#youre a bloody genius | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rockingbytheseaside · 8 months ago

Note

Hi! I wanted to say I absolutely adore your art and headcannons! I wanted to ask if you would be interested in making a headcannon for our lovely harbingers where there is someone trying to sabotage their relationship with the reader like for example the person is saying that the reader is cheating or is saying mean things about the harbingers and that they have ,,proof" it is if course a lie. Don't force yourself to do anything you don't want to tho!

(Absolutely genius idea! Sorry to keep you waiting! I’m a slow writer…)

✦ When others try to sabotage your relationship with them

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

(tw: general mentions of violence and blood. sfw)

Being intimate with a powerful Fatui Harbinger provides the illusory dream of having riches, power, and status. Some watch you with hushed murmurs as you accompany your beloved with linked arms, looking all elegant beside him. Perhaps some people cannot comprehend how such a ruthless Fatuus can even court someone like you. Others simply cannot comprehend that status and money is not a key factor in your relationship.

✧ To crossfire with Pierro is to go against every single Fatui Harbinger. The Director is known far and wide as a man of cold words and power beyond the seven nations. All valuable intel and actions are reported to him first and foremost, as even the top Harbingers bow before him. You, on the other hand, were not meant to bow before him. The Jester shall never let you lower your head, because it is he who shall stoop to worship you.

However recently, a certain rumor reached his ears. His spies related to him info that certain Fatui soldiers, some lowly commoners at the bottom of the ranks, are spreading uncouth jabs about you and Pierro. Intel states that these fools think you infiltrated the Fatui and The Director’s inner circle by some intimate provocation and seduction; that you’re in it for the money and status.

Pierro’s gloved hands gripped the papers. Nevertheless, his expression is placid as always.

Thus, the culprit now sat in Pierro’s office, trembling as the room oozed with murderous silence. The Jester never raised his voice, nor did he question the man who “joked” about you. The fellow kept spitting apologies, begging for mercy. He knew it was futile to lie or waste the Director's patience.

And the Jester? It took everything in his power not to get his gloved hands bloodied. To hear someone accuse you - his most cherished, as a shallow harlot? Consequences shall be faced. Calming his boiling turmoil, Pierro continued to conduct himself professionally:

He made sure the man and his entire generation met their oblivion.

With the recruitment of his best spies, he ascertained that the culprit’s disappearance was not felt by a single soul, his entire family gone, and all traces of spread rumors eradicated. Above all, it was orchestrated so that you would remain unaware that anyone dared to tarnish your reputation.

You carried on with your life, blissfully unaware and undisturbed. Even now, you came in knocking on his office, asking: “Long day at work, honey? I can bring you some tea or coffee if you want.”

The Jester's smile returned, throwing away some crumbled documents into the trash can - “A tea break would be excellent, my divine.”

If it’s blood that needs to be spilled to protect you and his private affairs, then Pierro won’t think twice.

✧ For Il Capitano, the way of the blade speaks more for its wielder than words. If you wish to prove your stance, you better be prepared to face the First Fatui Harbinger, as his might will test you in a relentless duel of strength. So what do you think happened when Capitano overheard someone calling you “weak”? That his beloved does not deserve an ounce of his attention, because you are a meek being compared to the Harbinger?

His hand instantly found its place on the hilt of his claymore. He left no room for negotiation or doubt. He marched straight towards the culprit, unsheathed his weapon, and pointed the sharp point of his blade straight at the person.

“If you are so confident to spit such insolence about them, then you must be equally confident with your strength. Let your blade speak.”

The poor fool tried to defend himself with excuses. But his mocking meant nothing to the Captain’s weapon. Before you know it, there is an ongoing duel initiated by Il Capitano. The witnesses know that whoever is on the receiving end of his wrath has no chance of surviving. Not when a single swing of his weapon causes craters on the ground.

The man was about to collapse, accepting his violent demise. But just as Capitano was about to unleash his final lesson, your voice rang out amongst the crowd.

“Hey! Cease this commotion at once!” - you stepped up, your expression stern as you stood in front of your beloved. In a rare moment of vulnerability, the Captain’s already stoic body language shifted. His claymore was sheathed back to its place.

“My beloved, you shouldn’t have seen this…”

“And yet I did. It would’ve reached my ears anyway. What did I say about temperamental duels, Capitano? Morons are not worth it.”

“He called you weak. I cannot allow it.”

For a minute, Capitano kept his head hung low in reverence. You stood with your arms on your hips, scolding him. Was it not for your intervention, that person who vocally mocked you would’ve been lying dead now. Instead, you spared the offender, and the man was allowed to flee in humiliation.

The conflict was eradicated, and Capitano's imposing demeanor showed he didn't regret his actions. Considering how even Capitano bowed to your words, the accuser realized - you are not weak. Because if there was one person who made the First Harbinger go motionless then it was you.

✧ Today was a good day for Il Dottore, but you weren't sure why. He was a tad clingy, his steps laced with a sense of giddiness. Giving you extra squeezes while hugging, smothering you with longer kisses on the cheek. Even as you sat idly in his lab, you watched him as he worked on some paperwork with a grin.

Thus you questioned him, lazily strolling around his lab and observing the countless tools or vials. But he waved off his excitement, tapping his pencil over some papers - “Nothing of major importance, but I did have something interesting happen recently.”

You raised an eyebrow, beckoning him to continue.

“An idiot made a pathetic attempt at spreading rumors about us.” - You stopped in your tracks, going still as you held some miscellaneous container with what seemed to be tissue samples. The Harbinger continued: “Some fool spoke behind your back; stating that anyone who is close with a heretical scholar is bound to be equally insane. They thought that if their words didn't reach you, then it's of no consequence.”

Your expression fell somber with each word Dottore spoke. He said it with such profound avidity, that his voice demonstrated threatening intent behind them. So he continued. “But you know me, dear. Nothing goes past me. Vile nicknames are nothing new to me. My work is not for the faint of heart, and those pesky cretins enjoy concealing their fear with profane titles. And they can call me whatever they want. However, I won't allow them to call you names. Not because of my work.”

You averted your gaze sadly onto the samples of veins and organs in vials. You pretended to inspect them, but your sorrow was more prominent. You suspected Dottore already did something, hence his unusual giddiness today. Thus, you inquired in a soft whisper - “So… what did you do?”

“I handled it, naturally.”

“...You did? What happened? To the person who said such things, I mean.”

“What happened? Dear, you're holding them in your hands right now.” - Il Dottore beamed, pointing at the vials of organs you held.

✧ Today, Scaramouche was eerily silent. You were accompanying him during one of his work expeditions, aiding him with certain formalities regarding his Fatui subordinates. The 6th had soldiers working under him, and although he did not care for their training, he did not tolerate any incompetent weaklings.

Therefore, you decided to lend a hand. You helped conduct a training program for his underlings, making sure all standards were met. It’s not the first time you did so, since The Puppeteer often placed you as the second in command whenever he was absent. And the Fatui soldiers did not conceal their thrill - it’s like you were their favorite substitute teacher who was more cheerful and forgiving than their superior.

Either way, Scaramouche saw that the mission was going smoothly. But soon, lightning would strike. A certain Fatuus, an agent in training, was getting too charmful with you. It was during the usual training assigned by you, and this person was focusing more on his conversation with you than his training:

Telling you how you are a remarkably skilled person. How it’s a marvel to see someone so delightful as you working alongside the Balladeer. How you shouldn’t waste your time with someone as aggravating as Lord Harbinger Scaramouche. He’s even leaning closer towards you.

You smiled uncomfortably, your attempts at polite disagreement did not work with this agent. Yet now you felt the static in the air, and that’s when you realized - Your beloved heard all of it.

On this usual, unassuming morning, Scaramouche walked silently and struck a man with lightning. All eyes turned towards the commotion as you stood behind the Harbinger. His fists were clenched, sparks of electro crackling from them.

He may have been silent the whole day, but don’t mistake his silence for impassivity.

“Next time, know your place,” - he seethed, standing over the person who endeavored to sweet talk you. He permitted his subordinates too much leeway, now they dare charm you with empty flirts. Scaramouche would’ve stomped that man’s head if he wanted, but he wouldn’t create such a grotesque scene in your presence. Instead, he turned away, held your hand, and pulled you away.

He gave you a day off, his mind already conjuring plans to deal with his underlings later. At least he scoffed out an apology. Not for what he did; he does not lament that. Just a small ‘sorry’ for giving you a quick fright. The lightning strike was very loud, after all.

✧ Pantalone often gets invited to luxurious meetings or extravagant galas. Any party that is attended by the richest man in Teyvat is a guarantee to make high-society elites turn heads. However, considering your prolonged relationship with your darling Pantalone, you know he secretly despises these social gatherings. Therefore, he takes you with him. Dressed in your finest, Pantalone proudly shows you off to the pompous aristocrats.

