemishes on your ceiling as she picks her next words.

“I don’t know, not really.” You crane your neck to look up at her but she doesn’t look at you.

“No one at all?” You whisper like you’re trying to get her to let you in on a secret. “Do you fantasize about anyone?”

“Yeah, sometimes.” She whispers back. “I’ve imagined eating someone out…it’s always the same girl.”

“Do I know her?” Lix shakes her head and you smile, sitting up a bit to get a better look at her. Her eyes stay trained on the ceiling until you ask her. “Is it me?” Her gaze slowly drifts over to meet yours. She studies your features for just a second before shaking her head, a deep cherry blush washes over her freckled cheeks as you smile down at her.

“You’re always staring at my tits, I knew it.” You tease with a laugh, falling back down against the mattress and Lix scoffs. 

“As if.” She rolls her eyes before falling into a fit of laughter with you “You’re my best friend and you’re a total babe. How could I resist? I was doomed from the start.” She puts the back of her hand against her forehead and sighs dramatically. 

“Lixie likes me, Lixie likes me.” You sing song as you tease her, poking her side and making her laugh as she swats you away. You two giggle and thrash around a bit before you’re still again, laying on your sides facing each other. 

“I’ll get over it.” She sighs, snuggling into her arm folded under her head. “It’s not like I’m in love with you, I just think you’re hot.”

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself?” She shakes her head and you smile “I think about you sometimes.” Her eyes go wide at your confession and you chuckle at her.

“Swear?” You nod, moving closer to her.

“Do you wanna know what girls taste like… or what I taste like?” You’ve been best friends with Lix long enough to recognize that look in her eyes, you know the answer to your question before she even opens her mouth. “You could… taste me if you want.”

“Now is not the time to mess with me! I’m having a crisis here.” You roll your eyes and grab her by her hip.

“I’m not messing with you, I mean it. You wanna know if you like girls and I’m a girl, this is what friends are for.” She smiles at you, shaking her head a bit as she ponders your offer.

“Are you serious?” You smile back.

“So serious.” The two of you stare at each other for a minute or two, allowing your racing heartbeats to fill the quiet that’s surrounded you. Both of you know what you want to do but who’s going to make the first move?

As if you both can to the same conclusion simultaneously you both lean in to each other, gripping the others hips and capturing your lips in a chaste kiss. Lix giggles at the contact, kicking her feet a bit as excitement surges through her. She leans in again, deepening the kiss and you sigh into it. She feels just like you thought she would and she tastes even better. Soft and sweet. 

“This is insane.” She whispers against your lips before kissing you again. “I have no clue how to eat pussy.” You both fall into a fit of laughter, clutching onto the other's waist as you struggle to find words. 

“It’s not hard at all I promise!” You wrap your fingers around her wrist gently and guide her down to your core. “Feel it first, get to know it.”

“Why are you talking about your pussy like it’s a cat?” You hike your skirt up with your other hand, revealing your cotton white panties with an obvious wet spot forming on the gusset.

“Hey, it’s my kitty and it has feelings.” You rest her hand on your pubic bone, giving her control of how far she wants to go. “Be nice to her.”

Lixie’s slowly moves her fingers over your clothed pubic bone, taking in your trimmed pubes that you’ve carefully styled into a perfect triangle. She inches her way down the inside of your thigh, her palm slightly brushes over your clit and you sigh at the feeling. Her careful touches are something that you’re new to, everyone you’ve ever been with has been rough, their touches seemed rushed and eager but not Lix. 

The feeling of her fingers brushing over your vulva brings you back to the present. Her touch is feather light as she runs two fingers over your clothed folds. She trails up and stops right at your clit, pressing a bit against it. “Oh” You kick your head back, allowing your eyes to flutter shut at the feeling. That’s one thing that you’ve always loved about being with girls, they all know where the clit is.

The feeling of the mattress dipping next to you makes you open your eyes, you watch as Lix moves further down to get a better look at where you're gushing for her. Her barely glossed lips are parted slightly as she looks you over with wide eyes. Her breathing is slow and calm despite her heart beating out of her chest with excitement. The cherry blush on her cheeks has only grown deeper now that she’s face to face with your cunt. Before you can even say anything she’s leaning into you, she places a soft but long kiss over pubic bone and your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

“Is that okay?” Her voice is barely above a whisper and her eyes never meet yours.

“Yeah.” You let out a shaky exhale as you watch her kiss a bit lower this time. You spread your legs further and she quickly slots herself between them. Her lips brush over your inner thighs, peppering soft but sloppy kisses over the skin. As she got more comfortable she left sweet kisses over your labia, licking a bit at the wet spot forming to get a hint of your taste on her tongue. You tried to stop your hips from bucking up into her but you couldn’t help it, the closer she got to your clit the more eager you got. 

“Lixie.”  You moaned out her name and gasped as she started to tease your clit with her tongue. Her gaze is trained on  you as she kisses and licks over your panties, her wide eyes sparkle with faux innocence. You lazily grab at the blanket under you, small whimpers and restrained hums escape your throat despite your attempts at being quiet.

It’s the middle of a sunny day in May and your room is in the front of the house and your window is wide open. Your record player is playing some random song by Lana Del Rey and though it’s fitting for the situation you highly doubt that the soft music will drown out your moans. 

She breaks eye contact and pulls away so that she can observe your pussy through your ruined panties. She whimpers at the sight of your pussy under the cloth, cocoa and pink just like she imagined it.

“ ‘S so pretty.” She coos as she pinches the lips between her fingers. You moan at the pressure, rolling your hips a bit. She taps to fingers right where your clit sits under the wet cloth and you hiss, throwing your head back.

“Was that okay?” she asks quickly, pulling back a bit. “Hyunjin always does that, and I wanted to try it.”

You laugh and she follows. “You’re trying tricks on me that your fuck buddy does to you!?” She laughs louder, resting her forehead on your thigh.

“No! Well, yeah I am but I don’t have any other reference!” She continues her ministrations, running her fingers over your clit and halting your laughter immediately. Your whole body tenses in pleasure as you clench around nothing. Your body tingles with excitement as she kisses you over your panties once more. You could cum from just the thought of her doing that and now she’s here, with her mouth on your clit and you can’t help but want to explode right on her tongue.

 “Can we take these off?” she tugs at the hem of your panties and you offer an eager nod before lifting your hips to allow her to pull them off. Lix gasps as she pulls your panties down, her jaw hangs slack as she watches a string of arousal connect you to your soaked panties. She takes in the way that your cunt glistens in the spring sunshine and she swears that it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. “Is this a dream?” She mumbles under her breath but you hear her.

“It might be.” You prop yourself on your elbows, determined to watch her as she tastes you. She throws your panties to the side and spreads your pussy with two fingers. Her lust glazed eyes study you like you’re a work of art. She takes in every mole, every slight glimmer of your arousal and every clench of your tight hole. Her eyes meet yours for a second before she leans in closer. You stare down at her, not daring to break eye contact. She dips her tongue out and slowly licks a stripe up your leaking cunt. A loud moan escapes you when her eyes roll back at the taste of you, a whine leaving her throat when she swallows your essence. 

“Oh my god.” You say in unison, chuckling for just a second before falling back into the moment. She’s eager to taste you again, wasting no time dipping her tongue back out and licking up your folds.

The tip of her tongue teases your clit a bit and you buck up into her. She notes the reaction, leaning in to circle your clit with the tip of her tongue. Her eyes are on yours the entire time, she blinks up at you, drinking in your reactions to her amateur work. “ You look so pretty down there. Holy fuck, Lix.”

She feels more confident with your praise lingering in her head. She sucking your clit between her lips, laving over the sensitive bud and humming in satisfaction when you arch your back off of the mattress with a loud moan. Her small hands press against your inner thighs to keep them open for her as she runs her tongue up and down your folds. She flicks, licks and sucks all of the right spots, fucking you with her tongue once she’s truly comfortable.

You’re a moaning mess, your body trembles with pleasure as she works you towards your climax. Her name tumbles from your lips like a prayer and your fingers grab at the hair at the crown of her head. You’re so close but you don’t want this to end.

“Y-you’re really good at that.” She swirls her tongue over your clit, writing the alphabet with her tongue and you shudder at the dragged out moan she offers in response. You can feel your orgasm creeping up your spine, the familiar warmth starts to wash over you but she pulls away before it can take you completely. You whine in protest but before you can say anything she slides a finger inside you. You cry out, fisting the blanket under you in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

“Oh my god, yes, like that, please, please add another.” Your breathing intensifies when she slips another finger into you, stretching you perfectly.

“I should still eat you out right?” You nod frantically, eyes shut tight as you chase your high. She dives back in immediately, lapping at your clit like an expert as she fucks your clenching hole. Your body shaking with pleasure as your orgasm washes over you, your moans and cries are so loud that you’re positive that anyone passing your house can hear your signs of pleasure but you couldn’t care less. 

“Lix-ah, Lix, Lixie, I’m cumming” She licks up your gushing arousal as you come undone, her free hand keeps you spread open for her as she laps up your juices. A chorus of moans float through the air, some belonging to you and some her. Once you start to settle down she slowly slides her fingers out of you and gives your cunt one last lick before backing away. Her chin is glistening in the sun as she smiles, her swollen lips are coated in your juices and the two fingers that were previously buried in your cunt are now between her lips as she runs her tongue over them. She rests her head on your thigh as she watches you come down from the clouds.

“This is definitely a dream, there’s no way that I made you cum that hard.” She smiles, as she wipes her chin with the back of her hand. “Did I do okay?”

“Was my screaming not enough of a give away?” You both laugh and she crawls back up to lay next to you. “Thoughts?”

“You taste…sweet.” She side eyes you with a smile and you both erupt into a much more intense fit of laughter. “You must like me.” You tease, pushing her playfully. “C’mere”

You lean up in an attempt to catch her lips with yours and she closes the gap, pressing her swollen lips against yours with a hum. “I am sweet.” She chuckles and you push her down onto your mattress.

“It’s your turn now.” 

“You don’t have to -” You cut her off with a kiss.

“I really want to.” She smiles up at you and watches as you crawl down her body. Just when you’re about to flip her skirt up her phone chimes underneath her. She ignores it and turns her attention back to you, lifting her hips to give you access to her pink strawberry print panties. You kiss her outer thigh and start moving inwards but before you can get too far her phone vibrates again. She groans in annoyance before she lifts up and grabs the device, unlocking it aggressively and checking her notifications.

“Oh.” She whispers with wide eyes as she sits up. “Oh no oh god I completely forgot.”

“What?” You ask, crawling back up to look at her screen. “Oh.” 

“I completely forgot that he was picking me up, our plans completely slipped my mind.” She starts typing quickly, trying to come up with a message that would get her out of her plans. Her phone vibrates in her hands seconds after her message is sent and somehow her wide eyes get even wider. “He’s here.”

“What?” Before you could even ask any questions there’s a knock at your window. All of your friends come through your window when it’s open. Why not? It’s in the front of your house and it’s fucking huge. You turn quickly and sure enough Hyunjin is lifting himself up and into your room. 

“Ladies.” He greets with a sigh once he’s in, he takes you both in with furrowed brows. His eyes dart from your skirt around your waist to Lixie’s messy hair then down to your friends flipped up skirt and then they finally stop at your ruined panties discarded at the end of your bed. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing.” You say in unison, not even bothering to fix your appearances. 

“Nothing?” He questions, an eyebrow raised and a sly smirk on his lips as he looks you both over again. 

“Yeah we’re just…” Lix trails off, looking at you for assistance but Hyunjin finishes before you can jump in “Tasting cherries?” He walks over to your bed, sitting at the edge and leaning back against the frame. 

“Mind if I have a taste too?”

a/n : Thanks for reading! I've never written anything like this ever so I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs, Comments and likes are appreciated and always make my day!

[hannieehaee]

maybe some extreme voyeurism with sub!seungkwan or hoshi cuz we can't find a lot of that on here 😭

18+ / mdi

content: sub!kwan, smut, afab reader, teasing, both exhibitionism and voyerism, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 1058

a/n: i literally had no idea how to write voyerism so i tried writing both exhibitionism and voyerism sorry anon</3

masterlist

"c'mon, baby, why are you so shy? i thought this was what you wanted?", you taunted, legs flexing around the poor boy under you.

all that could be heard from him were cries and incoherent noises. if he was saying something, you were unsure as to what. but what was certain was the immense pleasure he was under.

you knew all his tells. his eyes were rolled back and his eyebrows furrowed, his fingers were digging impossibly deep on any skin available to him, occasionally slipping due to the clamminess of his hands, his hips were occasionally driving against yours, unwilling but unable to stop. he was completely gone, only having you in mind.

well, and maybe another thing.

as good as this must've felt for him, this was in actuality, a punishment.

after endless hours of whining at you all day, handsy as he whispered at you to ditch the guys and just head back to the hotel, you'd finally taken him up on his offer (not until making him wait all day long), jumping him in the elevator without warning.

you'd played your cards perfectly right, making sure to bring him upstairs only slightly before the guys headed back to the hotel in tandem. sharing a wall, you knew you had the perfect opportunity to get seungkwan a little more attention than he'd bargained for.

oh, and did you mention you kept the blinds open?

luxury hotels were funny, really. there really was no reason for the entire wall to be a window, yet it was, and it gave the perfect view for anyone else in the surrounding hotels to take a peak at the debauchery going on in your room.

you knew seungkwan to enjoy attention. every room he came into, he always drew everyone's eyes to him, whether it was on purpose or not. and this was something he took great thrill in. i mean, he was an idol after all.

so as much as that was punishment, you knew that deep down, he wanted to be heard. he wanted you to tease him and break him to the point where his pathetic whimpers would get back to his bandmates as they wound down from their day just one wall away. he wanted passerby's to see him getting manhandled by his pretty girlfriend.

but he was playing coy. it was all a game, but you'd break him.

"i asked you a question, angel. unless you want me to stop?", you asked, hips halting their movements.

he made some unintelligible noises again before finally shaking his head, mumbling stammered 'no's while his hips shyly attempted to entice you into moving again.

"no? so why are you being so quiet? how am i supposed to know i'm doing a good job at taking care of my kwannie?" you pouted at him, patronizing the red-faced boy who could barely breathe beneath you.

"it-it's good, i promise. i- i'll be louder, just please ..."

and that was all you needed to pull at all the stops.

squeezing around him, you readied yourself to spend all your available stamina on this boy as you began to bounce on him, immediately drawing whimpers from him.

you leaned down, hips never halting their movements, and ground against him while your hands dug harshly across his chest, leaving marks you knew he'd be teased about next time he walked into a dressing room with the boys.

redness overcame his face at the noises leaving him, a harmony of high-pitched cries accompanied by the endless squeaks of the mattress.

if you could hear the guys as they came into their room earlier, they probably couldn't escape the ruckus you were causing.

you knew all his erogenous zones and knew how to take advantage of them. your lips found his nipples soon enough, drawing high-pitched whines out of him when you bit and sucked at them, uncaring about the harshness with which you did it. he enjoyed it all the better.

there was no possible way for seungkwan to make any sensible sound anymore. it was all a mess of your name and a few curses here and there. none of it made sense, but it was all perfect. those sounds were all you needed to approach your own orgasm.

it didn't take long for the telltale signs of his orgasm to show, specially with his pleas becoming louder and somehow even more nonsensical. he cried out your name, voice breaking in the process as he pushed up against you with as much strength as he could muster.

the deflatedness in him afterwards was laughable, but it mostly instilled a sense of awe in you. that was your pretty boy, one that would soon be teased to hell and back by his friends.

leaning down on him, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, causing him to grunt at the sudden sensation.

you somehow managed to lean all the way over to the nightstand without getting off him, grabbing onto the phone you'd set up there earlier in the day. pressing the red button in the middle, you stopped the recording, giggling at the reaction it'd get out of seungkwan when you let him watch it later.

"think anyone saw us from outside?", you giggled, "bet they thought you looked so pretty."

"stop, you're going to make me hard again and i don't think i have anything left to give," he grumbled as he attempted to sit up, wincing when he felt you move around him.

"you like it. and i think you'll specially like how pretty you look in this video," you teased.