People would watch enviously, thinking to themselves: The Regrator’s sweetheart, spoiled by his riches. Your attire is as glorious as his expensive suit. His arm is tenderly linked with yours, always offering you his hand like a true gentleman whenever you two walk. Even as he conversed with various business partners, he always had to make sure his hand was around your waist or your hand.

This dotting behavior made certain ladies of Snezhnaya jealous. They could see you were not a noble-born, nor were you used to the attention during such gatherings. You just timidly accompanied him, and Pantalone kept rambling about you and your benign achievements. Childish, really. You’re probably someone who just ran after and clung to the Harbinger until he relented to keep you. Therefore, a group of ladies initiated the conversation:

“It’s a pleasure to meet a man such as yourself, Lord Harbinger.” and “Why, a man of your status is probably seeking some interesting company. Oh? You are with someone? My, my, I did not notice them.” or “Surely you desire connections worthy of your status, sir.”

Pantalone had mastered the art of courteous smiling, yet even his act was about to crack. He noticed the way these ladies tried to stand too close to him, pretend you were not in the picture, or even passively mock you. Their insolence stenches, and noticing your silent discomfort caused his heart to sting. But he had a plan.

“Why yes, you are right,” - Pantalone smiled with his charming looks “I do value my time, and it’s important to not waste it on shallow conversationalists. Oh, but it’s such a shame that the people in front of us are just that. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Pantalone turned to you, his arms encircling your waist while speaking such backhanded comments with triumphant smiles. The ladies’ smiles fell instantly, and you tried everything to avert your gaze. “Um, Pantalone? Maybe we shouldn’t-”

“Shouldn’t bore ourselves with such lowly individuals? Hmm, I agree. There isn’t much to do here anyway, only the greedy will seek something in this superficial gathering. Oh well, let’s go so I can take you to dance, dear.” - Pantalone concluded in his usual enamoring tone “Ladies, if you would excuse yourself.”

In this world, the 9th of the Fatui Harbinger doesn’t excuse himself - others do. Therefore, he took you away, scoffing and checking up on you with hushed whispers. Pantalone was offended. Why do they assume it was you who desperately sought out the rich Harbinger? Little do they know it was Pantalone who used to run and seek your attention just to be yours. Honestly, they’re discrediting his neediness for you.

✧ Should anyone meddle with Tartaglia’s personal life, they are picking up a brawl. Someone dares to flirt with you? His fists are ready. Someone said something unwelcoming about you? Anything in the vicinity can be used as a weapon. Someone endangers his relationship? Their life is now in danger.

Of course, you’re the one who consistently yanked him out of these fights. Usually, it’s nothing serious, as when you scold your boyfriend for such reckless behavior it ends with his heartfelt words and apologetic chuckles. He finds solace in embracing you from behind, gently enfolding his arms around your shoulders, reassuring himself that all is well.

However, Tartagia is still a Harbinger. Away from home, he’d personally search for intel on the culprit who dares to offend your relationship. Names, records, locations, anything to keep tabs on those who think they can drag his family into bloodshedding matters. Tracking is of no issue, after all, when he was still a young rookie, training as a Fatui agent was just the first step.

Once he determines the offender, he’ll pay a discreet visit to them. And this time, without you dragging him away from fights, there is no place for mercy or jests.

At night, Childe returned home, cheerful as the sight of you getting ready for bed welcomes him. Yet in the dim lights, you’d gasp and approach him with concern, catching traces of smeared blood on his face or hands.

Ajax would just smile; he didn’t need to explain. Instead, he would quietly approach you from behind and envelop his arms around your shoulders in quiet stillness.

6K notes · View notes

waves-against-a-cliff · 5 months ago

Text

After the End - Post-apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - You set up a wonderful maze for these trapped mice

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. 141 x reader, self harm, injuries

Masterlist

Pateron, KoFi, and Throne

A/N: If you want chapters early then check out my Pateron or KoFi

It wasn't difficult to form a plan in your mind. First you'd draw some blood, the thing that led them to you in the first place. You'd make them go around in circles until they landed themselves in different traps along the way. And while they acted like mice in a maze you would observe as the scientist making notes.

You made a clean cut into the palm of your hand and winced at the bite of the blade. It was sharper than you thought and cut a bit deeper than you wanted. You sucked in a breath before you smeared some blood onto a tree.

You wandered your forest for what had to be at least two hours, clouds had gathered and had dimmed out the sun. It was a forewarning of snow to come and the wind had already started to pick up. You had made a very intricate maze for them, misled by your own blood no less.

Finally you began your long walk home, you pulled your coat tighter around you and stuffed your barely scabbed over hands into your pockets as the wind blew harder. Soon enough the snow would start to fall and they'd either have to try and find their way out of the forest, hunker down for the night and loose your foot prints or keep going through the snow and darkness.

Your omega purred at the idea of the warmest surviving all of this. Oddly, you found the idea of one of them, maybe even two, surviving just to be able to breed you oddly romantic. Instead of giving up or dying, they pushed through just to have you. A small rumble started in your chest as you thought back to the two brown eyed ones.

"Fucking hell," Ghost mumbled to himself, his ankle was twisted oddly and his ass hurt from the fall. Worse? The sky had started to shit out snow. They (Soap and Price) had the most genius plan of splitting up to try and find the omega. Ghost had caught onto her scent and followed it.

Followed it right into a bloody trap. It was at least 12 feet deep if he couldn't even touch the top while jumping and he could jump if he wanted to. He was stuck in a hole, with no idea on how to get out without help and he wasn't going to try and shout for it. God only knows how far away the rest are.

Fuck his head hurt like a bitch. He had to give the omega credit. She had set up her forest to be a fortress and a death trap. Pits, tripwires, all kinds of little tricks hidden away. Each step he had taken made him hold his breath.

He had heard a loud BOOM some miles away and very, very distantly Scottish yelling. Maybe he had gotten off lightly with a twisted ankle and was stuck in a pit for a while. Still, his inner alpha whined knowing his fellow packmates were likely in danger. His base urges didn't even care about the omega when his pack was getting hurt. He couldn't help but wonder how Price was doing.

Price was stuck upside down. He had caught a glimpse of the omega, who had turned her head towards him and wore a frankly smug look. He had tried to order her over but she stuck her fingers in her ears and walked away. All of the blood flow was ending up in his head and it made him feel sick. Worst? His knife had fallen out.

It laid on the snowy ground and mocked him. This was the fuckin' worst. Maybe he should have just let the omega be but that thought made his own alpha stir and snarl. This felt like some bizarre courtship ritual but instead of blankets and food it was surviving the omegas own traps.

If what he heard a while back from Soap was anything to go by, his Scottish sergeant was not having a walk in the park either. It sounded like an explosion and he hoped it wasn't very damaging.

He glanced over when he heard someone approach and Gaz emerged. "She has running in fucking circles Cap."

1K notes · View notes

enha-doodles · 11 months ago

Note

slytherin boys reacting to their darling being from Ravenclaw?👀

SLYTHERIN GUY'S REACTION TO YOU BEING IN RAVENCLAW | ✧⁺。

Pairing : (Mattheo , Tom , Theodore, Lorenzo , Draco) x reader

Note : tysm for requesting i hope you like it , Hufflepuff is next 🕺🏻🕺🏻

Warning : not proofread, my jokes lmao

MATTHEO RIDDLE

Being with Mattheo is like living in a perpetual comedy sketch. Every time you dazzle him with your Ravenclaw wit, he can't help but playfully roll his eyes and joke about feeling like a first-year struggling with a broomstick. "Seriously, babe, how do you do it?" he'd exclaim, his amusement clear in his eyes. "You've got more brainpower than a room full of Hogwarts professors, and here I am, struggling to remember which potion turns a mouse into a snuffbox."

Despite his self-deprecating humor, you can see the genuine admiration in his eyes, knowing that he's completely smitten with your cleverness. And hey, if being the smart one in the relationship means you get to see that adorable look of amazement on his face, then maybe being a Ravenclaw isn't so bad after all.

TOM RIDDLE

Tom, on the other hand, is a different story altogether. With his competitive nature and Slytherin pride, he can't stand the thought of being outsmarted by anyone, especially his own girlfriend. Every time you happen to know something he doesn't, he's quick to brush it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Oh, so you think you're the expert now, do you?" he'll say, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "Just remember who's supposed to be the genius in this relationship."

Despite his competitive edge, you can't help but find it amusing how seriously he takes it all. After all, who knew that trivia night with your boyfriend would turn into a high-stakes battle for intellectual supremacy?

THEODORE NOTT

Theodore, on the other hand, couldn't be more different. He absolutely adores your cleverness, finding your sassy remarks and witty banter completely irresistible. "My darling beauty with brains," he'll say, flashing you a charming smile. "You keep me on my toes, love, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

With Theodore, every conversation feels like a game of verbal chess, with each witty comeback and clever remark only adding to the sparks flying between you. And hey, if being a smartass means getting to see that adorable grin on his face, then sign you up for Ravenclaw house forever.

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

Lorenzo, with his laid-back demeanor and sharp sense of humor, finds your intellect both amusing and slightly irritating at times. "Do you ever turn that brain off, or is it just permanently stuck in overdrive?" he'll tease, though there's a fondness in his eyes that tells you he wouldn't have it any other way.

Despite his occasional annoyance, you know that he secretly loves your quick wit and sharp mind, even if it means enduring the occasional eye roll or sarcastic remark.

DRACO MALFOY

And then there's Draco, the epitome of Slytherin arrogance and charm. While he may grumble about your Ravenclaw intelligence, secretly, you know he's secretly impressed by your cleverness. "Bloody hell, can't you dumb it down a bit ?" he'll joke, though there's a hint of genuine awe in his tone. "But hey, I guess it's better than having a girlfriend who thinks Quidditch is a type of biscuit."

With Draco, every conversation feels like a battle of wits, with each snarky remark and witty comeback only adding to the undeniable chemistry between you. And while he may be a bit of a brat at times, you wouldn't have him any other way. After all, what's a little friendly rivalry between Slytherin sweethearts?

。　　　　✧　　　　⁺　　　。

2K notes · View notes

notlongtolove · 20 days ago

Text

in my dream, i'm fixing your crutch

most nights, spencer wakes to the sound of your sniffles—unlike most nights, he doesn’t have to ask why. the reason is visceral, tangible—staining the sheets when the wound dressing wasn’t tight enough, seeping and pooling right between the both of you where an ocean of your guilt already lies.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: flangst hurt comfort

content: many mentions of wounds and blood. bc spencer was shot. jesus reid woo! established relationship spencer and bau!reader deal with the aftermath of spencer taking a bullet for her

word count: 2.8k

note: based on this ask! for my jesus reid sassy man apocalypse flangst fight and make up lovers... this ones for you! i actually loved writing this sm @esote-rika u wonderful genius u!!! inspired by this poem that she sent me! might be one of my new favorite fics ive written

a line: In the bad dreams, over and over, you’re saying you’re sorry. In the worst dreams, he’s saying he forgives you.

“I’m sorry.”

Those were the first words out of your mouth when Spencer had woken up in the hospital. Before that, you'd been running on adrenaline, too focused on talking the unsub down. So certain—so sure—that he wouldn’t pull the trigger. That you’d be fine. That the father would be fine. And you were, mostly.

Because a hard shove sent you both tumbling to the ground. No broken bones, no bloody wounds—Just a bullet in Spencer’s leg instead of yours.

He held your hand through the tears, fingers gentle as they stroked through your hair while you wept against the edge of his hospital bed. Told you I’d take a bullet for you, honey. Spencer always joked about that. Romantic once—now, not so much. It is not an honour you ever wanted to hold.

Crutches for a month. You’d been right there when the doctor ordered it, nodding, asking questions, voicing concerns. The two of you make do, as you always do. You move into his place, helping him with the little things. Because loving someone means loving them in health and in sickness. During the good times and the bad. Two sides of the same coin—But intimacy wears many faces.

You don’t think you’ve stopped crying since you saw the blood soaking into the grass.

You try to smile more when Spencer’s around. He says it helps—just as much as the medication, maybe more. So you do. More cuddles than usual. Coffee, just the way he wants it, because come on, the man took a bullet for you, the least you could do is not criticise his sugar intake.

But when he’s not there, the tears come. In the shower, where the water washes them away before you can. Waiting for the coffee to brew, blinking them back so they don’t salt the mug.

You whisper I’m sorrys into his hair when he falls asleep after the Doctor Who reruns, as many as he wants. Hope he feels it in the way your fingers card through his curls, lathering shampoo carefully. Hope he tastes it in the spoonfuls of breakfast you lift to his lips, even though his hands work just fine. Everything served in bed, of course, because that’s where he is.

Because that is where he has to be.

I’m sorry. You don’t think you’ll ever stop saying it.

Most nights, Spencer wakes to the sound of your sniffles—Unlike most nights, he doesn’t have to ask why. The reason is visceral, tangible—staining the sheets when the wound dressing wasn’t tight enough, seeping and pooling right between the both of you where an ocean of your guilt already lies.

Still, every night he does wake, he cups your cheeks with warm hands as he murmurs it’s okays.

He’ll say it again at 2 am, when he’s inevitably forced to rewind the bandage himself because somehow, you never seem to get it right. Another tally mark on the growing list of ways you’ve failed him.

And again at 4 am, when you shift too close in your sleep, bump against him, and wake to a sharp, stifled wince. Then the tears resurface, and the cycle repeats. God, you’re just a walking Murphy’s Law, aren’t you?

“Do you blame me?” you’d asked him one night, voice meek in the dark.

“You were in danger. I acted. I could never blame you.”

You replay that conversation more often than not. You love Spencer enough to believe that he means it—that in his mind, it’s the only truth that exists. The only truth that could ever exist.

But you don’t think you love yourself enough to believe it, too.

You move to the couch after the first week. Couldn’t take another night of accidental touches, of hearing his breath hitch in pain and feeling—remembering— that you’d put him there. Spencer had protested, threatened to order an air mattress just to sleep beside you, but you’d won in the end. He needed space. Comfort. Proper rest to heal.

Mostly, you just didn’t want him to see you crying anymore.

The couch isn’t so bad. Smells just enough like him to let it lull you to sleep. Has pillows that are fluffy enough to clutch in your grip when he insists on showering alone for the first time. The couch is close enough to hear the bottle of shampoo hit the floor and the pause that follows when you both realise he can’t bend down to pick it up himself. It’s also far enough away that you hear only the muffled curses that escape him when he tries to dress himself after—Spencer hardly ever swears.

And again, the couch is far enough away that he can’t see you cry.

Intimacy is familiarity, carved deep.

It is not synonymous with love, nor does it innately mean romance. It is a vulnerability between two people, a connection that forms through time, a trust that builds upon circumstance. Intimacy is a blade that cuts through flesh and bone, never to be used lightly. It sees everything—what you are, what he is, what the two of you have always been.

It’s the chaste kiss you press to his lips before leaving for the jet, van waiting down in the lobby. The long list of instructions, medications, emergency contacts scribbled onto paper—handed off to Garcia. The unanswered calls that drain your battery, each one landing in his voicemail.

When you’re away, you dream of Spencer. You’re steadying his crutch, rewrapping his wounds, pressing gentle kisses over healing scars.

In the bad dreams, over and over, you’re saying you’re sorry.

In the worst dreams, he’s saying he forgives you.

Intimacy is something etched into the marrow of you, amidst the flesh and bone, through the ache and the aftermath.

“Spence?” you call from the doorway, one hand braced against the wall as you toe off your shoes. “You in here? Garcia said you decided to head home.”

A muffled shuffle from his office draws your attention. When you step inside, you find him perched in his desk chair, one hand gripping his crutch, the other stretched toward a book just out of his reach on the bottom shelf.

“I didn’t decide to head home,” Spencer mutters, still not looking at you. “Garcia sent me home.”

You have to bite back a smile. “Garcia sent you home?” you echo, amused, crossing the room to retrieve the book from the shelf with ease. He returns your kind act with a heavy sigh even as you set the book on the table beside him.

“She was rearranging her case files. Said I was in the way.”

“Aw honey,” you coo, reaching out to fluff his curls. Normally, he’d lean into your touch, eyes going all soft with adoring affection. But tonight, there’s nothing. Your hand falls away, neglected.

“Have you eaten?” you try, hoping hunger is to blame for his mood. He barely acknowledges the question, offering only a curt nod.

“What’d you have?”

“One of those instant meals,” he mutters.

You frown. “I thought you hated that stuff.”

Spencer scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m in any position to cook now, am I?”

The window is shut but the study is ice cold. You knew he was upset when Hotch forbade him from coming along on the case. He had told you just as much, his frustrations only thinly veiled in the few text messages he’d sent. But whatever this is, you don’t understand why it’s suddenly being directed at you tonight.

“Did something happen while I was away?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” The sarcasm that drips in his tone pools together at your feet.

Most people work to live. Your boyfriend is not most people. He lives to work. The time he doesn’t spend solving cases is spent preparing for the next one—reading, researching, gathering knowledge for the inevitable moment it might be needed. You of all people know he hates being unoccupied. He’d explained it to you once, how much he detests idleness, the feeling of time slipping through his fingers with nothing to show for it.

And now here he is, sidelined. Left behind—with nobody else to point the finger at but you.

Not Garcia for shoo-ing him out of her Batcave. Not Hotch for being a stickler for the doctor’s orders. Just you.

“Is that it? You’re upset because Hotch didn’t let you come on the case?”

Spencer doesn't answer so you’re the one to take a step forward—both physically and metaphorically.

“Spence, talk to me. What’s gotten into you?”

The laugh that leaves Spencer doesn’t really sound like him at all. It comes out sharp and humourless—Empty, essentially.

“What’s gotten into me?” He exhales, shakes his head. “You mean other than a bullet?”