"yes, i do! which is why we should-"

"ya! seungkwan! is y/n even in there? shut the fuck up!"

that might've been vernon, you weren't sure, but it made you cackle nonetheless.

seungkwan's face was priceless as he got interrupted, groaning as he buried his head in your chest.

"fuck, not again."

"baby, i can feel you getting hard again. stop lying to yourself and let me make you cum again."

you partially wanted to push his limits, but another part of you also wanted to ensure your own orgasm. either way, it was a win for you.

he nodded wordlessly against your chest, whimpering when you tightened around him again.

you'd have to send vernon an apology note tomorrow.

[am-i-interrupting]

Affection | Vox x Fem!Reader

Summary: Vox and Valentino get into it. Vox looks for a way to get payback and stumbles upon you. He didn’t expect you to actually care.

Warnings: sex work, a bit of a mommy kink

He was used to the petty yelling, the constant spats, even the object throwing. What crossed the line was when he had to replace his screen.

Vox and Valentino got into a lot of arguments, normally started by the latter instead of the former. This one was bad though. Vox didn’t even want to think about it but it was all that was on his mind.

He was angry.

He was angry because it was easier to be angry rather than something else, something more vulnerable. He didn’t want to and couldn’t afford to be vulnerable right now. He had to hold onto this anger so he didn’t go crawling back to Valentino.

Currently, he was at his desk, looking through documents about ads that were just waiting for Vox’s stamp of approval. He stumbled upon yours and he paused.

He recognized you. Why?

He copied your name into a search bar and looked at your Sinstagram profile. Flipping through the pictures, he found one of you at a bar and that’s when he remembered.

Valentino tried to contract you and you’d basically laughed at him. You’d tossed back a shot and then turned to Valentino, asking if he needed you to pay for it since he was clearly so desperate for new recruits as he was only preying on people too stupidly drunk to realize how bad of an idea it was to say yes. Oh, he remembered Valentino seething that night.

He approved your ad but he couldn’t get you out of his head. He opened the closed tag again as he actually read through your ad.

You were advertising music. Which, when say side by side with your Sinstagram made sense as he saw a picture of you with Verosika Mayday. There wasn’t really anything interesting on the advert.

He scrolled up to the top of your Sinstagram in order to look at them in order from most to least relevant. That is when he caught sight of a link in your bio. He clicked it.

He was brought to a website. He wasn’t sure what he expected but he did raise an eyebrow nonetheless. It was an escort sight. A home page that had you and several other people scantily dressed with a description of what every person and the services you offered.

Maybe he was being more vindictive than he thought because he immediately clicked on the tab that sent him to your page and booked a time with you.

It was far out, months away in fact. He honestly had forgotten about it until he got an email the week before asking if he was still available and inviting him to a pre-session consultation. Not willing to back out and have it potentially mess with his image, he made the time.

He logged into a video call several days later and was greeted with you in the middle of putting on your makeup.

“Well, hello, Mr. Vox,” you said with a soft purr. He replied with a formal greeting of your name. “You’re a busy guy and I’m a busy gal so I’ll keep this quick. This is just a little meeting for boundaries. I know it bothers some people to make them in person so I’ve found this to be an easier way.

“I’ll go first. No hickies, no bruises, no scratches, no cuts, no burns, just no marks. It might be pretty and fun in the moment but it costs me later. Not everyone enjoys having sex with someone who’s clearly had it with someone else not long before. It may be part of my work but people do like an illusion.

“I don’t do bondage where I’m the one tied up. It’s nothing personal, just a safety issue. On the topic of safety, if you bring in anything that could be used as a weapon. I’m done and you’re leaving. All I need from you is that pretty little body of yours and payment. I’ll provide the rest.

“On the topic of payment, I know you’ve already made your upfront payments for this little consultation. The rest can be brought when you come in cash. Any questions so far?”

He surprised himself by saying, “Not so far, no.”

You we’re far more thorough than he thought. He’d bought time before but it was never this professionally done, even by Valentino’s standards. Granted, with Valentino’s sex workers, there was really only one rule, payment upfront. He didn’t give a fuck about anything else.

You though? You had clearly given this a lot of thought on all parts.

“Good, I’m glad,” you said. “Those are my hard rules. Everything else is a little more flexible. So, tell me, what is it you want from tonight?”

“To have a good time.”

“Of course, we all want to have a good time, Vox, but I’m talking specifics. Don’t be naive,” you said. “I have full confidence you know better. Maybe it’d be easier if I told you what I’m best at.”

The lid of your lipstick clicked closed. You looked at the camera, looking at him directly on his screen by proxy, for the first time.

“I can do just about anything your cold, dead heart desires but I enjoy specific things more than others. I’m a bit of a dominatrix, I’d you will. I enjoy the power and control of giving people what they need instead of what they want. How does that sound to you?”

“It sounds to me like a very overlord thing to do,” he replied.

“Not there yet,” you said. “So, is that the role you prefer to play?”

“It’s one I play often.”

“Yes, I’ve gathered that but do you prefer it?”

Vox didn’t know why he didn’t just say yes. He should have. It went with his image to say yes and that’s why he was still agreeing to do this even though he and Valentino weren’t on the worst of terms right now.

He hadn’t crawled back to Valentino yet. It’d been one of their longer spells away from one another. Five months without even falling back into bed once.

Perhaps that’s why he said what he said. He was pent up. He hadn’t had time to unwind and the person he normally would go to for that he was still upset with. That’s the reason he’d go with anyway.

“It’s the role I play most often,” he said.

“But is it the role you like?” you asked. When he didn’t answer you smiled, a more genuine one than any flirty or sarcastic one you’d shot his way before. “Stubborn, I’ll keep that noted.”

“I am not—“

“You’re proving my point. Now,” you stood up and rummaged through a drawer he couldn’t see, “pick a set for me.”

For the next several hours, Vox felt like he couldn’t focus. He was nervous. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been nervous over a one night stand.

He left early, leaving his assistant with double the workload but he didn’t care. He just needed to be out of the building.

He took Vark out on a walk to pass time but it still went by so slowly. It took what felt like days for it to finally be time to leave.

He’d call it considerate that he left without his usual suit jacket, waistcoat, and tie but in reality, he felt so hot, constricted with them on.

He traveled through the cameras and arrived at the address he’d been given, not a single person having seen him.

He knocked on the door and that sense of security was promptly shattered when it opened and he heard someone say, “Holy shit!” in response to seeing him.

He glared at the offending person as he stepped in. He recognized them from being pictured on your website. They quickly spun around and continued doing whatever it was they were in the process of.

He was led to a room which when opened revealed you inside. You were wearing a shear robe that gave him a peak at what was hiding underneath.

“I was promised secrecy,” he said. “Not to be gawked at by the employees.”

“So you don’t want to be gawked at me?” you asked. You smiled at your own joke. “Everyone here is under contracted lock and key to not say a single word about what goes on inside these walls. You’re image will be fine.”

“Contracted?”

“You said I had the makings of an overlord,” you replied. “Why are you suddenly surprised that I have contracts? Don’t worry, I assure you they’re much more ethically sourced than your co-worker’s.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Speaking of,” you said as you took several steps towards him, “why are you here? I’d imagine you could have any of Valentino’s contracted cash free. Why waste it on me? I’m not exactly cheap.”

You held out your hand and he reached into a pocket to retrieve the other part of your payment. You swiftly began counting it.

“You fuck one of Valentino’s pets, you’ve fucked them all,” he said. “They’re all too scared to be any fun after a while.”

“As much as I know that’s a true statement—“ you put the cash in a drawer of the bedside table— “I don’t believe it.”

He felt his eye twitch. “And what exactly would you—“

“Why don’t you take off your shirt and lay on the bed?” You walked towards him and ran your hands up his torso. “Or I could take it off for you.”

You began unbuttoning his shirt and for some reason, it made him drop all his irritation. When you finished, you bent down and licked all the way up his torso. You kissed and nipped at his collar bone.

His hands went to your sides but you spatted them away. The shirt fell to the ground.

You looked up at him, like you were daring him to kiss you. However, when he went to do just that, you stepped away.

“On the bed face down, mister,” you told him.

He huffed. Despite his mind telling him to grab you and pull you in for a kiss, take you and remind you of who exactly you were messing with, his body followed your instructions.

The mattress dipped as you straddled him. Something popped open (he tensed), a bottle clinked as it was set on the table, and then the sound of you rubbing your hands together went through the air.

Your hands, warm against his skin and slick with oil, began to rub up and down his back.

“Why are you here, Vox?” you asked. “I’m not stupid. I keep up with the news. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that the day you made an appointment was the same day you updated your status to single again? It’s still single now so what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he said.

“Uh-huh, and the fact that you visibly tensed as soon as I mentioned Valentino is just a coincidence,” you said. “Everything you say in these walls stays within them.”

“You’re the one who made the contracts,” he said. “You’re not under them.”

“True, but—“

You began to apply pressure with your thumb, grinding your thumb and hand in circles along his back.

“Oh, fuck.”

“—I also made them,” you said, basically repeating his words. “It means I place value in confidentiality.”

“Or covering you’re own— oh, fuck, right there— your own ass.”

“I could be.”

You leaned down and he felt toy trap his entire torso beneath you. He liked the feeling. He liked the feeling of you over him.

You got close to his face, “But I think we both know I’m not.” You moved back and he mourned the feeling as soon as it was gone. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You’re just very obviously tense and not just physically.”

You punctuated your sentence by rolling the palm of your hand at the base of his neck before squeezing it lightly. He couldn’t hold back a moan at the feeling of some tension leaving his body.

You continued on like that in silence for a while. You were working out the knots in his muscles and he was basically putty beneath your hands.

He’d never been treated like this before. He had couldn’t remember the last time he felt loose. There was always some kind of feeling of unease he constantly carried.

He didn’t even know he needed this because he’d never known that he could have it.

You leaned to once again lay over him but this time he could feel the entire weight of your body instead of just your warmth. You wrapped your arms underneath his shoulders and placed a kiss to his neck.

“Are you alright to continue?” you asked him as you nuzzled against his shoulder blade.

“I—“ He tried to search for some witty or snarky remark to make but all he could come up with was, “Yes.”

You cooed at him and slipped your hands out from underneath him to rub his back as you got off him. “Using your words, what a good boy,” you said and he hated, hated how that made him feel so warm inside. “Can you turn around for me? Yes, good.”

He closed his eyes and refused to look at you. You laughed but it didn’t feel mean. That didn’t make him feel any less embarrassed, however.

You did a wider, full handed version of the back massage you’d given him to his front as you began to roll your hips against his. He couldn’t hold back a whine.

“Oh, so pretty,” you said. “Such pretty noises from such a pretty boy.”

“Fuck,” it came out weak and pathetic.

Well, it was fitting then because that’s how he felt, weak and pathetic. Such simply praise shouldn’t be so effective.

“How does that feel?” you asked. “Come on, be a good boy. Tell me. Tell me how to make you feel good, baby.”

You were kissing on his neck and shoulders now.

“Good,” he choked out.

You hummed against his skin.

He could feel his fingers flex. His arms moved. He stopped them. He wanted to touch. He should be able to touch. He should be able to do what he wanted. He was the fucking Vox, overlord and creator of the biggest tech company in Hell. He shouldn’t need permission to do something.

You grabbed his hands and brought them up to the knot of your robe.

“You can touch me, baby,” you told him.

A whine forced its way out of his throat no matter how much he tried to keep it at bay.

He opened his eyes and you were so beautiful, grinding against him like you were made to. He could feel his cock straining against his pants. He wanted them off.

He settled for untying your robe. It fell to reveal the deep blue set he’d chosen for you earlier that day. It was sheer enough to show off your nipples through the cross crossed pattern of the bra. There was a silver chain that draped between the cups and further framed your breasts. Some traps went around your torso as part of the garter belt which held up your similarly colored stockings. You looked gorgeous.

You laughed and guided his hands up to your waist. Then up to your tits.

“I love the way you keeping whining for me,” you said. “You’re like a little pup.” Your eyes honed on his neck and your hand followed your gaze. You pressed on his neck, just enough to add some pressure. “That neck of yours looks like it was made to be collared and leashed.”

“Oh fuck.”

You leaned closer to his face. “Would you like that, baby?”

His fingers twitched around your breasts. He rubbed his thumbs over your clothes nipples as a silent apology. “Please.”

“Oh, such good manners.” You applied more pressure to his neck, not enough to cut off his air supply. He arched into your touch. “But not tonight. Some other time, I promise. I’ve got a feeling I’ll be seeing you plenty, baby.”

You went to nip at his neck. His hands wrapped around to your back to hold you in place. Your own traveled down his torso and to his belt.

You undid it. You pulled down his pants but not his underwear. You slipped from his grasp.

You put your hands on either side of his bulge and ran your fingers over it. His legs spread open further as he tried to push up but you quickly put an end to that little action.

Your hands on his hips, you hovered your head over him. You licked a stripe onto the fabric. You began to suck him off with the barrier of his boxers.

He knew he was whining. His eyes wanted to screw shut but he kept them open, too transfixed by the visage before him.

Your own eyes were closed. Your hands, perfectly constraining his boxers, were wrapped around his hips. The tips of your perfectly manicured hands were digging into his skin. Your tongue lulled out and lavished him.

He could cum from just this alone.

However, as soon as the thought came to him, you pulled away.

“No, no, no, please, please, let me come,” he said, words flowing from his mouth before he could stop them.

“Aw,” you said with a chuckle, “begging so soon? How sweet. Don’t worry, baby, you’ll get to come soon. I’ve just got to see that little dick of yours first.”

The small bit of degradation mixed with all the praise made him twitch.

He’d never gotten any negative comments on his dick before. Rather the opposite, Valentino had tried several times before to talk him into at least faceless camera work but he didn’t want to think of the moth right now.

You pulled his underwear down to reveal his cock. It was length, a deep blue like the rest of him except were it was flushed vibrantly at the tip. He was already leaking pre-come. Milky white against his flesh.

You leaned over to lick it up. His eyes rolled back at the simple action.

Your smirked before you took him all your mouth at once. You slowly pulled up and let your teeth pull at the hood of his tip.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

He thrusted up into what was now just air as he twitched, his whole body convulsing but he didn’t come. He was on the verge though.

You shushed him as you stroked his inner thigh with your nails.

“Be a good boy for me and hand me the lube,” you said before you began sucking on the skin above his pelvic bone.

His hand went to your hair as he closed his eyes and moaned. It took him a moment to open them again but you didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t feel rushed.

When was the last time he hadn’t felt rushed while having sex? He couldn’t even remember. It was always about getting back to work as soon as possible or Valentino’s quick hits. It was never really about him. It was about getting rid of his boner or Valentino’s as soon as possible.

He liked this. He liked this feeling of. . . being cared for?

God, he was so fucking pathetic. He could feel tears filling his eyes as he reached for the lube on the bedside table.

“Are you alright, baby?” you asked. “Do you need to stop.”

“Fuck, please don’t.”

“Okay, we don’t have to stop. We can keep on going,” you said as you poured some lube into your hands. “You just keep on being a good boy for me, alright? You can cry if you need to, baby. It’s okay to cry, you know.”

That permission made it worse. He felt his face flush as tears began to stream down his face. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. He shouldn’t be crying. He’d rarely ever cried. Much less during sex, especially sex that he was enjoying.

“Can you bend your— oh, such a good boy,” you said.

You hooked his bent knees over your legs and pulled him into your lap.

You wrapped your hands, covered in warm lube (when was the last time someone had took the time to warm up lube before touching him?), around his cock and began slowly twisting your hands up and down. He couldn’t stop the weak thrusts.

“I’m sorry,” he said, repeating the phrase like a prayer.

“Shhhh, baby, it’s okay,” you told him, petting his thigh. “You take what you need. You’ve been so good for me. So good. You deserve it.”

“Fuck.”

He threw his head back against the pillow and then looked down at you. He immediately met your eyes, so soft and understanding. It made his stomach queazy.

He watched as his dick slowly was covered then revealed by your hand. It curved around him so perfectly, glistening with a mixture of lube and the pre-come he was leaking. You twisted your hand in just the right way.