The breath you were holding slips from your lips, and for a moment, it feels like the bullet never left. It might as well have buried itself hilt deep, slicing through you and back out. Right now, you almost wished that were the case.

A bullet in your boyfriend is not a cross you ever wanted to bear but it is a cross you’re tied to carrying all the same.

Maybe it had been easier in the beginning. In the holding of hands in the ambulance, in the moving of mugs to accommodate yours. But in the wake of skin and gauze, of antiseptic burning raw and sheets gripped in clenched fists—What is there to thank god for?

Just a bullet.

Just a wound.

Just a bed too small to carry the hurt of two people.

“Spencer.”

For a man with a limp, he moves fast. The bedroom door slams shut behind him and you’re left to stand there by yourself, guilt seeping into the floorboards under you. Thank god for the couch.

You don’t dream of Spencer tonight. You don’t sleep at all. Which is why you hear it—the crutch slipping, the clattering against the wood of the floor. You tiptoe to the bedroom door, nudging it open.

“Hey, everything alright? Need your meds? Water? I can get—”

“S'fine,” Spencer says. His sigh is as heavy as it is exhausted as he bends down to retrieve his crutch.

“Oh. Okay…” You hesitate, lingering by the door. “Goodnight then.”

“Sweetheart—” Spencer exhales, soft and uneven. “I—I… wanted to talk.”

You swallow. ��Talk?”

“What I did—how I acted just now—that wasn’t okay. And I’m sorry.”

It sounds weird coming from him. Wrong, almost. A man who took a bullet for you shouldn’t be apologising. A thousand sorrys from you wouldn’t even come close to enough, and you’re certain you’ve already said more than that.

“You don’t need to apologise, Spence, you—”

“I do.”

He tries to stand. You’re at his side before he can, pressing him back down with a gentle hand against his shoulder as you take a seat by the edge of the bed too.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I was frustrated. At Hotch, at Garcia, at myself. And I took it out on you.”

You nod silently, trying to understand.

“I’m not used to this,” he admits. “Being taken care of. Needing to be taken care of. It’s... hard. What I said before I left the room… I shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

Spencer isn’t one to dance around words. He thrives on specifics. Tonight, he doesn’t need to name it.

What’s gotten into me? You mean other than a bullet? The words have been reverberating in your skull since he said it.

“Do you—” Your voice sounds hollow in your throat, shaking as it leaves you. “Can you forgive me?”

Spencer’s seen you cry before. But the sight of you wiping away your own tears is not one he’s used to. He’s used to holding you through it, with soft hands, with light kisses. So, he takes your hand first, then coaxes your gaze up to meet his. It’s the first time you’ve seen him smile since you’ve gotten back.

“Angel,” he breathes, “there’s nothing to forgive. I don’t blame you. For any of it. Do you remember what I said the first time?”

“I—yeah.”

“You were in danger. I acted. Simple as that.”

In theory, it is simple. Bullets move at roughly 2,700 feet per second. To reach you first, Spencer must have moved at 2,701.

It is not a lifetime of love of reflected in a single split second. It is a lifetime of love refracted, redirected—Love forced onto a different path the moment the bullet entered his body. Two sides of the same coin, wild violence amidst the intimacy. You see it day after day in the blood that trickles down his leg, in how his skin splits open in millimetres, in the way his body punishes itself for what his heart decided.

It is agonising to see how softly he hurts.

“I just—I’m so sorry, Spence. For this. For everything.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “do you trust me?”

Your head jerks up. You sit straighter, wiping at your nose with the sleeve of your sweater. “Yeah, of course, Spence, I—”

“Then I need you to believe me when I say this.” He shifts, taking both your hands into his. He winces slightly but doesn’t let it stop him. “This? This isn’t your fault. Not at all. I need you to know that, baby. Okay?”

You’ve never been one to hold back or stay quiet during arguments with Spencer. Especially when he’s the first to admit he’s wrong—And, being Spencer, that hardly ever happens. More than you’d like to admit, he’s usually right. But this is different.

Because Spencer is wrong. He shouldn’t have said it. But “shouldn’t” doesn’t make it untrue.

Spencer was shot. Fact.

You weren’t. Fact.

And you weren’t shot because Spencer took the bullet for you.

Fact upon fact, stacking too tall, pressing down hard, choking you out.

“But it is though,” you whisper, though it comes out as more of a cry. “Spence, if it weren’t for me—”

“Honey, there is no version of events where I would’ve ever let that bullet touch you.” He gives your hands a light squeeze. “None.”

There is an intimacy in knowing love, at its core, is a kind of violence. It is a body rashly moved by instinct before the mind catches up. It is the sacrifice of flesh before the heart has even finished deciding, of stepping into the line of fire before you’ve even realised that you’ve moved.

With his heart, mind and body—That is how violently Spencer Reid loves you.

Spencer has always been fast. Faster than the bullet meant for you. Fast to love, quicker to comfort—He presses a kiss to your cheek where the last tear falls. “I mean it when I say that there is nothing you could’ve done, or Hotch could’ve done, or the Unsub could’ve done that wouldn’t have resulted in me taking the bullet for you.”

“Well,” you start, voice still sniffly from the remnants of your tears, “the unsub could’ve just... not shot.”

Spencer blinks. For a second, he’s still caught in the weight of his emotions. Then, his lips twitch, a knowing smile breaking through as he rolls his eyes.

“Smartass.”

A small giggle bubbles out of you. You lift your joined hands to press light kisses into the spaces between his fingers, into the cracks of him that you can reach. He lets you. Spencer doesn’t remember the last time you touched him like this—Not careful, not afraid. Not like guilt kissed your fingertips before they ever touched his skin.

“Baby,” he mumbles.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Spence.”

For the first time in weeks, you’re looking at him the way you always have. Not like a martyr you never asked for, carrying the weight of a sacrifice you never wanted him to make.

For the first time in weeks, you’re looking at him like it’s just him, and it’s just you.

No bullet. No blood. Just him. Just you.

“Will you sleep in here tonight?”

You freeze. He feels it immediately.

“Spence, I—I don’t know, I don’t want to hurt—” you murmur, blinking down at your interlocked fingers.

“You won’t,” he’s quick to reassure. “I just want you next to me. The sheets don’t smell like you anymore and I never sleep well without you. I wake up, and you’re out there, and it feels wrong. I just want to hold you. Please? It’s been days.”

You’re helpless when he speaks like that. Besides, the man took a bullet for you—how could you ever say no to him again, for as long as you live?

So you nod, shifting closer, barely hesitating before crawling into bed beside him. After some readjusting, you hear Spencer exhale, feel his arm curling around you, slotting you against his side like muscle memory. For the first time in days, you let yourself be held.

His lips brush your skin as he whispers, “thank you.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

��★ song recs if you feel like it: savior complex by phoebe bridgers inside your mind by the 1975

779 notes · View notes

blueberrisdove-sideblog · 26 days ago

Text

―୨୧⋆ ˚ 𝓇𝓊𝓀𝒶 𝓈𝓅ℯ𝒶𝓀𝓈 : This is all about Mydei and his dark desires for you! What will the God of War conjure up next in his series? Why don’t we take a peek? :>

―୨୧⋆ ˚ 𝒮𝓎𝓃ℴ𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈 ：Mydei is the god of war, feared by everyone for his insane strength and genius strategy. He’s got this fiery temper and never backs down, making him the perfect leader, always commanding armies with cold precision. But underneath all that intensity, there’s a guy who holds on to a strong sense of honor. He’s constantly battling with the weight of his power and the vulnerabilities it brings. He’s all about destruction and victory, pushing through one fight after another, but he’s still carrying the heavy burden of being a god.

―୨୧⋆ ˚ 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 ：This series focuses on Mydei and his role as a gift of war. Each plot will explore different aspects of his journey and experiences. It will include : fem!reader & male!reader. ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

―୨୧⋆ ˚𝓃ℴ𝓉ℯ ：if you want to be tagged in any of these fics comment or reblog & tell me which fic/fics/drabbles u wanna be tagged!

001. DESPERATE TO SAVE ?! [NSFW & FEM!READER]

When the plague ravaged your village, you sought out Mydei, the god of storms. He promised you to save your people, but only if you have s*x with him and become his wife. With no other option, you agreed.

[ TW : DUBCON ， LOSS OF VIRGINITY ! ]

002. RUINED BY WAR ?! [NSFW & FEM!READER]

In a world divided between war and peace, you, the Goddess of Peace, find yourself drawn to the one being who defies everything you stand for—Mydei, the ruthless God of War. His touch is rough, his presence overwhelming, and yet, when you're in his grasp, resistance crumbles like ruins beneath a battlefield. He should be your greatest enemy, but in the dark, when his hands claim you. And as he takes you, possessive, unrelenting, you realize that even peace was meant to surrender.

[ TW : IMPLIED DUBCON ，SIZE KINK ， PERV!MYDEI ! ]

003. FALLING FOR WAR ?! [NSFW & MALE!READER]

You are nothing but a mortal warrior—fragile, fleeting, and yet, you have defied the God of War himself. Mydei has crushed entire civilizations under his heel, yet no matter how many times he cuts you down, you rise again, bloodied but unbroken. He should end you, make an example of your defiance, but instead, he finds himself enthralled. Your stubbornness is infuriating, your resilience intoxicating. So, he decides to break you in a different way, to make you surrender, not to war, but to him. And when he finally has you beneath him, trembling and breathless, you realize that even the strongest warriors can fall.

[ TW : SIZE KINK ， MANHANDLING，ROUGH!MYDEI ! ]

00.4 UNTAMED CHAOS ! [NSFW & MALE!READER]

You are the God of Chaos, a force of unpredictability and destruction with no allegiance, no strategy—only the thrill of war itself. Where Mydei fights with purpose, you revel in disorder, turning his carefully laid plans into a storm of madness. He should despise you, and yet, he keeps chasing you, drawn to the way you slip through his grasp like smoke. But when he finally catches you—pinning you beneath him, his fury burning through every touch—you realize that even chaos can be tamed… if only for a moment.

[ TW : DUBCON ，C*M PLAY ， DACRYPHILIA ! ]

00.5 F*CKED BY A GOD ?! [NSFW & FEM!READER]

Your kingdom lies in ruins, its warriors slain, its banners burned to ash. And at the heart of it all stands Mydei—the merciless God of War, your conqueror. He should have discarded you like the rest, but instead, he keeps you close, a captive queen in golden chains. You refuse to break, refuse to bow, meeting his cold fury with your own unyielding fire. If you will not kneel to him in the throne room, then you will in his bed—his hands rough, his touch demanding, his desire a war of its own. And in the heat of his embrace, you begin to wonder… did you truly lose, or did he?

[ TW : SIZE KINK ， BREEDING KINK ，SPANKING ! ]

00.6 BLOOD AND HONEY [NSFW & FEM!READER]

Mydei, the God of War, has never known softness—until you, the Goddess of Love, dare to challenge him. When words turn to something rougher, he fucks you like he fights: intense, merciless, and all-consuming. Love has no place in war, but with you beneath him, he might just reconsider.

[ TW : ROUGH S*X ， SIZE KINK ，MARKING ! ]

(𝓃)𝓈𝒻𝓌 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁ℯ𝓈 : [ all gn!reader ]

SFW : How god of war Mydei takes care of you when you are sick

SFW : How the both of you got married

NSFW : Mydei’s favourite s*x position

SFW : The god of war doesn’t like sweet treats

[…]

𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉𝓈 : [ all must be gn!reader ]

NSFW : belly dancer!reader

[…]

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

476 notes · View notes

ddejavvu · 3 days ago

Note

Hiii, hope you’re doing well! I’ve been obsessed with rewatching The Nanny and there’s this episode where Fran (the mc) reveals she has a tattoo but not the place, which leads to Maxwell (her love interest who she has an absurd amount of tension with) wondering where it is. Fran teases him constantly, and Maxwell checks her out endlessly and spends his time thinking about the tattoo and how hot it is that she has one. Could you write smth like this for poly!marauders? Maybe when theyre friends or at the start of their relationship. Honestly you could pull so many ideas from this series for fanfic. Thank youu so much!

"It's gotta be a tramp stamp." Sirius decides, "There's no other place on her body she'd be trying to hide from us."

"She could show us her back," James scoffs, "I bet it's, like, on her thigh or something. Y'know, right by the- well, she'd have to take off her pants. That's why she won't tell us."

"Maybe it's between her tits." Sirius snickers, "Or right on her left asscheek."

"Why the left and not the right?" Peter asks, "Maybe it goes across both."

"Right. It's James on one side and Potter on the other." James nods, blinding grin in full force, "She just can't admit that to me or she'd be embarrassed."

"Nice try." Remus had refrained from joining the conversation until now, but he leans in to murmur, "Marlene says she's seen it before."

"Where is it?" Sirius's eyes blow wide, surely jealous of the Gryffindor girl, "And what is it?"

"She wouldn't say." Remus admits, "But that means we're probably right. It's somewhere she can't show us."

"It's confirming our hypothesis." James nods, mouth set in a thoughtful expression, "We're using the scientific method."

"You're a genius," Remus snorts, "Anyways, I'll keep asking around."

"I'll ask Lily," James hums, faux-casually, "I think this time she'll-"

"She'll never tell you. I'll ask Lily." Sirius decides, "And you stick to Alex."

James's nose scrunches in displeasure at the thought of having to interrogate your unsavory ex, but their curiosity is eating them alive. They make to get up and fan out to search for more clues, but you come and plop down on the bench beside Peter, your hand already reaching for one of the breakfast platters.

"Morning boys." You hum, and Remus's eyes catch on black ink dotted over the base of your ring finger, "How was practice, James?"

"What's on your finger?" Remus blurts before James can begin rambling, and he realizes that the ring you typically wear is absent.

"Oh." You glance at your hand, shoulders stiffening slightly as you realize your secret is out, "I forgot my ring."

"That's your tattoo?" Sirius exclaims, incredulous and feeling just a little cheated, "Two letters? On your finger? What's scandalous about that?"

"I never said it was scandalous! I just said it was embarrassing." You defend yourself, "And it is."

"What is it?" James asks, and perhaps he's the only one that could have gotten it out of you, with the gentleness permanently present in his voice.

You groan, "It's the initials of a boy I like, okay?"

Sirius's head jerks back, surprised, "Were you together?" Then his eyes narrow further, "Are you together?"

"No! No, we're not together, he's-" You stammer, stuffing a bite of egg into your mouth to delay the inevitable, "He's not even real."

Silence and confused looks greet you, and you sigh, voice dejected, "He's a character from a book. Okay? And I was a little drunk and I thought it'd be a good idea for a stick-and-poke, but it was not as temporary as I thought it'd be."

"He's pretend." Sirius realizes, glee filling out his expression and making him beam, "You've got a fake man's initials on your ring finger!"

"Here comes the bride," James snickers, "Marrying a bloody book."

"Easy boys, let's not tease her." Remus seemingly takes pity on you, nudging his foot against yours beneath the table, "She's gonna be pretty beat up when he doesn't show for the wedding - we shouldn't make things worse."

425 notes · View notes

mssishipi · 1 month ago

Text

was it casual? - l.hs

PAIRING: heeseung x afab reader ft. sunoo

SYNOPSIS: Let’s play “Casual” by Chappell Roan. How far can you sink for a guy who only sees you as a bed warmer? Somewhere between the silences, you start to wonder. If it’s just casual, why does it feel so real? And if it means nothing, why does it hurt so much?

genre: angst warning: profanities, heeseung is an asshole (his friends also), reader is a sucker for bare minimum :(, smoking, contains 2nd hand smoke too, mention of pregnancy, sad and kinda happy ending (if you squint), lots of crying and self sabotage, explicit content (smut) contains unprotected sex, doggy style, pussy eating, mention of squirting, blowjob, shower sex.

WC:12.3K

A/N: damn 233 followers already? thank you so much! here's some angsty heeseung fanfic for y'all

"Why are you so dumb for crawling back to that man? We all know you're just one of the girls he likes to bang."

The words hit like a slap, burning through your chest, Your fingers clenched around the edge of the table, nails digging into the cheap wood, the pressure grounding you as frustration bubbled in your throat.

You shouldn't care. You shouldn't. But fuck, it hurt.

Fuck Lee Heeseung. Fuck everything about him.

You knew his reputation. Everyone did. He was the guy people whispered about in dimly lit hallways, the one whose name was laced with envy and lust.

Lee Heeseung wasn't just wanted—he was craved. His sharp cheekbones, the way his thin upper lip curled when he smirked, the small face that somehow made his presence even more intimidating. And that nose—slightly arched, just perfect enough to make your stomach twist when he looked down at you. He wasn't an academic genius, far from it, but intelligence was never his selling point. It was the way he carried himself, the lazy confidence, the quiet arrogance that made people flock to him like moths to a flame.

And you? You were just another moth.

But no—no, that wasn't true. You were different, weren't you? Heeseung doesn't fuck twice. That was his rule. One time, one night, then you were nothing but a name on his list, a passing memory in his beautifully wrecked life. Yet with you... it wasn't just once. He kept coming back, kept pulling you in with his heated stares, his late-night texts, the way he said your name like it meant something.

And maybe that's why you let yourself believe—just for a moment—that you were special.

But were you? Or were you just another girl foolish enough to think she mattered?

Your breath hitched, throat tightening as the weight of it all pressed down on you. You were exhausted. Exhausted from convincing yourself that he was just "figuring things out." That he was complicated, not careless. That maybe, just maybe, he wanted you the way you wanted him.

But he didn't. He never did.

And you were done.

Fuck him. Fuck his stupid, perfect face.