You covered his cock and then revealed the head. You thumb lingered and smeared the pre-come at his tip. The point of your nail ever so gently grazed his hole and that’s what did it.

The lights flickered in the room as he spasmed and came. His screen went blank as he blacked out.

A few seconds later, he came to with you by his side with a glass. You tilted his head up and cupped your hand under his lips as you forced him to drink, any water that spilled was dropped in your hand.

You grabbed a cloth and wipes at his screen.

“Are you okay, baby? Was that good?” you asked and he could only mutely nod. “Good.”

You went to pull him into an embrace but stopped and looked down at your body. “Do you wanna clean me up or do you want me to do it?”

He followed your gaze and saw his come covering your torso, a bit of it even clinging to your bra. He leaned to lick it off you. You reclined onto the thrown of pillows and let him, stroking his shoulders and arms as he did.

He licked up to your bra and then was met with the rough contrast of the lace-like fabric compared to your smooth skin. He reached around and undid the bra. You let it fall and he licked where the come had been. Then he began sucking on your breasts.

“Oh, fuck,” this time it was you.

Spurred on, he reached down between your thighs and began stroking. You were wet, so fucking wet. His fingers slid through your folds with no hint of resistance.

He rolled your clit between two knuckles.

“Oh, so good for mommy,” you said as you continued petting him. “So good.”

He whined at both the praise and the title you had given yourself.

He began stroking you with a different purpose now. He needed you to come. He looked up at you, still sucking on your tit. He needed to see it.

Your breath quickened. Your pets turned into a tight hold. It was your turn to whine as your head rolled back and your mouth lulled open.

“So good! So good for me, baby, just like that,” you said right before you became incoherent. You groaned and moved up into his touch.

He went back to the tower feeling better than he could ever remember. The set you’d worn tucked into his pant pocket. You insisted, saying you had plenty of other sets. Who was he to refuse?

“Where the fuck have you been?” Velvette asked.

“Out,” he said as he walked passed her, in no mood for her screeching.

“For over two hours with your location turned off? You didn’t even answer your fucking phone,” Valentino said, voice raising to nearly as yell towards the end.

“Yes,” Vox said as he continued walking.

He heard Valentino laugh as he must have seen the lingerie set in his back pocket. “Were you really so busy fucking a hole that you couldn’t answer me? I hope they were good.”

“Better than you ever were,” Vox said before he closed his bedroom door, unwilling to let his lax mood be ruined.

A few months later, Vox was still going to see you. Absolutely hooked and you both knew it but so were you. You didn’t even made him pay but he still slipped money into your pocket or your bra so he wouldn’t have to face the fact that he was getting attached.

That was all thrown out the window when you released a new song. He wasn’t even halfway through watching the music video before he disappeared and found you, pulling you in for a bruising kiss and you knew exactly why.

The imagery in the music video was obvious. Pink smoke trying to creep into your studio only to be blocked, a deep blue body, TV screens everywhere. Then there were the lyrics:

I can give my babe affection without any type of infliction

You were just an intermission but I’m the center of attention

I’ve got him collared and leashed right where he needs to be

He’s down on his knees begging me with please

Better than any of his fantasies

Yeah, I’ve got his attention without infliction

[starberry-cupcake]

We're back! again, if these silly recaps help lift your mood in any way, it makes me very happy ♥ I baked chocolate chip cookies for this so imagine I'm sharing them with you 🍪

previously, in harrowcita del 9:

this happened

also @unexpected-tigers linked me to an official house quiz and I did it so, if you want to know what I got and how I answered, I'll add it under "read more" after the recap

CHAPTER 44

listen, I need to start listing things I got right and things I got wrong but I forget at this point what I said

you're gonna have to remind me if I got something right and I didn't catch it because I remember what I got wrong more easily than what I got right

such is life

I'll do my best to try to tally but

I got wrong the narrator, I assumed that, because they were insulting harrow, it might be harrow too

but I forgot about gideon also being a pro at insulting harrow so, guess what?

IT WAS GIDEON

WELCOME BACK, BABE, WE MISSED YOU

CRYING TEARS OF JOY

of actual joy, not mercygirl-joy

to be fair, the narration was very different from gideon's perspective, to account for 1) the twist and 2) the fact that gideon's gideon-ness came out more and more as she got closer to the surface of perception in harrow's body

something she kind of explains later

but yeah, I got that wrong

however, I did get the purgatory situation of canaan house somewhat right and I forgot to mention it last time

ANYWAY, BACK TO GIDEON

CUE 'I AM THE BEST' BY 2NE1 IN THE BACKGROUND

someone stabbed harrow from the back, which is very shitty behavior from whoever it was

so gideon comes back into the real world with the immediate danger of her vessel, necromancer and partner in crime having been stabbed

and she was "left behind" because harrow is back in her canaan purgatory river bubble

with her ghostie ghoulie friends

gideon immediately finds out that harrow can't fight for shit

she's determined to kick the stabber's ass but it's gonna be hard when she's used to her massive guns and ninja warrior disposition and she's inside the body of a baby kitten

gideon's very eloquent commentary is "Fuck. Oh, shit. Oh, fucking hell. Help. Yuck. Aaaargh."

it's so nice to have her back :')

she's talking to harrow in the second person, as she's been doing all this time unbeknownst to those of us who didn't catch it

"which proves that you can put the swordfighter into the necromancer but you can't, wait, hang on"

god, I missed her

gideon is also coming to terms with the fact that harrowcita has regenerating abilities now

she is very angry at the awful state in which her two handed sword is

if you knew, gideon, about the relationship between harrow and your sword and how layered it was...

"Harrowhark, I gave you my whole life and you didn't even want it"

so gideon starts taking control of the situation because the beast is chasing them

absolutely no chill over here in the emperor's bolthole

and by "them" I mean gideon and harrow because idk where the everliving fuck everyone else is

I know the emperor is hiding in weenie hut jr but the rest are supposed to be fighting

except for whoever was going around stabbing people

and idk where not!dulcinea is at this point either

maybe someone's using her to stab harrow idk, I'll never stop blaming her for things, even indirectly

gideon is doing a great job with what she has available because she's "a good girl and you're an evil nun"

she's also still going on about harrow leaving her behind and saying "you never got rid of being so absolutely fucking goddamn sad"

chisus christ gideon, tell us how you really feel about her

gideon looks at herself in the mirror and sees harrow with her eyes and her expressions, which is very uncanny valley

"This was your shell, but it was all filled up with me. God, the double entendres were hard to resist"

yandere twin would appreciate that one, I think, maybe

gideon proceeds to taunt harrow to come back by using her voice to say things like "Oooooh, Palamedes. I am measurably less intelligent than you. Put your tongue in my mouth and I'll flop my tongue against it."

"Ohhhhhrr, Gideon. I was so dumb to think a tub of ancient freezer meat was my girlfriend. Please show me how to do a press-up. Also, I'm very obviously attracted to y—"

no no, by all means, go on

please, gideon, go on with that idea, let's see where it takes us

in other important but not as spicy events

gideon cuts the beast thing in two with her own sword

but now we've got the heralds to go through

"Don't worry, honey. I'll keep the home fires burning."

same energy as

CHAPTER 45

we're back in hotel california canaan house au river bubble

I'm sure that description makes it all super clear for anyone reading

abby and her hubby are taking harrowcita to the secret hideout of the lost boys aka the room behind the tapestry that is now untouched by the body horrors going on in this version of canaan house

and where all our ghostie ghoulie friends are hanging out

it was a person's room, says harrow, and I think we all know it was alleged gideon's aka ortus, but we'll get to that

I need to point out the fact that harrow says she always thought not!dulcinea showed signs of "suppurating ego" but that she could never convince gideon to "see past the appealing eyes and softly clinging dresses"

I KNOW, GIRL, IT DROVE ME FERAL TOO

apparently harrowcita's invite also got to the kids of the fourth but abby sent them back to the river with a kiss in the forehead and their lunch packed

because she had adopted them, as we all know

she said "if only Silas had asked me, what has happened to his soul worries me horribly"

of course I didn't remember that silas was mayonnaise uncle and had to do math for a while in my head

maybe he's out there looking for duracell bunny nephew's soul that is still travelling through the river

abby learned a way to send them back into the river but everyone present wants to help deal with this haunt situation harrow's got going on

honestly, props to martita for hanging around, judith is a lot less cooperative

abby also thinks there's something wrong with the river and that the emperor is unaware of it because he doesn't know about the river beyond

she has studied a lot about it

and that the fact that the "beyond the river" concept has been looked at with scorn by everyone for so long has made the potential studies of it stagnant

I love her a lot at this point

I mean, I'm still 100% a camilla girlie, I'm putting camilla's photo in one of those glittery clear files and covering it with heart stickers, don't get me wrong, but this woman is fierce af

abby, you know more than the emperor, you're more worthy than he is, please murder him

NOW IT'S TIME TO GET EMOTIONAL

GRAB YOUR TISSUES

IT'S ORTUS TIME

man, ortus won me with this chapter, he's great, let's keep him

let him be happy in the infinity of time with his fifth polycule

harrow tries to tell him that he doesn't have to apologize to her, that she owes him for crux murdering him and his mom

(interlude for "her unconscious gracelessness to Camilla Hect; a girl whom, in reality, she should have taken by the hands and thanked her profusely for every time she tried to save her cavalier")

(glad we're in agreement there)

they talk about how gideon died and ortus tells harrow that gideon never did anything without intent

"she had been outplayed by Palamedes Sextus, outgunned by Cytherea the First, undone by Gideon Nav"

damn, harrow

LISTEN TO THIS PART YOU FOLKS

"I should have offered help. I should have died for you. Gideon should still be alive. I was, and am, a grown man, and you both were neglected children."

ORTUS, MY MAN

THIS MADE ME SO EMOTIONAL

"she and Gideon had become women before their time, and watched each other's childhood crumble away like so much dust. But there was a part of her soul that wanted to hear it —wanted to hear it from Ortus's lips more, even than from the lips of God. He had been there. He had witnessed."

"I will hope better for heroism in my death"

ORTUS I'M HOLDING YOU TIGHT AND CARESSING THE TOP OF YOUR HEAD LIKE A PUPPY

harrow finds the "g&p" note

GUESS WHAT

GUESS WHO WAS RIGHT ABOUT THAT

ALLEGED GIDEON IS ACTUAL GIDEON THE FIRST

AND HARROW THINKS OUR GIDEON WAS NAMED AFTER HIM

I mean I had trust in my alleged gideon theory BUT I CAN'T BELIEVE I CALLED THE OTHER PART MAYBE TOO???

sixth house please accept me

she also finds another note, similar to the rant notes she had been finding, which reads: "the only thing our civilisation can ever learn from yours is that when our backs are to the wall and our towers are falling all around us and we are watching ourselves burn we rarely become heroes"

are the letters clues on the angry spirit that's haunting harrow?????

does it relate to gideon???

but when harrow is about to ask ortus about gideon ("less like tragedy and more like carelessness" 👀) abby interrupts

abby, interrupting me again when I'm getting to the good stuff

but I can't be angry at her because she says she'll exorcise the Sleeper

YOU GO ABBY, YOU LORRAINE WARREN THAT STUFF

And that's where we leave it for today!!! my willpower is strong and I know I can't make these too annoyingly long. Which is why, if you wanna know how I did with the House quiz, look after "read more". If not, see you for the next one!!! Super soon!!! Sending you all hugs in these difficult times ♥

So, this is the quiz that I did, the official author-made one.

I GOT *drumroll* A TIE BETWEEN THE SIXTH AND THE FOURTH

The author said that, in the event of a tie "Pick the House descriptor most like yourself, or most like the person you secretly wish you were, or with the colours you like best."

We all absolutely know where I'm going if I'm left to pick between those two.

To be totally transparent, I'm gonna show you my very messy notes, which I wasn't initially planning on showing, so I apologize for them not being neat and tidy. I added the skull I have in my desk as aesthetic compensation for the messy handwriting.

I picked 1st the pen and flimsy because, if I'm doomed and this is it for me, I want to go out writing. The bottle, because I considered a vessel for separating things or for keeping something in safely would be useful. The rapier, because I always take a swiss army knife in my purse with my keys and the rapier was the closest thing to that. The flare gun, because I might as well try to signal somehow, at least some of us could get saved. And the raft not to try to escape, like the answer said, but because if we're more than one person in the boat, having more space, even if somewhat leaky, could help out for different situations.

I did consider every potential option that could be turned into food but I'd rather die of something else than food poisoning of any kind.

I got the Fifth in second place, and I wouldn't have minded if I got the Fifth, honestly. In 3rd place I got Seventh and Eighth as a tie, I'm not gonna ask about that. The Second got fourth place, the Third got fifth and 0 points for the Ninth, I'm so sorry.

You should have seen my face when I saw a portrait of the Emperor was an option to take with you lmao

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 10

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

When your mother returns, you're alerted by her shrill cry. You go to the window as she squeals at Walter and throws her arms around him. He stands stalk straight as she hugs him. She tearfully pulls away as she looks at the ramp, pointing to it as she turns back to the truck. 

Your heart plucks as Walter gives a humble bow of his head. It was nice of him. He is nice. So why had you pulled away? Why does everyone else see something between you that you can’t?

Timothy helps your father out of the truck and Walter leads him up the ramp. You open the door to let them all in, keeping your eyes on the floor. You let the screen door snap shut behind you as you follow after your mother. You linger by the doorway as your father’s taken to his recliner.

Your mother gives Walter another emphatic thank you before Timothy starts chattering at him about the truck. They pass you as you step aside and you watch Walter, though he refuses to return your gaze. You frown and fold your arms.

You turn to face your mother as she fawns over your father. She looks past him and gives you a gentle smile. You near her and blow out a long breath.

“So, what did the doctor say?” You ask.

Her cheeks quiver and her smile falls, “will you put on some tea?”

You nod. It’s serious.

You go into the kitchen to put on the kettle. You pull out two mugs and measure tea into the steeping balls. You lean on the counter and wait for the water to hiss. Your mother enters, wringing her hands.

She sits, then stands again, the paces around the island. She stops and faces you. She sighs.

“The doctor… recommended an assisted care home,” she says flatly, forcing out each syllable. “We could keep a home nurse but… we can’t afford that.”

You grimace and clasp your hand around the front of your shirt, “I can hand out resumes–”

“Minimum wage won’t help us,” she shakes her head, nearing the island to plant her elbows. She holds her head, “I didn’t tell Timmy. He… he’ll need to hear it gently.”

Your eyes tinge. The helpless pinch in your chest leaves you breathless. You bring your hand up to your neck as your skin turns hot.

“So… what are the options?” You eke out.

“Like I said before; sell the farm. Downsize… if anything’s available, put your dad in a home,” her voice dissolves and she turns her face down and sobs, “why did this have to happen to us?”

“I’m sorry, mom,” you murmur as you approach her and touch her shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s… not okay,” she lifts her head, eyes streaming, “we just have to figure it out. Get through the season, tally up our losses,” her throat tightens around her words, “can you… can you go get Walter? I should talk to him too. Tell him… thank you.”

You pause and roll your tongue into your cheek. You nod and squeeze her arm, “sure…” you swallow, “I love you, ma.”

“I love you too,” she sniffles, “maybe… maybe I shoulda raised you to get off this farm,” she heaves and wipes her cheeks, “I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be,” you let her go, “I’ll get Walter.”

“Keep your brother distracted,” she calls after you, “I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

You go through the back door and drag your feet through the dirt to the garage. You hear tinkering as Timothy gabs endlessly. You enter through the open door and find Walter scratching his head as he stares under the open hood.

“Hey,” you interrupt Timothy’s rambling, “um, Walter, my mom… was wondering if you could help her with something heavy.”

“Sure,” he faces you with his hands on his hips, a line across his forehead.

“Wait, what about the truck?” Timothy whines.

“Take it to Vol,” Walter shrugs off.

As he nears you, you sidle out of his way. His gaze bores down on you and you peer back at him. You raise your brows, softening your expression as best you can. His eyes drift away and he turns his head straight, brushing by without another word.