You were going to leave. You are going to block him, ignore him, and dragged him out of your heart with bloodied hands if you had to. It was what you deserved.

Sike, bitch.

"Heeseung!" You screamed his name, fingers twisting into the sheets as he drove into you from behind, your body arching under the force of his thrusts.

"Fuck, you're always so tight," he groaned, voice wrecked, half-laughing like he knew exactly how weak you were for him.

His grip on your waist tightened, his hips snapping against yours with punishing speed. Every thrust sent a shockwave through your body, pleasure and frustration tangling into something dangerous, something that made you forget why you wanted to leave in the first place.

His hand slid up your back, rough fingers ghosting over your spine before settling around your throat.

He forced you down, pressing your chest into the mattress as he continued to drive into you, deeper, harder, making you feel every inch of him. Your breasts bounced with each movement, and then—fuck—his other hand found your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that made your legs tremble beneath him.

"You're shaking already?"

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moan threatening to escape, but then he tightened his grip on your throat just enough to make your head spin.

"Hee—fuck—" Your voice broke as the pressure coiled inside you, too much, too fast, overwhelming.

"Come for me," he ordered, his breath hot against your ear.

And you did. Hard.

Your orgasm hit, your body clenching around him as pleasure crashed through you in dizzying waves.

Heeseung groaned, his pace faltering, and then he was spilling inside you, his hips jerking as he buried himself to the hilt. His lips found yours from behind, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, claiming kiss, the kind that made your heart stutter even as you hated yourself for it.

The both of you collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavy, bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction.

Heeseung didn't move immediately. Instead, he slid his fingers through your hair, tugging lightly as he kissed the back of your neck—slow, lazy.

Your chest tightened.

Was it casual?

Your brain screamed yes.

But the way your heart fluttered said otherwise.

Fuck Lee Heeseung. Fuck him for making simple things feel intimate.

Fuck him for always making you stay at his place, for the way he hugged you from behind in the morning, lips warm against your neck as he whispered a sleepy "Good morning, baby." Like you were his. Like this was more than just a cycle of fucking and pretending it didn't mean anything.

And fuck him—most of all—for never wearing a condom when it came to you.

Your legs shook as you sat on the edge of the bed, his cum dripping down your thigh. The room still smelled like sweat, sex, and Heeseung—faint cologne mixed with something distinctly him. Your chest rose and fell unevenly, fingers clutching the sheets as you glared at him.

"I told you not to cum inside me," you snapped.

Heeseung, fresh out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips, only grinned as he reached for you, spreading your legs with ease. He looked down, watching the way your swollen cunt twitched, still messy from him.

"I always thought you weren't the type to let that happen," you muttered, frustration bubbling in your chest. "I heard you always wear a condom with other girls."

His smirk deepened. "Maybe you're not like other girls."

Your stomach twisted. You hated how easily his words got to you, how they made your heart stumble, made you want to believe you were different—even when you knew better.

Before you could snap back, Heeseung licked his lips, then slowly, wiped the mess between your legs with a towel.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation, the rough fabric making you flinch. "I told you to take a pill," he murmured, his voice half-amused, half-serious.

Your glare hardened. "Fuck you? You're the one who needs to adjust, bitch. If I get pregnant—"

He cut you off smoothly, not even blinking. "It won't be a problem." He looked at you, eyes dark and unreadable. "I'm ready to be a father, babe."

Your whole body locked up. What?

Your breath hitched, your cheeks flushing as you raised your hand to slap his shoulder. He laughed, dodging easily, catching your wrist in his grip before kissing your knuckles.

"You're so cute when you get mad," he teased, leaning in, his lips barely brushing against yours.

Your heart stupidly skipped a beat. He kissed you again—gentle, slow, as if this wasn't just another night of mistakes. As if he meant it.

"I'll buy you Plan B tomorrow," he murmured against your lips.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling against his chest.

Was it casual?

Fuck him for ghosting you after spending the whole weekend in his bed.

You stared at your phone, fingers tightening around the device like you could crush it, like that would somehow erase the ache in your chest. The message you sent two days ago still sat there, unread. Or maybe it was read, and he just didn't care enough to reply.

And screw you—screw you for being so fucking stupid. For always checking your notifications like some pathetic, desperate girl waiting for scraps of attention. For letting your heart lurch every time your phone vibrated, only to sink when it wasn't him.

"Just get over him already," your friend sighed, sipping her iced coffee as she leaned back against the café booth. "He's not worth it."

How could you?

How could you just get over the way he kissed your forehead in the middle of the night, the way he pulled you closer in his sleep, like he needed you there? How could you forget his sweet smile, his stupid Bambi eyes, the way he looked at you like you were something special—only to turn around and act like you didn't exist?

And screw you—screw you for being a fucking loser.

And that's why you were here, drowning in cheap alcohol, trying to forget him.

"God, I really need a drink." You muttered, rubbing your temple as the bass of the club pulsed through your skull.

Your friend side-eyed you, unimpressed. "It's fucking Wednesday, babe. Middle of the week. Calm your ass down."

You ignored her, slamming back another shot.

"Fuck Lee Heeseung!" you suddenly shouted, voice slurred, drawing a few stares from nearby tables.

Legs swaying, balance unsteady, you barely noticed when someone grabbed your waist, steadying you before you could fall flat on your face.

A familiar grip. A familiar presence.

Your blurry vision focused just enough to make out the sharp jawline, the messy dark hair, the annoyingly pretty face you spent too much time thinking about.

"Ohhh, it's you—Lee Heeseung!" You pointed at him, laughing as if this wasn't a complete fucking disaster. "What ya doin' here?"

His jaw ticked, eyes dark as they scanned over you—messy hair, smudged lipstick, a dress that rode up dangerously high on your thighs.

"I'm here to pick your drunk ass up." His voice was flat, irritated, but his hold on you was soft and steady. He slid your arm over his shoulder, gripping your waist tighter as he started leading you toward the exit.

You let him, but only because walking felt impossible.

Then, with a giggle, you leaned in, breath warm against his skin. "Ohhh, was it casual for you to pick me up at 3 AM because I'm sooo drunk?"

Your voice was teasing, but underneath it—hurt.

His jaw clenched, his grip tightening around your waist for a brief second before loosening again.

"Shut up." His voice was quieter now, almost strained. "Let's go."

"No!" You ripped your arm from his grasp, stumbling back, your vision spinning.

"Why are you always like this, Heeseung?" Your voice cracked, but you didn't care. You jabbed a finger into his chest. "You fuck me on the weekends, make me feel like I actually matter, and then act like I don't exist after? You cuddle me, you kiss me, you hold me like—like I mean something! And then suddenly, you're back to being a complete dick?!"

You let out a bitter laugh, raising both middle fingers at him. "Fuck you! You couldn't even text me. Couldn't even take me out on a proper fucking date. What am I to you, huh?"

Heeseung exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a scoff.

"Is that the reason you got yourself wasted here?" His voice dripped with condescension, his lips curling in amusement like this was all some fucking joke to him. "Because I didn't text you? That's pathetic."

His words stung more than they should have. Your nails dug into your palms.

"Why do you even care about how I act?" he continued, "We're not even together, so you don't get to tell me what to do or what not to do."

You stared at him, breath shaky, chest tight.

"Not together." The words felt like poison in your mouth. "Right. That's your excuse for treating me like shit, huh?"

His eyes flickered with something more, but his face remained impassive, like he wasn't affected at all.

"I never made you any promises. You're not getting attached, are you? I just want to fuck you." he said simply, and somehow, that hurt the most.

Your throat burned. Fucking bastard.

"Right," you whispered, voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. Your nails dug into your palms so hard it hurt. "So I guess I was just some easy fuck to you, then?"

His expression didn't change, not even a flicker of guilt. His gaze swept over you lazily, bored, like he was already done with this conversation.

You could feel your resolve crumbling.

You wanted to slap him, to scream in his face, to put a fucking ax in his head for being such a heartless asshole. But you never did.

"You know what, Heeseung?" You took a step back, blinking away the sting in your eyes. "I actually thought—fuck, I actually thought you gave a shit about me." You let out a breathless chuckle, shaking your head. "But you don't, do you? You never did."

"God, I was so fucking stupid." You wiped at your face angrily. "Waiting for you to text me back like an idiot, hoping that maybe—maybe this time, it meant something." Your voice wavered, but you kept going. "But nah, right? It's just sex. Just another girl warming your bed. Just another weekend before you move on to the next."

"Fucking say something, Heeseung!" you snapped, stepping closer, shoving his chest. He didn't even budge. He just looked down at you, dark eyes blank.

And then—finally—he spoke.

"What do you want me to say?" His voice was low. "You knew what this was. I never lied to you. Whatever what's happening between us, it's just casual fuck."

Your stomach twisted. Right, casual.

"Fuck you." Your voice cracked.

You turned your back on him, forcing yourself to walk away, each step heavier than the last.

And the worst part? He didn't even follow you.