You frown as you remain and near Timothy as he furrows his brow at the engine. You look under the hood, as mystified as your brother. The truck’s just another expense to add to the books. Maybe you should just scrap it and downsize. You could sell the tractors too, you won’t need them…

How much is that? How long can it keep your father in a home? How long can it keep you and your family from falling apart? Your stomach sinks as Timothy tries to explain spark plugs to you. You know there isn’t work at the grocery store. Or the library. Or the cafe.

You shudder and nudge Timothy, “we’ll figure it out. I forgot about the tea.”

“Oh, uh, sure,” he says, bending over to squint at the engine. 

You leave him and wander back to the house. You pause just before the steps and listen. Low tones seep through the screen but you can’t make out the words. You enter, letting the spring creak and announce your entrance.

You peek into the kitchen and your mother looks over as Walter rubs her back. She sniffles as she dabs her nose with a dishrag. They look over at you and you dip your head down as you go to pass.

“Sweetie,” your mother calls after you, “will you come in here?”

You back up and turn stiffly, stepping just over the threshold. Your eyes flit back and forth between them. What’s going on? Did he tell her what happened? Are they mad?

“Walter… Walter might buy the farm,” your mom’s tone is airy with disbelief, “we might… we might be okay.”

“Gotta check with the bank, get some numbers sorted,” Walter explains evenly.

“Oh, uh, that’s great,” you say.

“I don’t wanna get your hopes up yet,” Walter insists, “I’ll look into it. Place like this…” he looks around then lets his eyes rest on you, “shouldn’t be going to any of those city slickers buying up the land.”

“Yeah, I… that’s so good,” you croak.

“Hopefully,” he nods as his gaze threatens to melt you, “anything I can do to help.”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

I’ve Been the Archer, I’ve Been the Prey

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria (after 6 year jump)

Warnings: Talk of pregnancy, angst (with a happy ending), brief mention of injuries

Summary: After everything, Daryl is still trying.

A/N: Part 2 of Help Me Hold Onto You. If you haven’t read that one, you may want to before this one. This isn’t great but I needed to put something out if for no other reason than to help me feel better. I hope y’all like it.

Moodboard by @dannyo000

The infirmary was quiet, and for that, you were thankful. Autumn had arrived, cooler temperatures and less fresh foods available left people’s immunities lacking. A couple of flu cases had been reported, but all in all, everyone seemed to be doing okay. Siddiq was setting up for your weekly visit. He had demanded those because of your declining health since you’d found out about the baby. You were never supposed to be able to have children. It took years for this to happen, even though you and Daryl had never taken precautions. 

You sighed. Daryl. The two of you hadn’t spoken since that day over a month ago. He had remained close but never asked about appointments or your health or the baby. Not a single word. A part of you had hoped he’d at least try now that he knew. Another part of you scolded that part with something about setting yourself up for disappointment. 

You knew the archer wasn’t in Alexandria today. He had left a few days ago for Hilltop after Maggie had sent word of a threat lingering nearby. Of course Daryl had left. Everything was more important than you, after all. You shook your head clear of those thoughts, looking down at your rounded middle. 

“At least I have you, little one.” You smiled, albeit sadly. 

“What’s that?” Siddiq peered out of the exam room, eyebrows raised. 

You shook your head. “Nothing. Ready?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, come on back.” 

You were levering yourself up from the chair, the physician’s brow drawing inward just as a sound came from behind you. Following his gaze to the door, your eyes widened. 

“Dixon?”

“Hey.” He greeted quietly. He looked like shit, covered in dirt and the dark remnants of walker innards. Cuts and bruises littered the skin you could see. How much of the bright red blood on his skin and clothes was actually his? The man looked as if he hadn’t slept in days and would keel over any minute. “S’it okay that m’here?”

You blinked at him a moment longer before nodding. “Yeah.” How did he even know? “Yeah, sure. I was just heading back.” 

He returned the nod, shifting from foot to foot uneasily. “I’ll, uh—I’ll just be here then. If’n ya need me.” Daryl had yet to meet your eyes. 

“Okay.” You turned toward the room and took a couple of steps, too lost in your thoughts to notice the almost comical discomfort Siddiq nakedly wore. Daryl’s here. He actually came. Stopping just short of the doorway, you twisted at the fabric of your sweater. “Hey, you could, y’know—come back here with me.” You turned back to the bowman, finding him staring back with an expression you couldn’t quite place. 

“Sure. Okay.”

You didn’t wait for him and squeezed past Siddiq to quickly climb onto the exam table. Daryl entered a moment later, your eyes narrowing at the limp he sported. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t even move toward where you were set up. It really seemed as if he was trying to be as imperceptible as possible. 

But he was here. 

“Alright, Y/N, let’s see what your little cauliflower is up to, shall we?” 

A glance at Daryl saw him looking lost and mouthing the word cauliflower. It was too adorable for you not to smile. “Siddiq likes to call the baby the fruits and veggies that represent how big it is.” You quipped, pulling up your shirt to just below your breasts. The archer seemed to have forgotten all about the mention of food, now staring at your rounded belly with wide eyes. You had forgotten that he’d never seen you like this beneath your clothes. 

The jelly on the end of the wand was cold and caused you to flinch, snapping both you and Daryl out of your respective thoughts. The room filled with the static noises of the machine until suddenly a quick, repetitive thudding sounded. You smiled and watched the screen, knowing from previous visits exactly what you were seeing and hearing. You let your gaze shift to the side, where the archer was leaning slightly with narrowed eyes on the monitor. “Come here.” You beckoned him with a finger. 

A moment of hesitation but then he limped toward you, halting next to your legs. You found yourself wishing he had taken the two extra steps to be beside you but quickly dismissed it. 

“S’that sound?” Daryl asked quietly. 

“That’s the baby’s heartbeat.” Siddiq smiled toward the screen, watching the little humanoid shape move. “See that? That’s a foot.” 

You couldn’t help but beam as you watched the show play out in front of you. Siddiq pointed at different things and told you both what they were. At one point, the baby yawned and you almost giggled, but your eyes tore away from the screen when you felt something brush your arm. Daryl had moved closer but he didn’t seem to realize. His piercing blue eyes were shining, unblinking, and locked on that screen. He didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound. Just stood there with this raw emotion on display for anyone to see. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. 

Your hand moved of its own accord, fingertips ghosting over his knuckles. His reaction was instant, a single tear making its descent toward his jaw when he looked at you. “That’s your baby, Daryl.” He stared for a moment more and then back to the screen. You knew this softness wouldn’t last. The anger would return the moment you left this room, but for now—

Siddiq asked you again if you wanted to know the gender and you refused. He gave you the speech about needing iron and that you absolutely must find someone to send out for prenatal vitamins. Much to your chagrin, he prohibited you from any kind of work now. You waved him off and headed for the door, feeling Daryl on your heels. He was probably still staring at the picture he had been given. 

“Ya goin’ home?” He queried once the door closed and you stepped out into the cold air. You tossed him a look over your shoulder. 

“No.”

“Whatcha need? I can get it an’ ya can go rest.” Dog bounded over, stopping at your hip for ear scritches before continuing to his owner.

“I’ve got work to do. Some of the solar panels have to be moved.” His footsteps audibly picked up speed. Oh no. 

“Whoa, hey, wait a sec.” His grip on your arm was gentle, just enough pressure to get you to slow down and let him step into your path. “Doc said no work.”

“I heard him.” You made to sidestep around him, sighing loudly when he moved with you. 

“Ya need ta go home.” 

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like in a shower? Or maybe go back and get that leg looked at?”

“Nah, only place m’goin’ is to your house so I know ya actually go inside.”

You closed your eyes and counted to ten in your head, pulling in a deep breath through your nose. “Dixon, get out of my way.” He only squared his shoulders and crossed his arms. “That shit doesn’t work with me anymore.” You stepped the other direction, only to be blocked again. “Move before I move you.”

“I’d like to see ya try.” He smirked. You found you had to bite back a smile.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nah.” 

“Why do you care?” You asked, mimicking his stance. It was low, you knew it. 

“What ‘bout all those things doc said about your health? And if’n that ain’t enough of a reason, that’s my baby inside ya.” You lifted your chin defiantly. Yeah, okay, you felt like shit. Nauseous and tired and weak almost constantly but you’d be damned if he was going to waltz in and start bossing you around after what he’d put you through. Daryl’s shoulders dropped, his hands falling to his sides. “Y/N, ya told me I could be part’a this as much as I wanted. Just—let me take care’a things.” 

You held your coldness a few moments longer, finally just too tired to continue. “Fine. I’m going home.” He gave you a small nod and moved aside, letting you pass. “And don’t follow me!” You yelled back before you rounded the corner and he was out of sight. 

Being home and not out in the community was not something to which you were accustomed. It filled you with a nervous energy that had you picking at your nails or bouncing your leg almost constantly. Regardless, your aching back and swollen ankles were quite content to be laid out on the couch. And it was a downpour outside, cold and windy. 

You tried to focus on the book you held in one hand, the fingers of the other twisting the silver arrow pendant that hung from the chain around your neck. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t taken it off. It reminded you of when Daryl was yours and you were his, when things felt right and safe. The familiar weight of it kept you grounded. Michonne had said you couldn’t part with it because your heart still belonged to him. The statement had made you so angry, but that made it no less true. 

But then you had seen him with her. This—Leah. Thinking back on it now, you could remember how she’d reached for his hand and he had moved it. How she’d stepped into his space and he’d turned his head, maintaining some distance. But she’d said something, close to his ear, and he had turned quickly. She’d caught him by the mouth in a feverish kiss and you had looked away, but he was already walking away from her when you looked back. You’d made a noise then, a broken sob, and he’d seen you. You could clearly remember that horrified, desperate look in his eyes. He’d called your name and begged you to stop, but the ache in your heart had propelled you forward. 

He may not have wanted that kiss, but why was he with her, alone in that cabin? He had wanted to explain after finally coming back, but you had shut him down. Why hadn’t you let him explain? 

A knock at your screen door made you jump, the book falling to the floor and your hand reaching for the knife on the table. Glancing out the window, you found the sun had disappeared, leaving nothing but darkness and shadows. How long had you been sitting there? 

After two tries, you finally made it to your feet and padded over to the front door. Maybe you should have brought the knife with you, but something told you that there was no threat on the other side. Hand hesitating over the knob, you finally grasped it and pulled the door open. 

Daryl was soaked to the bone, breathing hard and trembling in the cold wind. He still looked like shit. 

“Dixon? What’re you doing here? And why are you—panting?” You asked, mildly amused. 

“Bike stalled few miles out. Wanted to give ya this.” 

You hadn’t noticed the pack in his hand at first. “Oh.” You stated simply. “Okay, um, come in.” You unlocked the screen door and pushed it toward him, a blur of wet dog pushing past both of you before shaking off in front of the fire and making himself at home there. “Thanks, asshole.” You chuckled, shaking your head and waving the archer inside. 

You led him to your small dining table and reached for the bag, his cold fingers brushing yours as he passed it off. 

“Did you walk here in the rain?” You asked, giving him a once over while unzipping the bag. 

“Uh, sorta. Maybe more joggin’ than walkin’. S’fucking cold.”

Raising an eyebrow, you shook your head and opened the pack, your expression falling. Four bottles of prenatal vitamins, three bottles of iron supplements, a handful of peppermint candies, two small blankets, a stuffed elephant, and a tiny pale green onesie. Stunned into silence, you looked back at him. 

He was rubbing his upper arms, either to combat the chill or out of nerves; you weren’t sure which. “Doc said ya need those vit’mins an’ that your iron is real low so those other things will help. That candy’s good for when ya feelin’ sick, an’ I saw some stuff for babies so I grabbed what I could ‘fore I had to get outta there.” He didn’t even stop for a breath and kept his eyes on the bag. When you didn’t say anything, he cleared his throat. “Alright. If ya need anything,” he took a radio from his belt and placed it on the table, “m’on channel four. Don’t try to go get nothin’. Just call me, okay?”

You nodded and placed the bag on the table. Your heart was pounding, overflowing with gratitude and remorse and guilt and so many other emotions you couldn’t place right now. All you could focus on was him. Standing in front of you, drenched, tired, cold, limping, and still absolutely willing to do anything for you. “What if I’m craving pickles and peanut butter at 3am?” 

Still shivering, the look he tossed you was even more amusing. “Might be some in the pantry. I can check.”

“Mhmm. And what if my feet hurt and I want them rubbed?” You slowly started toward him, looking at the things on the table, running your fingers along the bag and then the radio. 

The confused frown only deepened. “Ain’t no masseuse, but I’d give it a whirl.”

“What if I just wanted you?” You stopped, a step or two away, and finally met his eyes. “What if I wanted to hear you tell me what really happened that day?” Your eyes began to sting, your vision blurring. 

“Y/N,” Daryl whispered. It almost sounded like a plea; like he felt as if you were toying with him, dangling this in front of him with the intent to pull it away when he reached for it. 

But you reached for him first. Your warm hand sat against his chilled cheek, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch. 

“What if I wanted to tell you over and over how much I’ve missed you and how sorry I am for how I’ve treated you?” Your voice broke, the tears cascading down your cheeks. Daryl wasted no time in gathering against him, holding you as close as he could while you sobbed. He was wet and cold but that didn’t matter. “I’m so sorry, Daryl.”

“S’okay. M’here now.” 

You felt his lips press against the top of your head, his hand rubbing circles on your back. After you had shown him nothing but bitter disdain, he was comforting you. You allowed it until you could pull yourself together, placing your hands on his chest to move back but only the slightest bit. 

“Come with me. We’ve got to get you dry and warm.” You walked around him, closing and locking the door before offering your hand. He took it without hesitation. 

Hours later, you both were lying on your bed. Daryl was clad only in his damp boxer briefs and you were in your tshirt and sleep shorts, both under the blankets and facing one another. 

“I should’ve let you explain. We lost so much time, you missed out on so much.” You sniffled and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Don’t matter no more. M’here now. S’all gonna be okay.” He reached to tuck some hair behind your ear, letting his fingertips linger on your jaw. “I missed ya.” 

You felt new tears collecting on your lashes and tried your best to keep them from falling. “I missed you so much.” You moved first, closing the distance to press your lips to his. He reciprocated immediately. The kiss was desperate, meant to convey everything that hadn’t been said. You parted quickly, both of you too weary to seek anything more just yet. With your forehead against his, you smiled and pressed one more chaste kiss to his lips. “Daryl?”

He hummed in response, his eyes already closed, the circles his thumb was tracing over your hip stuttering and slowing as he began to relax and drift off. 

“Want to officially greet your baby?”

His eyes opened at that. “What?” 

You moved back just a little and took his hand in yours while you scooted up to lean against the headboard. Your free hand pulled up your shirt so you could press his palm against the curve of your belly. He didn’t have to wait long before a flurry of kicks rippled beneath his hand. His eyes lit up and he was propped on his elbow in an instant. 

“Holy shit.” He whispered. “That was them?”

“That was our little cauliflower.” You replied, smiling brightly. He moved closer, resting his head against your chest so your fingers could card through his hair. His hand was still glued to that spot. “Talk to them. They can hear you.” You encouraged, shimmying down a little so the pillows propped you up more than the headboard. If Daryl was bothered by your movements, he didn’t complain. He was already invested in a different conversation. 

“Hey, kid. M’your dad.”

[boozenboze]

Tokyo Revengers x Male reader

Summary: Being an Ace and a division captain are two hefty things to juggle. So what happens when the other Toman captains find the leader of the 6th division at volleyball practice

Females She/Her and She/They DNI

“Good hustle L/n keep it up!” The coach yelled to the s/c skinned male who gave him a thumbs up. Practice didn’t end until late that night, and the Toman meeting that had been planned had begun without. He didn’t worry about it to much, but he knew he’d have to go through a light hearted interrogation from Mikey and Draken.

To be honest, they should’ve known that the male had practice. Why you may ask? Well thats because he had mentioned his after school activity plenty of times to them. If they hadn’t known then that would be on them for not listening.

(Pov switch)

Mikey was giving his speech to the gang, eyes wandering ever so often to see if his eyes would catch sight of the h/c haired male. Before the beginning of the meeting the blonde had been searching for him and to no avail, he didn’t spot him. The other captains tried calling or texting him but they would left with his voicemail. They continued to wait for him but had to start since there was no signs of him showing up.

The meeting ended not to long ago snd Takemichi was trying to call M/n again. As he did that, the other captains conversed with each other while also wondering where their 6th division captain was. This wasn’t the first time the male had missed a meeting but the other times he’d make sure Mikey knew so that confusion wouldn’t get caused.

“Hey-Hello! M/n where were, you the meeting is over.” Takemichi spoke as his mention of the h/c haired male caught the others attention. When they approached they watched as Takemichi’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“When did you start playing volleyball?” Takemichi asked as the others held their own looks of question.

“I-uh ok we’ll come over to see you. Ok bye.” Takemichi said before hanging up.

“When’d he start playing volleyball?” Mitsuya asked as he glanced at the others. Angry hummed in response before saying.

“That could explsin the other times he didn’t show up.”

“Yeah thats true...wait Takemichi you said thst we’d go and see him hm?” Draken questioned as Takemichi nodded.

“Alright lets go I wanna see N/n-chin play!” Mikey said with excitement as he made his way to his motorcycle. The others sighed at their commanders attitude and followed behind him, getting onto their own bikes.

(Pov switch)

“Nice serve M/n!” One of your teammates yelled on the sidelines as the ball made contact with the floor of the other teams side. It was the males ball again and he bounced the ball a few times before serving it again. Once again it was a perfect serve but the other team was able to pass it back to which your teammate Lain was passed it to your setter Ryu.

The captains had just arrived to the gym and heard the sound of shoes squeaking against the floor and a ball making contact with it. A loud boom and cheering could be heard as they walked in and they saw M/n's team cheering. They could tell because of their f/c jerseys and shorts. M/n was doing a little dance with Ryu who was laughing his ass off as they did.

"Can ya'll stop acting like you won an actual game." Your captain who was on the other team said as you turned to face him.

"Your just mad that ya'll lost~!" The h/c haired male whipped out his middle finger and started to shake his hips out of mockery. The captain rolled his eyes as his gaze averted to the Toman captains who were standing by the door.

"Are those gang members?" One of your other teammates said warily, as the Captain spoke up.

"Do ya'll need something?" His voice was loud which caused everyone to turn their attention to the entrance door. M/n's eyes widened at the sights of his gang. He was only expecting Takemichi to show up.....not everyone else.

"I-uh...what are ya'll doing here? Takemichi I thought you were the only one coming." M/n replies to the others that hadn't said anything yet.

"Um yeah I did...I forgot to mention they were tagging along, sorry." Takemichi said as his eyes wandered down to M/n's legs. He kept his gaze steady on his thighs. He looked away, reminding himself that he had a girlfriend as the other captains stared as well.

"Why didn't you tell us your thighs were so.....gyat!" Baji said as he did hand motions around M/n's legs. The male laughed in response, not thinking anything of his comment. He has worked hard to get his legs to the state they were in now so he appreciated the compliments.

"Can I....touch them..? Baji asked, voice getting a bit quieter but loud enough for Mikey to hear his question.

"Not if I don't touch them first!" Mikey said as he leaped over to the h/c haired male and began to feel up his leg. He squeezed his thigh with his hand and the male above whimpered slightly from the blondes grip. M/n's thighs had muscle definition and were a little jiggly.

"Ah...Mikey are you done yet?" M/n asked as Draken attempted to pull the commander off his leg. Mikeys grip got tighter and a moan was stifled from his lips causing both blondes to look at him. The male looked away from them, forgetting to mention how sensitive his thighs were. Mikey let go and laughed with a blush on his face. Draken and the others were the same way. Smiley was laughing while maintaining his iconic expression, as well as Angry who had turned away. Mitsuya was smiling as Sanzu massaged his temple.

"Yo M/n! Come get your shit!" Lain said as he approached the male with his gym bag. M/n took the bag from him and nodded as I thank you as the brunette left the gym.

"Well now we know one of our captains secret...Imma use that against him when we play Mario Kart." Smiley said as his smirk turned to something more devious. Angry side eyed his brother as he turned his gaze over to the h/c haired male who was making his way over to them.

"I'll be at your house in a bit, the game should be updated by then yea?" M/n said as he walked out, moving towards his bike.

"What were ya'll talking about?' Mucho asked as Smiley laughed in response. He walked away from the taller male as the twins exited the premises. The other captains watched them leave with looks of suspicion.

"They're planning something...lets follow them!" Mikey exclaimed as the others followed him out the gym.

"That was interesting"

"Mhm!"

[wordsformizu]

Your Father's Daughter

Mizu x Reader story

Word count: 2.2k

Chapter 1.

“(Y/N)” 

It was like summoning the spirit of a shadow to your beck and call. Wisps of silence followed by your silent footsteps. Your presence now known, you made yourself available for whatever he requested of you. The light of the candle bouncing off the walls and onto your face, creating illusions of shapes and figures on the wall and onto you. 

Straightening your back, and correcting your posture you approached his side, standing far enough to leave a little distance for respect. He hovered over you greatly, his back turned to you. His presence was overwhelming to many, but not as overwhelming to you like it used to be. After years of being close to him, and standing by his side you’ve learned to enjoy the warm rays of the sun. To bask in its light and let it warm the cold corners of your mind with its reassurance and comfort. To take in its greatness. 

“Father, I’m here.” Your voice is quiet, stable. Not that he needed a confirmation that you were present. No one could tell if you were in the area or not, as you were skilled at what you do. You had built yourself a reputation for being as silent as an empty room. No one could detect your presence as quickly as your father could. He always knew when you were around, he could sense you. That’s how close your bond was. To others though you slipped between the shadows of a room, as quiet as  

“My little mouse, ” A nickname from years ago. Early childhood. The first nickname you’ve ever received actually. From anyone else you would have found it an insult as they were comparing you to a rodent that scavenged for trash outside on street corners, but coming from your Father it made the world feel at ease. Like it was a safe place to be. His voice was low and soothing, beckoning you to come closer, and you did. Finally stepping to his side, you were able to stand over and view what he was waiting for you to see. 

His attack plans and strategies were always thought out. Organized. Detailed. Precise. No piece or plot left missing, no turn or corner left unchecked. Displayed on the table before him, adjusted to his liking. With a mind as grand as his, and plans even bigger there was no room for mistakes. Honor and pride filled your heart whenever he shared any details with you of his goals, and even more when he sent you on missions to help him achieve them. 

There was a reason you were called his “Mouse”. Your father was the sun, and every light casts a shadow. You were that shadow. Your father, as grand as he is, couldn't be everywhere at the same time, but with you it’s almost like he could be. Unlike everyone else, he stands out quite a bit. Not a lot of people living here in Japan have seen a man of his color. A white man from a foreign land, here to do foreign things. Most people gawk and stare at him if they get the chance to see him, as he looks far from your ordinary japanese citizen. His hair seems to be in competition with the sun as it is as golden as the great star in the sky, and his eyes are the lightest shade of blue, like the sky it inhabits. He towers over most of the people here with his height, and his build is different, more broad. Though he is different from everyone around him, he finds no shame in it. You watch him from corners as he strolls into rooms with a silent confidence that demands attention. He is the sun, resting gently on the horizons of Japan.

You are not the moon, you’re not even the stars. You don’t mind it now as it makes performing tasks for him a lot easier. Wherever your father tells you, you go. Slipping into the shadows to find whoever and wherever. For years, your father has trained you to be his eyes and ears for where his grande presence would become too much of a distraction. You're his sight into the rooms he can't explore, echoing back the words and plots being whispered behind closed doors. Sometimes, you're his final say. Slipping poison into the cups of those who drink to betrayal, or cold sharp iron to the necks of those who have removed the collar of obedience to your father. Everything you’ve been taught, from spying to assassination, has been taught by this man. Everything you do is for this man.  

Your mind begins to slip, stepping into the doorway of the past. Memories dance behind your eyes, reminding you why your gratefulness will never find an end. You never find peace in this specific room of memories. There is no tenderness or love in the beginning as it opens up to you, dragged  by your thin, fragile elbow and thrown onto the floor like a rag doll.

“Take her.” The voice of your mother that night still rings in your mind like it did fourteen years ago. Cold, and desperate. You’ve heard farmers speak over their cattle with more kindness. 

You dared to turn your gaze from the floor to meet her eyes. You could smell the fear that lay under her skin, how it furrowed her eyebrows, how it oozed out her temples and dripped down her face. She finally made eye contact with you, and for a quick second you thought you had seen a look of regret before disgust crossed it. 

“She’ll do him good. She’s young, learns quickly.” she spoke over you like a desperate merchant trying to make his last sale. 

“A girl holds as much value as a rat,” the man spoke, his voice booming through you and your mother. 

“What he wants is the information you owe him. He’s given you enough chances to do what you do to make it. Now, where is it?” 

At this point he gets into your mothers face, his height towering over hers tremendously. She stutters over her words, still trying to sell you off, and they begin to argue. The sound of two adults voices rising, sending fear running up your spine. Men arguing with your mother wasn't new to you, but it didn't mean you enjoyed the sound. Lucky for you, you’ve always been a quiet girl, attention never seemed to follow you and it didn't here as you slipped out the room into the night. You crawled to the front of the little hut you and your siblings called home. There was little to no room for any of you, and even less food to spare amongst all of you, but you found ways to sneak scraps from your older siblings whenever you could. 

You noticed a shadow overcast you and realized you were kneeling in front of a carriage. You had never seen one this grand before. It looked foreign, and new. The horses that carried it were sleek and as black as the night. The windows were too dark to look into, but you felt someone was looking at you from inside. 

The sound of a woman screeching, and the smell of smoke washed over your curiosity as you quickly turned your head to catch what you had been missing behind you. Your little corner of the world that you had called home was now a blaze, and you could hear your mothers voice from the inside. You couldn't tell if she was pleading or just screaming, but it shook something inside of you that you had never experienced before. The man who was arguing with her finally stepped out, using the fire that reached behind him to light his kiseru pipe, adding the scent of tobacco to the night sky. Smoke left his nostrils like a dragon as he exhaled, lifting his head towards the moon, a look of relaxation crossing his face. You could hear conjoined screams and realized it wasn't just your mother being burned alive, but the rest of your siblings. Your family and you didn't have the sound relationship a mother and daughter or sister and siblings should have, but they were all you knew. All you had. You choked back tears, the sound catching the attention of the smoking man burning your past away. 

“Ah,” he spoke, taking in another puff. “There you are. I didn’t see when you slipped out. Little rat-” he began to approach you, his footsteps shaking the ground around you as you sat there frozen to it. You could run into the woods, but how soon until he caught you. If he doesn't, surely the fire will spread and catch up with you soon. If you make it, then what? Who would take you in? Your mother wasn't very popular amongst the women of the town, so no one owed her any favors. Men around here rarely paid attention to the children wandering the streets, but when they did it was never good. Your options were limited and you didn't believe in the kindness of strangers.

Before he could lay a hand on you, towering over you already, another voice spoke behind you. You didn't know when he arrived, or why you didn't hear him, but you could hear the authority in his voice. Calm, powerful.

“Leave her.” The new presence spoke. Slowly, you turned your head to catch his shoes. Those too were foreign. They had traces of gold, you had never seen gold this close before, and a material that you could tell was also expensive. You trailed your eyes up his attire, finally meeting his eyes just to see that he was already meeting yours. His head blocked the light of the moon like an eclipse, and his eyes scared you at first. You had never seen eyes that shade of blue before ever in your life. You had never seen someone who looked like him ever in your life. 

“Can’t you see you're scaring her?” he began to kneel, the clean cloth of his pants touching the dirt you sat on. 

“My apologies, Sir.  The damn thing was so quiet I didn't notice she left. I can get rid of her quickly and so we can continue-”

“That won’t be necessary.” You were face to face with the strangest man you had ever seen, as he was now at your level. You were still processing his face. Eyes blue, and not a dark brown like your neighbors, hair golden even in the night light and not as black as the raven's wings. His face was long, angular and his eyes were round. Even his nose was shaped differently. But you didn't find him ugly. You could tell that where he was from he was well groomed, and would be considered handsome. 

The sounds of frantic screaming broke out again as the fire spread. You recognized one of your siblings, and immediately tore your eyes from his. Though life wasn't the best, you were reminded that all you knew was being burned to the ground. All the scents in the air were beginning to make you sick, and your heart was breaking, sharp shards falling into your stomach, adding to the queasy feeling you felt. You choked back another cry, but the tears were threatening to break through. Turning back to the man who kneeled, you noticed he never stopped looking at you. He wasn't looking at the fire, or the other man apologizing for his lack of duty. But at you. A small child he just met by chance on this red night. 

“Why do you cry?” he asks you finally, his eyes never breaking yours. It is then that you realize that the dam had broken, and the ocean behind your eyes had won. 

“Not everything lost is a loss,” he spoke to you with calmness in his tone. Words that fell from his mouth felt like the final say. If he said the night sky was now day as long as he spoke it, it would become true. 

And yet you still quivered. From fear of the unknown your future had instored for you, from the tears and sadness that left your body, from the coldness of the night. There was so much to shake for, and he was as steady as a rock, no mind the ocean waves washing against it. Nothing affected him. Nothing moved him. Not the fire, not even your tears. 

He pulled you in close, his large arms engulfing you and shading you from the heat of the flame. It was then you allowed yourself to cry. Truly and fully cry. The sobs broke through you, the sound of weakness threatening to echo through the night now muffled by his coat that your tiny hands clung onto. Soft words you've never heard before spoken from a man filled your ears and settled in your young mind. His voice, soothing and cool, offered a comfort you had yet to experience. They drowned out the flames behind you, and they tamed the racing thoughts in your mind. They were your final say. 

“I need you to be here.” his voice brought you back to the present. Your father, the man who saved your life, was now looking over to you. His face warm, and patient. His eyes never leaving yours. You straightened your back, corrected your posture. In the presence of greatness. The shadow of the sun.

“I am here.” Always. 

[damianbugs]

If you r still doing the fic recs, what are some good Bruce and Jason ones? I'm going insane

HELLO. oh my gosh. you know, since exam month has officially begun, i should be studying, but like, why would i do that when i could be doing this instead? this is like. so much more productive for my happiness.

it's no secret i am not normal absolutely totally insane about bruce and jason and OF COURSE i will rec you fics of them. i have 150+ bookmarks of fics just centred around them so i really tried to narrow it down to a few of my favourites. if you ever need anymore please ask again!

what a truly disastrous tragedy they are. the blueprint i fear. no fictional father and son has impacted me more. jason and bruce fic writers lace their works in crack because once you read one, you are stuck forever. there is no escape. trust me. anyways!

BRUCE AND JASON FIC RECS

don't take your guns to town by kreestar

batman comes home from a night patrolling to find a 10 year old jason todd waiting for him in his kitchen. across gotham, at the same time, red hood is stopped by a 25 year old bruce wayne.

MY NOTES: no one is surprised at all that the first fic on this list is time travel. the characterisation in this was insanely good especially between young bruce and jason i loved their parts. so bittersweet and the ending was lovely!

I Will Always Be There For You by squashflower

There's a closet in the manor that locks you inside. It has no lighting or heating or air conditioning of any kind, and Jason, safe to say, wishes he could burn it to the ground. Or shoot it. One of the two.

MY NOTES: there is just something so good about stories where it switches from robin jason to an experience mirrored by red hood jason and this is the perfect example. so so good.

all the small weights by sparkycap

When Batman gets hit with fear toxin, he worries about his Robins. His Robins think it's their job to deal with it. Jason wasn't aware anyone still included him in that group, but according to Tim, he's the only one available.

MY NOTES: fear toxin the trope that keeps on giving. best thing about this though is that the actual fear toxin is not the main part of the story, and i think it was handled so beautifully and maturely in a way i haven't seen before. i cried (twice).

-> just an aside, but i think you should read the other bruce and jason work by this specific writer. they're all insanely good.

Mermaid Tears by minnow_doodle_doo

And if real mermaid tears were what Jason wanted the world to have, Bruce would make Aquaman cry glass.

MY NOTES: teehee sorry for recommending ur own fic in ur ask minnow but this fic is just so sweet and special i need everyone to read it. a wonderful look into that all encompassing love bruce had for jason when things were much simpler for them.