No "wait." No "don't go." No "I'm sorry."

Just silence.

The street felt too empty, the cold night air biting at your skin, but nothing compared to the hollowness settling deep in your chest. You had thought—no, you had hoped—that maybe Heeseung saw you as more.

But he didn't.

Because Heeseung wasn't the kind of guy to need anyone.

Not the way you needed him.

And you were done.

You were going to free yourself from this. No more late-night texts that made your stomach flip. No more rearranging your plans just to see him. No more pretending that his touches meant something when, in reality, they meant nothing.

You weren't going to be his puppy, following him around, saying yes to every last-minute "come over" text like some desperate loser.

You were leaving.

Right.

...

So why was it so fucking hard?

Why, after days of stubborn silence, after forcing yourself not to check your phone, were you back here again?

Why were you in his fucking passenger seat, his fingers buried inside you, his mouth pressed between your thighs, making you fall apart like the past week never even happened?

And why—why—did it still feel so fucking good?

You hated this. Hated him. Hated yourself more.

"That's it, baby. Moan for me." Heeseung groaned against your soaked folds, his voice low, dripping with hunger. His hands were everywhere—one gripping your thigh, keeping you spread open, the other palming your breast, his thumb lazily flicking over your nipple.

It felt so good, so maddeningly good, and that made you want to fucking cry.

"More—please, please." Your voice came out breathless, a plea wrapped in desperation.

Heeseung let out a low groan against your cunt, the vibration sending another shudder down your spine. "Can't get enough of you," he muttered, voice wrecked, needy—but you knew better than to believe it.

Because Heeseung never needed anyone.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue in slow, teasing strokes before dragging it down, tracing messy patterns over your entrance.

Then—his fingers. His hand slid down, tracing along your slit before thrusting inside suddenly, stretching you open, curling perfectly to hit that spot that made your legs tremble.

"Fuck—Heeseung!" You gasped, hips bucking, your back arching off the seat.

He was too good at this—too good at knowing your body, too good at making you fall apart, too good at breaking you down piece by piece until you forgot why you were mad, why you ever wanted to leave.

Your hands tangled in his hair, your fingers twisting at the roots as your legs shook. Heeseung groaned at the sting of your pull, pushing his fingers deeper, his tongue working faster, dragging you closer to the edge.

"Heeseung," you whined, voice high, breathless. "Getting close—please—"

And this was why you kept coming back. Because he knew you. Knew your body. Knew exactly how to ruin you.

Because the way he touched you—the way he kissed you, the way he fucked you—it felt too real.

Heeseung was right. He never made you any promises. Never gave you any reason to believe this was something more than sex.

You were just a dumb, stupid girl who kept misreading his actions. Who kept thinking she was special. But you weren't.

And yet, despite knowing all of that, despite the anger twisting in your chest, your fucking heart fluttered when he pulled himself up, his lips crashing into yours while his fingers still worked inside you. And you hated it.

Hated how he kissed you so slow, like he was savoring you.

Hated how he moved his fingers just right, drawing out every last wave of pleasure, dragging out your orgasm until you were crying against his mouth.

Hated how he made it feel intimate—

And hated yourself the most. Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how many times he ghosted you, ignored you, acted like you were nothing—

You knew you'd still come back.

Like a fucking idiot.

And you really were stupid. Because after everything—after the nights he spent inside you, after the way he kissed you like he meant it—Heeseung was still the same.

Still cocky. Still stupidly attractive as he leaned against the lockers in the university hallway, a lazy smirk on his lips, talking to some girl. Did it shock you? No. Did it hurt? Absolutely.

The lump in your throat grew heavier, thick with something you refused to name. You forced yourself to walk past him, shoulders stiff, steps quick—like he was nothing to you. Like last night, when he had you moaning his name in his passenger seat, never happened.

But he didn't even look at you. Didn't glance up. Didn't acknowledge you.

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms as you swallowed the sting.

Because that's what you were, right? Nothing.

Not his girlfriend. Not someone he cared about. Just another name on his list, another girl who meant nothing the second he zipped up his jeans.

And yet, you still hated the way your stomach twisted when the girl he was talking to giggled, leaning in closer. Hated the way he smirked, tilting his head like he was already picturing her naked. The same way he did to you.

Your chest ached.

You felt the bed shift, the mattress sinking under his weight. Then, warm hands—his hands—sliding over your waist, fingers pressing against your bare skin.

Soft lips ghosted along your neck.

"Who the fuck let you in?" Your voice was flat, uninterested, even as your grip on your phone tightened. You didn't turn to face him.

"Natty."

You scoffed. "Ha. I doubt it."

"Swear on my life, baby." Heeseung's voice was low, teasing, the way it always was when he wanted something.

You laughed, sarcastic.

"Missed you," he whined, arms tightening around you, his tongue flicking out to lick the sensitive skin just below your ear. That spot he knew drove you crazy.

"What happened to the girl you were talking to yesterday?" you asked, voice dripping in bitterness. "Couldn't get into her pants?"

Heeseung laughed—laughed—like this was all some joke to him. His hands slipped under your shirt, palms gliding up your stomach, his breath hitching when he realized—

"Fuck, no bra?" He cursed under his breath, squeezing your breast, his thumb rolling over your nipple.

Your body arch, you hated it, but still reacted.

"Nah," he continued, his lips tracing the shell of your ear. "Just... nothing compared to you."

You almost wanted to choke him. But instead, you swallowed the frustration bubbling in your chest and forced your voice to stay steady.

"Your sister told me you should come home this weekend." You changed the topic, ignoring his fingers still lazily squeezing your chest.

Heeseung huffed a quiet laugh against your neck, completely unfazed.

"Huh? You guys always talk." He sounded amused, like this was cute to him.

You rolled your eyes. "Because you're not replying to their messages. Your mom worries about you."

His hands didn't stop. Of course, they didn't. He was still kneading, still playing with you, his thumbs rolling slow, lazy circles over your nipples as if you weren't trying to have a serious conversation.

He hummed in response, shifting slightly to lie back against your bed, tugging you against his chest.

"Hmm, okay." He finally said, completely casual.

You swallowed, your heart thudding stupidly at the way he pulled you in, the way he tucked you against him.

"Want to come with me?"

Your breath hitched.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see him over your shoulder. A small smirk tugging at his lips as if he was already expecting your reaction.

Wide eyes. Stupidly hopeful heart. Fucking idiot.

"Why?" Your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be.

Heeseung's fingers trailed down your stomach, dipping just under the waistband of your shorts, making your breath hitch.

"What do you mean why?" he murmured, lips brushing against your shoulder. "Wouldn't it be fun?"

You clenched your jaw, fingers curling into the bedsheets.

"Right," you muttered, looking away. "Just fun."

And of course, you still said yes. Because who wouldn't want an instant vacation?

At least, that's what you told yourself. That this was just a trip. Just an escape. Not another excuse to be near Heeseung. Not another way to keep fooling yourself.

So you ignored the nagging in your chest, ignored the way he carried your bag.

Ignored how fucking easy it was to slip into the illusion of being his as both of you stepped into the small, cozy house.

The moment the door swung open, a woman who looked exactly like him rushed forward, eyes bright, a tearful smile on her face.

"I missed you, my boy!" She practically tackled Heeseung, wrapping her arms around him so tightly that even he seemed a little surprised.

He scoffed but hugged her back, his usual lazy smirk softening just a little. "Ma, I told you I was gonna visit soon. Tell Haneul to stop bothering us."

You blinked, shifting awkwardly as the woman—his mother—finally pulled back, wiping at the corner of her eyes before her gaze fell on you.

And before you could react, she hugged you, too.

Your whole body stiffened. What the fuck.

"You must be the girl Haneul keeps talking about," she said warmly, stepping back just enough to study your face. "Is Heeseung treating you right?"

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You had no idea how to respond to that.

Your eyes flickered to Heeseung, who had already dropped both of your bags onto the couch, watching you with a raised brow, completely unbothered.

You swallowed, forcing out a tight, awkward laugh.

"We're not actually together, madam." You admitted, your voice stiff, uncertain.

His mother blinked, the warmth in her eyes faltering just slightly. "Oh."

You could feel Heeseung's eyes on you, but you didn't dare look at him. Your fingers twisted in the hem of your shirt, heart hammering in your chest.

And then, his mother smiled. Soft. Knowing. "I see."

You spent your days with his family wearing a smile, pretending it didn't hurt to exist in this space that wasn't really yours.

His sister, Haneul, was a breath of fresh air—constantly chattering about life, relationships, and the latest dramas, seamlessly pulling you into conversations that felt easy. She told you how glad she was that you were here, that someone like you was easy to talk to, unlike her emotionally constipated brother.

"Heeseung doesn't get it," she had said with a playful eye roll, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "I swear, he's impossible to talk to sometimes. But you... I can tell you actually listen."

Her words made something warm stir in your chest.

His mother, on the other hand, couldn't stop talking about him—stories of him as a child, wild and reckless, stubborn and free.