Aftermath by ivy_and_ivory

Now: Batman is in Paris, pulled there by a case that extends beyond Gotham’s borders, when circumstances lead him to a badly injured Red Hood – who might hold the key to Batman’s investigation.

Then: The Red Hood storms into Gotham, begins to stake his claim on the criminal underground, then abruptly disappears – but only after he breaks into Arkham Asylum and leaves the Joker dead in his own cell.

Or: A study of why Bruce couldn’t kill the Joker, what would happen if someone else could – and how you move on from the aftermath.

MY NOTES: you know when you find a fic and you're just like. oh my god. this is it. this is exactly what i wanted. this is all that matters. yeah. that's this fic to me. im sort of obsessed with the idea of batman bonding with red hood without making the direct connection that it's jason.

A Straight Blade by Sparkypants

"What happened to your face?" Bruce asks, reaching his hand for Jason's jaw. "You're bleeding." Jason bristles, cheeks turning pink. "I cut myself shaving." He says, and wipes at the cut with the cuff of his hoody. Damian makes a clicking noise with his tongue, "I'm amazed you haven't taken your own head off." He snarks. Jason shoves his chair away from the table, temper flaring. "Well it's not like anyone ever taught me, is it." He hisses. He's five years late, but Bruce finally teaches Jason how to shave.

MY NOTES: i am so okay so normal about this fic. such a sweet little happy story but i was literally looking down at my screen squinting through my blurry vision because i was tearing up. the unknowing domestic simplicities of being father and son (hysterical sobbing)

Stargazer by LemonadeGarden

Jason Todd is seriously injured during patrol one night, and is forced to stay at the manor to recuperate until his injuries are healed. To pass the time, he makes a list of things he never got to do before he died. Except there's one small problem: most of them involve Bruce, and Jason doesn't really think Bruce cares all that much about him anymore. This is a story about how wrong he is, but I made it sad anyway.

MY NOTES: okay so i think the best way to end this post is with the first ever bruce and jason centric work i ever read that changed the chemicals in my brain forever. THIS is the fic that made me really latch onto their relationship and want to see that reconciliation and recovery. THE roadtrip fic ever.

[mc-lukanette]

It was the day after the class seats had been swapped around, Marinette having since resigned herself to being moved to the back. She wasn't happy about being alone, but everyone else was with their own seats and the last thing she wanted to do was stir up a fuss again just to have it turned against her.

Making a case would've been less of an issue had she told everyone that she was actually no longer into Adrien and had an entire boyfriend to show for it, but Alya was too unpredictable in how she might react to that and the others hadn't seen her and Luka together long enough to understand. She loathed the fact that an infatuation of less than a year was what people were basing her character on - nowadays, she looked back on it like an artist who grimaced at their week-old work - but her private life was no one's business but her own. If she had to reveal it to convince people that she wasn't an evil person going after a "perfectly innocent" girl over a crush, then—

Well, normally she would say that it was her fault, but Luka had been firm about her not blaming herself for everything under the sun and she was really trying to stick to that.

Maybe being in the back won't be so bad, she thought, attempting to calm her mind. I feel, um... taller? That's something.

It wasn't helping.

"Alright, class," Miss Bustier called out, clapping her hands to earn everyone's attention, "before we start today, we have a new student who just transferred to our school and I'd like you all to give them a warm welcome."

A new student? Marinette shut her eyes and held back a groan, thinking that the current "new student" was already more than enough. If it was another Lila or Chloe, she might have to seriously consider bribing Master Fu for the fox miraculous so she could Mirage herself into class to avoid them altogether.

Also, as she was quickly realizing, the only available seat was next to her. This was a disaster, an absolute disas—

"Luka?" Juleka blurted out, uncharacteristically loud in her shock.

At the name of her boyfriend, Marinette's head jerked towards the classroom door, seeing him standing next to Miss Bustier like he belonged there. She blinked, glancing out at the hall as if the real new student would come in, but nothing happened. Even when she looked back at Luka, he met her gaze as if to wordlessly tell her that yes, he was there.

Just to make absolutely sure, she dropped her arms to her lap and pinched her forearm until it hurt.

After giving a general introduction that Marinette processed none of, Miss Bustier turned to Luka to ask, "Would you be alright sitting in the back next to Marinette?"

He nodded, not waiting to start heading up the stairs. Eyes, either curious or puzzled, followed him as he went, but he had his own eyes on his decided-upon seat.

Marinette could only continue gaping at him, even as he sat down and made himself comfortable. He eyed her, smiling softly, then reached out and slowly closed her mouth. The cheek caress that followed was so subtle and quick that no one could've caught it even if they were looking, but it finally brought her back to life.

Leaning towards him, she whispered in a panic, "Luka! What are you doing here?! How are you here?!"

He took a single glance at Miss Bustier, who was turned towards the chalkboard, then leaned in and whispered back, "I didn't want you to have to do this alone."

"But—!" Her face scrunched, mind racing in an attempt to understand. She'd told Luka about what happened with Lila, but that was only yesterday. For him to have found a way to transfer between then and now was—was— "That's crazy!"

He shrugged, unphased.

She gripped the table, as if it would give her the mental support needed to juggle the thoughts in her head. "You didn't have to go through all this for me! It's too much!"

That finally got a reaction out of him, but not in the way she suspected. He frowned disapprovingly, leaning in further and raising a hand between them to further muffle his words to others' ears. She felt his breath against her ear as he explained, "You're my girlfriend, Marinette; my girlfriend and my best friend. It's not 'too much' if it's what I wanted to do."

He left it at that, straightening up again and putting his focus towards the front of the class. She could only pout at him, hoping no one saw the blush on her cheeks.

It felt wrong, somehow. It was Ladybug who was supposed to swoop in to save people, not the other way around. She was the one who had to make choices on the fly to help others.

She could already hear Luka's voice in her head, shooting that idea down: "Ladybug can't be the savior all the time. Someone has to look out for Marinette too."

It was almost frustrating, losing a battle of words in her own head, but she'd be lying if she said that it didn't make her feel relieved to have someone who would back her up no matter what. Whether she chose to go after Lila or not, he'd be behind her the entire way.

She couldn't help herself. Checking to confirm that there still weren't eyes on them, she leaned up towards Luka and imitated his gesture, raising her hand between their faces. He'd seen the gesture out of the corner of his eye and tipped his head to listen better, but she kissed his cheek instead.

Pulling back quickly to look normal just in case the pecking sound had been caught, she dared only a single peek at Luka to catch his reaction. He was trying and failing not to grin, probably looking as if he was just very interested in the lesson to any outside eyes. It occurred to her then that, had they been in the front or middle rows, it would've been impossible to not be seen by anyone behind them.

Letting an imaginary Marinette in her mind cheer and jump around for her due to being unable to do anything even close to that in class, her thoughts screamed, Being in the back is the best!

[yourejinx]

Undeniable Bonds

Azriel x F. Reader

Warnings: angst, as per usual. SPOILERS for other SJM series. Mentions of blood, descriptions of injuries, mentions of death, feelings. Not proof read.

Author’s note: Merry Christmas everyone! It took me MONTHS but is finally here, hope you like it. Sorry for making you wait for so long, life has been nothing short of chaotic. I'd like to thank @crazylokonugget , I read your comment. It was the rush of inspiration I needed to get back into writing 🫶🏻

CHAPTER SIX 

The moon was shining big and bright above the night sky in the city, there was music being played by the river despite the chilling winds of the winter and laughter filled the air around The Rainbow. It all seemed so livid, so peaceful and merry in contrast with the emotional turmoil brewing in your insides. 

You were feeling everything at once, every single thing you had tried to keep concealed for centuries now was ready to combust. You felt confused, and angry, resentful, wary…and underneath it all naively hopeful. It would be a lie to say you had successfully gotten rid of your feelings towards Azriel, if anything all the awful things you've done to each other hurted all the more because of that. He was a friend once, and a good one. Gentle, caring, protective, used to actually enjoy the other's presence, go on walks during the nights when the world felt too heavy, just silently supporting each other. Shared laughs at stupid jokes played at Cass and Rhys, sneaking around while in other courts just for the fun of it, knowing no one would ever find you. You were a team. Until one day you weren’t, he just decided it wasn’t worthy and that was it.  

How were you supposed to open up to this person, when he hadn’t even seen the worst in you and deemed you unworthy? How could you ever trust him again? Yet, here you were, walking side by side next to the Sidra like the old times. You could punch yourself in the face just for considering this, every anxious trait screamed at you to leave, you didn’t owe him a single thing, didn’t have to explain anything. So why did you keep walking alongside him? 

“So…uhm,” He started, nervously scratching at his nape. Trying. He was trying to be open, didn’t hold up that mask of coldness to conceal his emotions, not once. “You and Lucien..?”

“None of your business.” you snapped out of instinct. 

He avoided looking directly at you, focusing on some distant light across the bridge. 

You let out a deep breath, this wasn’t going to work. 

“Just talk to him.” Amren’s voice rang in your head. Try. You had to try, you didn’t have to let him know much just…let the conversation flow, right?

“It was a long time ago, even before Amarantha..” you started, casting a sidelong glance at him.

He turned to you, features soft under the moonlight. Gods, he was unfairly beautiful when he wasn’t an ass. You fixed your sight on the river, if only to keep on track. “Nothing really happened, we were young and drunk at one of Tamlin’s masquerades, we made out and that was it.” 

He nodded slowly and cleared his throat, “And now?”

“Is this what you really want to talk about? He’s my friend, not that I owe you any explanation. Or is this your way to ask if Elain is available now?”

You couldn’t help it, the audacity of this male prying into your private life as if he hadn’t been lusting after Lucien’s mate of all people. Hypocrite doesn’t begin to cut it. 

“I don’t care about Elain, I care about you.” 

You wanted to laugh. “Since when? If I recall correctly you despised me until a week ago, you were either insulting me or just blatantly ignoring me in favor of her, or anyone else really. Then all goes to hell and suddenly I’m worth living for?!” 

He grimaced, “You– you remember that?”

You sighed tiredly and sat down on a bench overlooking the Sidra. “Yes, I remember. I just…I don’t understand you.” 

Azriel just stood there beside you, shifting his weight uncomfortably, not being quite sure what to do.  When he didn’t move or say anything you continued, “I want to believe you,” you swallowed around a lump “but do you hear how it sounds? After all we’ve been through. I trusted you and you threw that in my face, how do you expect me to believe that you care about me?” 

This wasn’t going as he was hoping for, but at least it was something. You were speaking to him more than two sentences, which was a lot more than he deserved to be honest. You could yell at him, curse him, punch him in the face if you wished and he would take it. No complaints. Anything if it meant you’d show him how you truly felt, he wasn’t sure he could endure your silence again, knowing how much he had hurt you. He needed you to let it all out, so he could do something to fix it. 

“I don’t expect you to believe me right away, of course not. I know that I have to earn your forgiveness and one day if I’m one lucky bastard I might earn your trust back once more. But I also know that even when I try to make things right you may not forgive me at all, and I’ll accept that too. Honestly? I just want to know how you feel with all that has happened. The only thing that matters now is you.”

You let out a shaky breath, turning away from him. “I don't know what I'm supposed to feel, everything is a mess.” 

He moved then, crouching in front of you and grasping both your hands on his own, making you look at him. The earnest way he was looking at you, the desperate feeling swimming in his eyes that traveled all the way through the bond. It made you gasp, with all that’s been going on you forgot to put a shield up. Now you could feel him, all of him, which meant  he could feel you. 

“I have no damn right to demand such mercy from you, but if for a single moment you find in your heart a spec of doubt, a small sign of will to forgive this coward for wronging you so unfairly, I just want you to know how sorry I am, for everything. I regret it all, I wish I could take it all back. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, until the day I part from this earth I will fight for you.” 

You were quite sure your bottom lip was trembling as much as his hands were, trying miserably to contain the unwelcomed tears pooling in your eyes. Those were such nice words, the silly part of you that always longed for his recognition wanted so desperately to believe, but there were still too many unresolved things, too many questions still running frantically through your head. And one recurrent thought…

“Did I really have to die for you to notice?”  Your words hung heavy in the air, with a mix of accusation and vulnerability.

Azriel, gaze intense and haunted, looked as if you had just punched a hole through his chest. In that moment, the shadows that bound him seemed to soften, and he confessed the truth that had long eluded you both. It wasn't the brush with death that made him take notice; it was the fear of losing you that shattered the carefully constructed barriers around his heart.

"No, it's not about noticing, it's about realizing what it means to lose you," he admitted, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. Azriel's jaw tightened, a small sign that betrayed the internal struggle within him. "It's not so simple. The thought of a world without your laughter, your presence....Losing you was the worst of my nightmares coming true. I've always cared, but I let my past dictate my actions, and I was cruel to you because I couldn't bear the thought of history repeating itself. But I was wrong, and I almost lost you because of it."

“What do you mean?”

You had unconsciously leaned in closer to him and he swallowed audibly at the intensity in your eyes —obsidian black that sometimes showed swirls of violet and blue. Like lightning striking the midnight sky. They were a rare sight, a beautiful one, he knew that only happened when you felt too much. The telltale sign of the emotions you were so desperately trying to hold back from reaching him.  

“I will tell you everything you want to know, in time. I will lay my heart down for you to step on if you wish. But I believe that is a conversation on its own, I wish to explain everything to you and I don’t think I can do it tonight.” He looked almost pleading. “There’s nothing that can excuse the way I treated you, I’ve been a coward, and an asshole and you have every damn right to be angry with me, to hate me. That much I understand. I just hope you’d be willing to listen when the time’s right.” 

You supposed it was fair. It still made you uneasy and you pulled back a little, ignoring the hurt that flashed through his eyes. Given how strained your relationship was, you guessed it was normal he was still doubtful about sharing too much too soon. You weren’t that willing to particularly share much of yourself yet, if ever. 

Gods, you wished you could rage about everything that has happened, and hated the way his words had soothe an ache in your heart you were making an effort not to acknowledge. 

Time. It would take time to heal, and trust, and effort on both sides to make this work. Whatever this white flag he had weaved tonight meant. You knew it was the right call to make, for the sake of everyone, to try and make amends. That didn’t mean it was going to be easy, some things were too deeply engraved in your heart to let go. 

Did it make you a weak, spineless female to want to give in to him? What was the cost of it? 

“Alright,” you muttered, standing to your feet, Azriel followed you. “If I agree to do this, I’ll need you to be patient. I’m not ready yet to let you in, I still have my doubts about this. I think you understand why. But I want to try to be friends again, that’s as much as I can offer you right now.” 

Friends. That was a lot more than he had dared to ask for, even if in his heart he desired more. It wasn’t about him, nor his desires, it was about you and giving you what you need. So if what you needed from him was friendship, he’ll take it. Make the most of it. 

Azriel nodded, something sparkling to life in his eyes that wasn’t there before. The bond thrummed quietly with emotion. Hope. 

“One step at a time?” you offered, extending your hand to him. 

“One step at a time.” He repeated, taking your hand. 

It was awkward but welcomed, the feeling of something settling within your chest. The mating bond had been neglected for so long that the weight of it felt weird now, as if a missing limb had been spoken into existence. Azriel seemed to notice too, absentmindedly reaching his hand up to rub at his chest. 

You tried not to shudder when he gently tugged at it and opened your mouth to suggest keeping the ends closed for the time being. Unless until you were more comfortable with each other. It was way too intimate and overwhelming otherwise, and that you were not ready for yet. 

“Maybe we should–” you stopped as you felt something warm and thick dripping to your lips. Pressing two fingers to the spot and watching them stained red. Blood. 

Azriel quickly caught up to the movement, body stilling in alert.

“What's wrong?” he asked, stepping closer. 

“I don't know,” A strong pang shot too fast to your head making you gasp and causing you to fall forwards. Azriel’s arms instantly wrapped around your shoulders, holding you to him. His shadows were in a frenzy, surrounding you both while he inspected your face for any signs of injury. 

“Y/N? Talk to me, where does it hurt?” He sounded agitated. 

You could hear Azriel’s voice being muffled and muffled by the second, could feel his warmth and the firm press of his body against yours, but everything was quickly becoming a blurry image. Like some distant dream everything started to fade from sight, the whole scenery changing, twisting and re-adapting. 

Velaris had been replaced for a cold, dark room, the air thick and musty. The sound of crashing waves filling the otherwise silent space. Rusty chains hung wicked and ancient from the stone walls, an iron coffin sitting vacant across from you, open and expectantly waiting for its occupier. You couldn’t move a single muscle, only stare through eyes that were not yours, scent with a foreign nose, the smell of fear, and blood, and immense sadness. 

You blinked twice — or rather this…person whose mind seemed blending with yours did— and gazed down to gauntlet-covered hands. Iron, yet again. There was a slight tremble to this other body, a female’s body, from pain so deep from within her guts and the fire blazing underneath, it rose and rose and rose, flaring until it was pushed down and forced to remain still.

She looked up again, to the lone white wolf lying a few feet away, already watching her. The animal tilted his head to the side as if in contemplation and blinked three times. 

“Are you okay?”

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

Sound was the first thing to return to you, hurried, hissing voices coming from somewhere around you. 

“I swear on the Cauldron I'll have their heads on spikes as ornamentations for your throne.”  A low, deep growl laced with intent. You recognized Azriel’s baritone voice from beside you. 

Violet and blue-ish gray greeted you when you finally opened your eyes, immediately recognizing the Town’s House living room.

What in hell had that been? It occurred to you that you had dreamed about her before, the female, recognized the same lemon verbena and crackling embers scent from previous dreams, although never catching a full look at her. Who was she? Was she in danger? Was this a warning? 

Frowning you propped up to your elbows to sit, back resting against the couch’s armrest. Feyre gave you a soft smile, sitting down next to your legs. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked, worry staining her features. 

“I'm fine, just a little dizzy.” You craned your neck back to look at the male standing behind the couch, one of his shadows slipping away to caress your cheek before returning to his master. “What happened?” 

Azriel's honey gaze settled upon you, shoulders sagging a bit from relief at the sight of you awake. “You were unconscious for a few minutes, I flew us back here and called Rhys. I didn't know what to do. Are you sure you're ok?” 

“Yeah, I'm alright. Thank you.” You tried to smile softly but barely managed to slightly lift the corners of your mouth. He nodded, unconvinced. After a moment to cringe, you added, “Whose head are we having on spikes?” 

Silence. 

Rhys cleared his throat. “Your brother’s and Damien’s.” Suddenly the room’s temperature dropped. Feyre shifted uncomfortably in her place. We hadn’t openly discussed the situation yet. “If this is a side effect of whatever they did to you, we need to find the–” 

“It 's not.” you interrupted him. 

It wasn't like you didn't want to find them and finish what had started two centuries ago. But it was your fight, you didn't wish to trouble your family with it. Didn't want Rhys particularly involved out of anyone, he was the reason they came back. Albeit unbeknownst to him. They still lusted after his crown, his throne, they wanted vengeance. Your blood as well as his. 

Azriel stared at you, contemplative. You could sense he wanted to ask more but was debating whether it was pushing a boundary or not. It was all new to the two of you, too fresh to know what was appropriate. 

Fidgeting with your entwined fingers on your lap, you decided to offer some truth. Even if they didn't believe you, even if it sounded crazy. 

“This has happened to me my whole life. It doesn't always knock me unconscious, most of the time it's just dreams.” 

Rhys frowned but it was Azriel who asked, “What sort of dreams are those?” 

“I can't fully explain because most of the time I don't understand them. But it is almost like my mind goes somewhere else, like I share one consciousness with another. A female. Though I haven’t figured that out until tonight. I've seen scraps of her mind, and the places She's been, but I don't know her face.” 

You could practically see the engines in Feyre’s mind working.  She had stayed silent for most of the interaction, paying careful attention to each word. 

“And what happened in this…dream? What did you see?” asked Rhys this time. 

“Not much, she seemed to be in some sort of mausoleum? It was barely lit, few candles here and there. It had to be some isolated place next to the sea, I could hear waves crashing against rock. The air was thick and musty. There was a wolf with her.” 

“Do you think it is possible you're dreaming about someone in the Summer Court?” Azriel caught your attention once more. 

“I don't know, could be. But it feels off. There were chains on the walls…and an iron coffin. But she was alive, I think. Maybe she’s a prisoner?” You turned to Feyre then. “You’ve been there when stealing the Book of Breathings, does this sound familiar? Some place you may have seen?” 

She shook her head. “No it doesn't. That doesn't mean it does not exist, I didn't get to see much of the Summer Court. But why would Tarquin keep an iron coffin?�� 

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I don't know, it doesn't make sense. Why would I be dreaming of a female in the Summer Court? How do I relate to that?” 

“What if they're not dreams, per say, but visions? Like Elain's…” she pursed her lips, deep in thought. 

Azriel tensed beside me, I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. I hadn't seen Elain around that much after Solstice night, coming to think of it. Does he think it's my fault? 

“Hadn't thought of it that way. Honestly, I read too much, since I was a kid. I was convinced my mind made it all up until it started to happen during day time. But either way, I don't think this is the case. I mean, nothing that I dreamt of has happened, and if it did, it didn't involve any of us. So we have no way of knowing about it.” 

“It still bugs me. There has to be some explanation to it. It clearly affects you, I don't believe it's normal that these dreams cause you nosebleeds and make you pass out. What if it gets worse?” Rhys pointed out. 

“Beats me. I know as much as you do.” 

“We’ll have to look into it. Whatever this is, and whoever that person may be. Is there something else you remember?” Azriel's brows were pulled together tightly, but his eyes were gentle when he settled them upon me. 

“I just…one time I recall feeling her, here in Velaris. I — she— saw you two.” You pointed to your high lord and lady. Rhys stilled. “But it was like she was falling from the sky, or rather falling through. You were pregnant with little Nyx.” You told Feyre and turned your head to look at Azriel. “I don't remember much about it. I must have passed out, you found me in the hallway shortly after.” 

Azriel gave a tense nod. “I remember you lying face down on the top of the stairs, your books thrown all over the place. Your nose wasn't bleeding though, I thought you were drunk.” he said apologetically.  

I shrugged. “You didn't know, and I couldn't explain either.” 

“If this is a person that's been here without us knowing, then we must start to investigate immediately.” Rhys cut in. 

“But where do we start?” I asked. 

“I'll see if the wards of Velaris had been tampered with, for starters. Maybe we can find some imprint of magic. In the meantime I’d say you learn about bonds and connections, how they work, check your mental shields. If you have access to her mind then there's a possibility she has access to yours, there has to be a link somewhere.” 

“Alright, I'll start to look into it right away. There has to be something in the library about mental connections.” 

“You should rest now.” Azriel placed a hand on my shoulder. “I'll help with the research tomorrow. We can go to the library after training the Valkyries. If that's okay with you.” 

You nodded and relaxed a little. Ignoring the warmth that his touch had spread across your back. 

“Yeah, it's fine. Tomorrow then.” 

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

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[clementine-thedestroyer]

Exponential improvement - Miguel O’Hara x reader

Warnings/tags: Tutor!Miguel, college AU. Reader is bad at math. Reader and Miguel aren’t actually together, it’s more of a first meeting type thing.

In which, Miguel finds a hill to die on.

Unfortunately for you, that hill is teaching you how to graph Logarithmic equations.

You had made it through highschool math, but just barely- and at the cost of more than a few all-nighters and tear filled study sessions. Math was never your best subject, to say the least. But to be fair, was it anyone’s?

You told yourself this class would be different, that you wouldn’t let yourself get behind, that you’d study, that you’d buckle down and do what you needed to do to get a good grade in the class. But none of that mattered, because despite your best efforts, you were failing.

And god, it felt horrible. You were too embarrassed to ask for help- it was the easiest math class there was- the one considered so basic and fundamental that it was required for every degree track. You knew others were failing, you even knew some had dropped the class in the first week. But that didn’t stop the steady build of shame and self hate that slowly but surely wore you down and left you hanging by a thread.

Then, that thread snapped. You had put blood, sweat, and tears into studying for this test. You stayed up nearly all night going over your notes and the test review. You practiced graphing and crammed every available scrap of information on quadratics, polynomials, and rationals into your head. You even spent the morning of the test watching YouTube videos over your weakest subjects- endlessly reviewing in the hope it would make some sort of difference.

But it didn’t matter. You failed the second test. Barely, yes- you got a 68, but that was still a failing grade, and now you’re halfway through the semester with a 64 and feeling completely helpless about your situation.

You tried, you had studied so hard- and yes, the 68 brought your grade up, but you couldn’t help but feel defeated. Was it so bad that you had expected a little more pay off than a 68? You had ran yourself ragged for that grade, how in the world were you going to get anything higher?

So, you gave in and admitted you needed help.

The campus had a tutoring program that you had known about for a while. Maybe it was embarrassment over needing help, maybe it was your own pride, or maybe it was just plain stubbornness, but you had held out in the hope you could raise your grades without help. But after the latest test, you gave in and signed up for the program.

So here you were, sitting in the tutoring room, waiting for your assigned tutor to show up.

The room was about half full- with each student-tutor pair spread out across the room. The company of others helped calm your nerves, but you couldn’t stop your leg’s anxious jittering. You hardly knew anything about the guy, just that he was in the process of obtaining a masters degree in genetics- and good enough at math to tutor it.

You’re scrolling through your phone- only half paying attention to TikTok as you watch the doorway out of your peripherals, waiting for your tutor to arrive.

5 minutes to 6:00, a man walks into the classroom and sits down at your desk, holding out his hand and introducing himself as Miguel O’Hara. You take his hand, making your best attempt at a strong, confident handshake as you introduce yourself in turn.

You didn’t know who you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. The man, Miguel, is massive: built like a quarterback and taller than everyone else in the room by a long shot. He’s wearing jeans and a simple sweatshirt with the college’s logo. His face is set in a blank, slightly judging look, and his presence just feels straight up intimidating.

You already had your notes and worksheets out and waiting on the table, and Miguel takes notice. He sits down next to you, tugging the top paper in front of him and clicking his mechanical pencil as he scans over the homework.

Before you have a chance to say anything else, Miguel starts, speaking quickly and in a level tone. “Logs? That’s understandable. It’s really quite simple once you get it.”

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Miguel scoots closer to you and slides the paper in front of you, tapping the eraser of his pencil on the first problem.

“Go ahead and do this one for me so I know where you’re at.”

He’s pressed close to you, close enough that you can hear his breathing and feel the heat radiating off his body. Miguel seems completely unbothered, his eyes focused on the problem as he waits for you to start.

You pick up your pencil, hovering over the paper as you stare at the problem and urge yourself to think in the hopes you’ll not make yourself out to be a complete idiot immediately.

Graph the following functions. Find the x-intercept, the vertical asymptote, domain, range, and end behavior of each.

1) f(x) = log3(x + 3) + 1

You struggle to work out the problem, and you try your best. But, Miguel hovering over your shoulder and watching you like a hawk as you work out the problem is really not helpful. If anything, it’s stressing you out. Especially with how close the two of you are- with his thigh pressing against yours under the table. You know he doesn’t mean it like that- that he’s not trying to do anything. But if anything, that just makes it worse.

In the end, you give up, setting your pencil down and letting your eyes fall to the floor. “I don’t know where to start…” you say, sitting back in your chair, trying to ignore the creeping build of defeat and embarrassment from the depths of your mind.

Miguel nods, clicking his pencil again and getting the lead to the length he wants it. He leans forward, taking the pencil to the paper and scribbling numbers in barely legible chicken-scratch as he talks you through how to solve the problem.

“Well, looking at this, we know the asymptote is at -3 and we know b is 3…”

Miguel trails off as he draws a dotted line to the left of the y axis. You’re sure there’s a stupid look on your face right now, because Miguel has barely said anything and you’re already lost. You lean foreward, sitting up straighter in your chair in order to look over his shoulder and see what he’s writing. But all that dose is confuse you more, because Miguel’s handwriting

“Then, we can just graph the 1 0, b 1, and 1/b -1 points and move them around…” Miguel pauses again, this time to draw 6 points on the graph, then connect 3 of them with one line and the other 3 with a second line.

“And once you have it graphed, the rest is easy. We already found the asymptote, you can plug numbers in to find your x-intercept, the range is all real numbers, the domain is the asymptote to infinity, and your end behavior is just the same as the parent function.” Miguel finishes speaking and filling in the blanks on the worksheet, looking towards you and nudging the paper in your direction so you can see it easier. “Ready to try the next one?” He asks.

You stare blankly at the worksheet in front of you, still trying to catch up with Miguel and figure out what the fuck he had just done, but the mess of poorly written numbers and lines did nothing but confuse you further.

Miguel watched you for a second before sighing and nodding. “… you don’t get it, do you?”

And that’s how you found yourself still sitting in the now empty tutoring room with Miguel over 2 hours after you were supposed to have finished.

Not that it was your fault. You tried to give up after the 6th time one of Miguel’s explanations left you more confused than you had been before, but the man wouldn’t let you leave. When you tried to gather your stuff to call it a night, Miguel grabbed your wrist, pulling you back down to your seat and stating that “he was going to teach you how to graph logarithms if it was the last thing he’d do.”

And by god, it might be the last thing he ever does, because Miguel was looking worse for wear at this point.

Dark circles underlined his eyes and dark wayward strands of hair framed his face. About an hour ago, he’d pulled out his glasses- stating that the eye strain was bringing on a headache. He was hunched over the mess of worksheets and scratch paper between you- his phone propped up against his water bottle and playing a YouTube video that tried to explain logarithmic transformations to you for the nth time of the night.

You were trying your best to pay attention- you really were- and Miguel was doing everything he could to help. He’d pause the video often to ask whether the way the person explained it made sense or to peek over at the problem you were attempting to solve and make sure you were on the right track.

You’ve made progress- you actually knew what a logarithm was now, so that was good. And Miguel had related logarithmic functions to exponential functions in a way that just barely made sense- the only hurdle left to clear was being able to graph them.

And god- it was a big one. At this point, you were ready to give up- and were just waiting for Miguel to let you.

Your eyes drift back down to the YouTube video playing on Miguel’s phone. The words playing from the phone’s speakers go in one ear and out the other. You can hear them, but they sound more like a foreign language to you than a subject that you’ve spent the past two hours trying to grasp.

You narrow your eyes- trying to focus on the words of the man in the video- willing to do just about anything just be done and be allowed to go home- you’re considering faking a family emergency when all of a sudden, it clicks.

Maybe it’s the caffeine from the soda you got from the vending machine, maybe it’s the way the YouTube video explained it, or maybe it was your dead-tired brain being so desperate to be done with math today, that it simply manifested an understanding of logarithms into itself.

Regardless, you got it.

The secrets of the universe had been revealed to you. The power of the mathematical cosmos was at your fingertips. You felt on top of the world, and you couldn’t help the giddy smile that spread across your face as you ducked down, working out one of the problems on your worksheet in an effort to test your theory.

Miguel hardly noticed as you started working through the problem. The poor guy looked half asleep as he blankly stared ahead at the video playing on his phone.

You finish the problem, grinning wide as you hold the paper up and tug on the shoulder of Miguel’s sweater. “Miguel! I did it!”

When Miguel turns to you, his face lights up. “You did it?” He asks excitedly- his normally stern, or at the very least calm, expression is split by a massive smile as

“Yeah! I understand it now!!” You reply proudly- beaming as you stand up and hold your hand up for a high five.

Miguel stands- nearly sending his chair toppling backwards as does- and you quickly realize your mistake as his open hand hits yours with a loud smack that sends a stinging pain across your palm. Miguel doesn’t seem to notice how you wince. “See! I told you it wasn’t hard!” He says, still grinning wildly as he pulls his glasses off and folds them, hanging them from the collar of his sweater.

“Oh shush.” You scoff- the tension from the rest of the evening no more than a distant memory now.

Miguel laughs- the kind of deep, light hearted laugh that makes everyone else nearby smile- and he runs his hand through his hair, getting the wayward strands out of his face as he picks up the worksheet you’d solved the problem on, looking over it. “Yeah- you got it right.” He confirms.

“I still need some more practice with it I think…” you add, trailing off.

“Well, not tonight.” Miguel says, nodding. Starting to pack up his stuff as he clicks the power button on his phone and checks the time, cringing at how late it’s gotten. “I kept you pretty late… sorry about that.”

You laugh, nodding. “Yeah. Definitely not tonight…” you pause, trying to keep your voice level as you speak your next words. “But, I’m free Tuesday?” You say, more as a question than a statement.

Miguel looks down at you- the remnants of his earlier excitement settling as a soft smile as he speaks. “How about the coffee shop by the residence halls? Around 4?”

You nod, a giddy feeling bubbling in your chest at the thought of seeing Miguel again- outside of the tutoring room too.

“I really am sorry I kept you so late. I didn’t realize how long we’d been at it.” Miguel says, his eyes flickering to the side for a minute- but the split second of nervousness is practically over before it even begins. “We’re probably heading the same way so… I’ll walk you to your car or the residence halls- or wherever you’re headed.”

You grin, packing up your own things before slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

“I’d like that.”

[heartshapedbubble]

and now, for a request that took me six months to start writing and two months to finish due to personal stuff. jesus christ i should start including financial compensation alongside my fics.

anyways happy spooky szn everyone!! now that my reqs are finally empty i'll be reworking my page soon and opening them again💞

unspoken words, an orpheus x maid reader fanfic📕

tags/heads up: reader is a maid, gender not specified, one sided enemies to lovers kinda????, suggestive only if you squint really hard and get your eyes reaaaally close to the screen (theres only kissing tbh)

-------------------------------------------------------

Being a survivor was never easy. Peer pressure from both your team and people outside it, dealing with all sorts of blows directed right at you - either the physical ones, by the hunter, or the verbal ones from the other survivors.

But being a survivor AND a servant? It made things even worse.

Right after a match, it was only a matter of time when you'd hear groans and whines about how there's no tea and biscuits served in the living room, how there's so much dust on library shelves, how stained the floor in the hall is. And there was no time to catch a break, hell, no time to heal either. You roughly wiped your bloodstained knees, plucked out pieces of wood that dug themselves into your palms, and got back to work. As drops of remaining blood rolled down your leg and you felt your hips crack each time you bent down, you got back to your everyday cleaning service. As you were a maid - the only one that was available at all times, at least, and the only one who was actually living and not just a stitched-up corpse - most if not all of the household manor duties ended up a burden on your back. Strolling between the survivor side and the hunter side, you served warm cups of lemon tea, handed clean towels, even polished shoes. And my god, there was no mercy from either side. Everything was always "not good enough", and most of the time you barely even got a "thank you" handed back. One time, one especially daring hunter dared to spit on you as you scrubbed the tiles beneath him - let's just say that the handle of your broom got to his ankles quite quickly.

The maid life was ugly, but it had its benefits, too. For example, you heard all sorts of juicy gossip dealt from mouth to mouth, from ear to ear, dark secrets from every single person inhabiting the manor. And as most people ignored you unless they needed some unimportant favor from you, in the meantime there was plenty of alone time you could use up until the next bell ring. Curled up in a hidden part of the library, a plate stacked with softened butter cookies by your feet, your free time was spent dozing off on the soft, velvet cushions of the hard sofa by the foggy window, your eyes occasionally skimming through a yellowed book.

~

"Oh, sorry." Helena mumbled as the tip of her cane accidentally scratched your hand as you scrubbed the floor. "I knew you were somewhere in front of me, but I didn't know where exactly."

"It's all good, Hele." Helena was one of the more polite residents, but it was just part of her nature - shy, polite, respectful. Compared to everyone else, she was just a kid after all.

You achingly checked the grandfather clock looming over you, waiting eagerly until it rang for five o'clock and signaled your break for the day. Yesterday you stumbled over a really good book, with a fascinating plot decked into at least five hundred pages. You barely got to skim over the first few when you heard a whine from the living room, demanding a serving of pastries. It kept you up all day long and you could barely contain yourself from running to your little haven straight away.

At last, your deserved break came, and you almost tripped over the carpet folds as you ran towards the rusty trapdoor separating you from your one-hour paradise. Yet, as you lunged right for the piled-up cushions, you noticed a figure.

Someone.

Sitting on your sofa.

Reading a book.

Not just a random book.

The exact same one you picked up and tucked under the pillows yesterday, so no one can get their grubby little hands on it except you.

And, to top it all off, it was no other than the novelist, Orpheus, who was sifting impatiently through the pages, splayed on your sofa like a frog, his leg bouncing nervously.

Ugh, that Orpheus. He was polite and all, one of the exceptions, good-looking even, but god did something about him rub you the wrong way. He always said hello, said goodbye, said thank you and please, smiled back at you, yet...

"Oh, good afternoon, ___!"

The position he was in right now really wasn't helping.

"Hello, sir Orpheus." The "sir" title you had to use out of respect awfully repulsed you, even more so than "lady". Perhaps it was the undertone of uttermost submission unavoidably coming with it. "May I ask you, what are you doing here?"

"Oh. Well, I was on a.... little expedition, will you", he chuckled, nervously playing with the buttons on the cuff of his shirt, "Y'know, messing with the bookshelves and what not, when I stumbled upon this fine little room. Seems like I'm not the first one to discover it, am I?"

"No, you're not." You forced yourself to smile, and sat right by him, the cushions dipping under your weight and slightly pulling you two closer. "I've claimed it as my own, in fact. I believe you don't mind that, do you?"

"I-I don't mind it at all! No no, how could I? Well, I..." He mumbled nonsense, trying to hide his face as he cleaned his monocle. He seemed especially nervous today, and he wasn't the calmest in general, either. "...may I assume you don't mind me staying a bit longer here, do you?"

You sighed. Well, maybe some company instead isn't a bad thing. Even if it was him. "I'll let it slip this time. Want some cookies?" You pulled out a scratched tin box from under one of the big cushions, and messed with the tightly clasped lid. "They're a bit stale, but they taste just fine."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. Hesitatingly, he picked a crumbling cookie and wrapped it in his handkerchief. "Thank you for welcoming me so nicely despite your... condition, y'know. I can only imagine how hard it can be having the role of a maid and a competitor at the same time." There was pity in his voice, a hint of internalized shame, maybe. Willingly or not, his last sentence created an uncomfortable silence between you two, and it was only a matter of time before one of you broke it.

"...You're welcome", you went in head-first into the conversation, "but I really don't need your pity. I didn't get a lot of it in the first place, and I sure don't need it now. My life is what it is, and neither of us can change it."

He sighed. "I suppose you're right", he said as he got up and stretched, "just saying, though.. accepting empathy or help here and there really isn't that humbling as it seems." He calmly walked through the trapdoor, as if he didn't say anything.

God. You decide to be nice for once and you get back a lesson instead? How fun. Especially when it's from someone who you thought you could confide in. But you're not going to allow his words to get to your skull - there's so much better things to think of compared to that....

~

"My apologies, dear." Michiko whispered as she quickly tiptoed away, accidentally bumping into you the second before.

"I'd advise you to be more careful where you tread, doll", Joseph suddenly appeared in the hallway, weaving his words with his usual husky yet elegant voice, "I believe you don't want any accidents to occur while working, hm?"

Out of almost all of the (adult) hunters, Joseph was the most talkative. And you were no exception - he regularly spoke to the other survivors, often scaring them by whispering from behind their back or jumping out of the shadows. He wasn't trying to form strong relationships, obviously, but it seemed like he wasn't the type to withold his comments. After some time spent observing you deduced that Joseph might be a little bit too fascinated with you - or at least a little bit too interested in chatting with you.

"No, Joseph, I, in fact, don't.", you groaned as you threw the broom back in your bucket, "Besides, shouldn't you be more worried about your own wellbeing, old man? Should I bring you some balm for your sore limbs?"

He clicked his tongue. "Tch. You know I have good intentions, dear." One blink later and he already merged with the shadows, looking for someone else to talk to.

"Woah. What was all that about?" You heard a voice behind you, a bit shaky and uncertain. It was - you sighed - Orpheus again, in his hands a ceramic tray stacked with porcelain dishes and silverware, a warm scent of mint emitting from the glossy teapot. He wasn't having a good time trying to balance it in his arms.

"Nothing. Just Joseph being Joseph. Mind me taking this for you?" you grabbed the tray in an instant, now much more stable under your grip.

"I...do, actually." He slowly pulled the tray back towards him, a bit hesitantly now as his hands shook beneath it again. "I thought once you finish we could sit down for tea. Y'know, just the two of us. In the little room in the library. I can bug Norton for some of his tres leches if you want. Or maybe Margaretha for pierogi if you're craving something savory instead... Sorry, I wanted it to be a suprise." He looked away, bashfully, as if he regretted doing all of this in the end. You weren't sure what had gotten into you at that moment, but you suddenly felt that if you don't accept his offer now, you might feel really bad later on. Like looking at a sad little puppy's beady eyes.

"Thinking of it now, it doesn't seem like a bad way to pass the afternoon. I'm in."

~

You puffed at the steam coming from your cup.

"Joseph really gets on your nerves, hm, ____?"

"A bit, yeah. Snooty old man."

"Ah, come on now, he isn't that bad. He's quite pleasant to talk, actually. A little intimidating, very peculiar, but pleasant. Most of the time."

"Wish it was like that when playing against him. I go through hell and back while dressing my wounds because of his damned rapier. How did it even get approved by the owner?

"He's a veteran, so I believe they decided to let it slip back then. Or maybe he just swayed DeRoss off of his feet with his Frenchman charm and the two lasers he has for eyes."

You almost choked on your tea. Orpheus had a suprisingly sharp tongue, unfitting with his unsuspecting face and downturned eyes. He took off his gloves - revealing rough yet nimble fingers - and scooped some pierogi onto his plate.

"Was this a pleasant enough suprise for you?"

"Well, for the first time someone has been nice to me in a while, it's quite delightful, I admit."

"You mean, you wouldn't consider Joseph being polite towards you as "being nice"?"

"Hm?"

"Oh, just wondering, since I overheard bits of your conversation today. He didn't really sound rude, did he?"

"I mean, he wasn't rude or anything, it's just...I don't know how to explain it. Yeah, people are nice to me, actually, quite a lot of them, but they rarely go beyond their words. They don't put them into action."

"I see. I believe it gets annoying with time."

"It does."

"Do you put what you say into action, too?"

"...What are you implying?"

"As in, when you like a person or care for them, do you also try to put into action your love for them?"

"Orpheus, I put everything into action. Every day. That's my job as a maid."

"Yes, I...know that very well, but do you put love in action, too?"

"I don't have time for love. Nor is there anyone to fully love here, I fear. Just tolerate and like, maybe. If they're really nice."

He sat up straight, his thumb trailing his bottom lip back and forth.

"See, I'm no expert, but I do feel that you're denying yourself of something you don't know you need most."

Leaving you puzzled, he got up and left the room.

~

"Orpheus, have you ever kissed somebody before?"

He suddenly jolted, staring back at you from the other edge of the sofa.

"What kind of question is that?" He tilted his head, pouring milk into his tea. One tea break ensued after another, and now it has become an unspoken rule to bring something to sip (or munch) on to the library hideout as the clock struck for afternoon.

"You know how they portray poets and novelists. Romantic, sensual, passionate. I just assumed you already have some experience with dating."

A faint pink flashed his cheeks. "Well, now, what is it that prompted you to ask me? And now, of all times?"

Sip by sip, sentence by sentence, and you got quite close to Orpheus in these few months. You couldn't help but think about his words here and there - to do something with love, not just because you have to. Or out of love. Whatever. The following day after he brought you tea for the first time, you felt the moral obligation to invite him for lunch. And so the cycle continued, an opportunity to chat appeared along with it, and in Orpheus you now saw a friend. Perhaps. There were bits of joy in the moments when you picked out the perfect flavor for the day or played with coffee cream, attempting to make some designs with it.

No, in fact, there was no real reason behind your question. It seemed fitting enough for the moment, and maybe, just maybe, you wanted to catch him off guard again.

"Felt like it."

He cleared his throat. "Well, if you're so curious about it.... not really. Fangirls were common but... I'm simply not very experienced. Some may see me as charismatic but once things get a little bit more serious I don't know what to do. Was that the answer you expected from me?"

It was a bit ironic. A bit cute, even. How his charisma only reached up to actual love, the real thing. The same thing he remarked you needed the most.

"Funny. The Orpheus, the detective novel author, afraid of love? Out of all things?"

It didn't take long for him to pout his lips, looking away in shame. "To be fair, there's quite a bit to be afraid of in love. There's commitment, passion, building trust, insecurity... It takes a lot to love."

"I see."

"May I ask you the same question?"

"Which one - if I've ever kissed someone? Never. Never had the opportunity. Never felt the need, in fact. It wasn't a necessity to have a partner, only a plus. It's not something to be terribly afraid of. I believe it just happens and, well, you go with the flow."

"Well, maybe you never feared it because you never reached its starting point."

"Oh, Orpheus, you're supposed to be a novelist, not a philosopher."

~

The library sofa is quite practical. If you pull the compartment at the bottom of it a little too hard, it can be stretched out, turning it into a large comfortable bed, although a bit rough on the skin.

You and Orpheus laid on the sofa-bed, directly facing the large window, listening to the sound of raindrops hitting the glass.

"It's really calming here. Lulls you right to sleep." He started, his monocle set aside. Now having a better look at his so-to-speak "monocled" eye, you noticed it's more downturned than the other.

"...Mhm." Already half asleep, you turned your head towards his face, soaked up his profile through lidded eyes.

"____ , is everything okay?"

"Everything is just fine. Juuust fine. I'm just a bit sleepy."

You looked at his hand, laying by his hip between you two, fingers twitching here and there nervously. He never took his gloves off in front of you except for when he was eating.

"You can go take a nap if you want. I'll wake you up once it's time to go."

Your hand mindlessly headed towards his and your fingers pinched at the satin gloves, trying to take them off his hands.

"No, I think i'm good."

He sighed sharply. That wasn't a sigh of annoyance, it was a sigh of pain, like trying to breathe deeply while your heart aches.

"God, no. Please, ____ , don't do this to me."

He was scared, and now you were too, but his hand remained still. Torn between pleasure and horror. His fingers cold and nimble, his hand rough and calloused again. For an unknown reason, you wanted to hold it, from the second your gaze switched to it.

"I'm not doing anything bad, am I?"

Your fingers finally fit between his, palm to palm. It was weird. Like holding a pleasantly cold cup and trailing across sandpaper at the same time. But it felt good. It felt safe, secure, like it could last forever.

"You know what you're doing."

You felt his fingers tighten around your hand, gripping it tightly.

"...Please keep on doing it."

~

Seven o'clock.

An envelope in your hands. Your name written on it in the prettiest cursive you've seen, like a treat, baiting you to open it.

But you held back.

You waited.

The door creaked behind you. Not turning back, you spoke softly:

"Orpheus."

"____"

Your name uttered between breaths.

The clack of his shoes, his weight switching from leg to leg, his breathing becoming louder. You could now feel it on your neck. The chilling warmth.

"Why didn't you open the letter?"

"You know why."

"You're cruel."

"But you came anyways."

He sighed. "... for love." It sounded heavy coming from his mouth.

"For love." You smiled, the word now as light as a butterfly. The knife tore through paper and you skimmed through the lines of words, a careful gaze watching you as you did so.

"...What do you think?"

"It's wonderful."

"I know what's on your mind."

You turned towards him now. Face to face. Mere inches separating your eyes. Eyes, wandering everywhere else except towards what laid in front of them.

You tried to lay your hands around his neck. You tried, really. But the look in his eyes already denied you before you even started.

His hands quickly reached for your lowering wrists.

"Give me a moment, I beg of you." He whispered, shaking.

His lips indecisevly hovered above your lips, then your neck, your nose, your cheek. You closed your eyes firmly, only opening them once you felt comforting warmth on your jaw. He pulled back, leaving a translucent string of saliva as he parted.

"I know it wasn't as magical as you expected it to be. I'm sorry, ____ ."

"We barely even started, Orpheus."

He tried to object, to bury himself again, but before the words could slip from his mouth, your lips shut him up. And so, in a mere moment, the unspoken words did not matter anymore.