"You should've seen him," she laughed, eyes twinkling with nostalgia. "Always climbing trees, always getting himself into trouble. One time, he fell and scraped up his entire knee, but do you think he cried? No. He just looked at me and said, 'It doesn't hurt, Ma,' even though his leg was bleeding like crazy."

His father chuckled, shaking his head. "Stupid boy still complains like hell when he stubs his toe, though."

You laughed along, your chest tightening as you glanced at Heeseung, waiting to see how he would react to their teasing. But he only sighed, shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

Later, at the sea, you sat on the warm sand, toes buried in the grains, watching the waves crash against the shore. But your eyes weren't on the water. They were on him.

Heeseung was playing with his younger cousins, his laughter echoing through the salty air as he ran across the sand, chasing after them with an easy, boyish grin you had never seen before.

His usual cocky, indifferent mask was gone. No teasing smirks. No smug glances. No careless words designed to keep you at a distance.

You watched as he scooped up one of the kids, tossing them playfully over his shoulder while they shrieked in laughter. Heeseung's eyes crinkled at the corners, his shoulders shaking with amusement as he spun them around before dropping them gently back onto the sand.

He was so different.

This version of him—the one who smiled without arrogance, who laughed without restraint, who looked so effortlessly warm and real—was a version you had never been allowed to see before.

Then, as if feeling your stare, his gaze flicked up to meet yours.

Your breath caught.

His lips curled into a familiar smirk, the mask slipping back into place, and suddenly, he was walking toward you.

Your pulse spiked.

Oh, fuck no.

You scrambled to stand, to put distance between you before he could ruin you any further, but you had barely taken two steps when strong arms wrapped around your waist, yanking you off the ground.

"Heeseung!" you shrieked, kicking your feet as he lifted you effortlessly, his grip firm.

He laughed, breath warm against your ear. "Where do you think you're going, huh?"

Your stomach twisted.

You should be mad—and you were—but the way he held you, the way he pressed his forehead against your temple as he spun you around, made something deep inside you crumble.

"Put me down, you asshole!" You squirmed, trying to sound pissed, trying to ignore the way your heart was slamming against your ribs.

But Heeseung only grinned, holding you tighter.

"Not a chance, baby."

As the days of your so-called vacation slipped by, you found yourself in Heeseung's bed, again, the soft glow of his bedside lamp casting shadows across his face.

Both of you lay tangled in the sheets, talking, laughing—about nothing, about everything.

You stared at the ceiling, heart pounding a little too fast, stomach twisting a little too tight.

Was it casual for the both of you to stay up until 4 AM, talking shit about the people you hated, exchanging knowing glances as you made fun of your professors, the fake smiles of people you both barely tolerated?

Was it casual to hear him laugh—really laugh—not that cocky, arrogant chuckle, but something softer?

Was it casual that he traced lazy patterns on your bare thigh while he talked?

One second, you were talking. The next, his lips were on yours, hungry, as if he couldn't help himself.

What was supposed to be one last fuck before sleep turned into something more, something too much. The way he touched you was different tonight, his fingers coaxing sounds from you you didn't even recognize as your own. The way he fucked you was relentless, teasing, overwhelming, pushing you past your limits until you squirted—until you were too tired to move, too weak to even change the sheets.

So you stayed there. In the mess of it all.

The damp sheets clinging to your skin, the scent of sex still lingering in the air, the weight of him pressed against you.

His arms draped lazily around your waist, pulling you close. His head resting on your chest, his breath warm, steady, as he slept so soundly—like he didn't just ruin you all over again. Like this wasn't killing you inside.

You lay there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the way his fingers twitched in his sleep, the way his breathing hitched slightly before evening out again.

On the last day of your stay, the two of you sat at Heeseung's childhood hideout—a small, secluded clearing behind his house, nestled between overgrown trees and old memories he never talked about. The sky was dark, the moon barely peeking through the leaves, and the only sounds were the distant hum of cicadas and the soft crackle of burning cigarettes between your fingers.

Heeseung exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his head tilted back.

"I hate my father for always shouting," he muttered, his voice flat, detached.

You watched the cigarette between your fingers, tapping off the ash, not saying anything. Just listening.

"My mother always tolerated him. Always crying, always forcing a smile, pretending he didn't just spit the ugliest words at her."

You nodded, silent, because what the hell were you supposed to say to that?

"She wasn't any better, though." He let out a humorless chuckle, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. "I love her, but I can't fucking stand how she talks about everything I should be doing. Like I'm still some little kid who needs to be told how to live my life."

You took a drag, the bitter taste settling heavy on your tongue.

"That's why I'm not fond of visiting this place."

You hummed, watching the way his fingers twitched slightly as he took another drag, like this conversation was pulling things out of him he wasn't used to sharing.

"Your sister misses you, y'know." You finally spoke, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "She told me she kinda hates you for leaving her alone."

That made him pause. His lips parted slightly, brows furrowing, before he shook his head with a laugh, blowing out another cloud. "God, I forgot you two are close."

You smiled faintly. "We always talk on the phone. She said she found me through some Facebook post where your arms were around me. She probably assumed we were friends and added me. Then the first thing she messaged me was, 'Tell your ugly-ass boyfriend to text me, or I'm disowning him.'"

Heeseung let out a real laugh at that, shaking his head. "She actually called me an ugly dick once."

"She's not wrong." You snickered, inhaling the last of your cigarette before pulling it away. "Shit, that fast?" You huffed, flicking away the short remains.

"Come try mine."

Before you could react, Heeseung took one last drag, then leaned in, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers warm against your skin.

You froze as his face came closer, his lips parting slightly, and then—he exhaled.

The smoke passed between you, warm and heady, sinking into your lungs as your lips hovered inches from his.

His nose bumped yours, eyes dark and lidded, waiting.

Your mouth opened, your lips brushing against his, and then—he kissed you. Tilting his head, as he deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours, tasting of smoke.

As you broke the kiss, your fingers ghosted over his, plucking the cigarette from his grasp. You kept your eyes locked on his, refusing to look away.

You took a slow drag, letting the smoke settle in your lungs before exhaling, the faint haze lingering between you.

"I love you, Heeseung."

The words left your mouth like a gunshot.

His smile faltered.

"Not just love that wants to fuck." Your grip on the cigarette tightened. "I want to date you. Take me on a date. Buy me flowers. Be my boyfriend."

Heeseung just stared at you.

"Let's go back." No hesitation, no acknowledgment, like you hadn't just laid your heart out in front of him.

He stood up, grabbing your hand as if nothing had happened, pulling you up without meeting your eyes.

"Heeseung, I love you." Your voice was firmer now, but he walked faster, avoiding it, avoiding you.

Your stomach twisted. Your fingers curled around his wrist, trying to stop him from running away.

"Heeseung, I said I love you." You said it louder this time, forcing him to hear it, forcing him to acknowledge the words that hung between you like a curse.

Heeseung let out a sharp exhale, pushing the house door open.

His parents looked up as you both entered, his mother smiling sweetly.

"Oh, I was just about to cook your favorite—" she started.

"I'm gonna go shower," he cut her off, already heading toward the stairs.

"Okay, come down after," his mother replied, still warm, still gentle, still unaware of the way her son was running from you.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile at them before following him upstairs, your heart pounding against your ribs.

Heeseung entered his room without a word, shrugging off his jacket, then his shirt. You watched as he stripped without hesitation, his toned back flexing before he disappeared into the bathroom.

"Heeseung, say something." Your voice cracked,

He turned on the shower, stepping under the stream of water, not even looking at you as he finally spoke.

"I'm gonna take a bath. It's either you leave—" He finally turned, his dark eyes locking onto yours, voice dropping lower. "—or I'll be fucking you."

Your breath caught.

There it was.

The only thing he could offer you.

Your fingers trembled at your sides. The ache in your chest was unbearable, clawing at your ribs, threatening to break you apart.

You should leave. You should. You should turn around, walk out, let this be the moment you finally let him go.

Your vision blurred. You felt the hot sting of tears slipping down your cheeks before you could stop them.

Fuck it.

Before you could think, before you could let the pain settle, you reached for the hem of your shirt, tearing it over your head. Then your shorts, your underwear—every piece of clothing stripped away, tossed carelessly onto the floor.

When you looked up, Heeseung was staring.

The steam from the shower curled around him, water sliding down his bare chest, dripping from his hair. His lips parted slightly, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of you.

You stepped forward, your skin meeting the warmth of the bathroom air, your bare feet silent against the tile. Heeseung didn't move, didn't pull away as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his.

His skin was hot, wet from the water, his breath shaky as your lips brushed against his.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers slipping into his damp hair as you tugged him down, your lips brushing over his—soft at first, then deeper, needier.

Your toes curled against the cool tile, your body tilting, stretching to reach him, but he was too fucking tall.

He let out a quiet chuckle at your struggle, hands sliding down to your waist, gripping tight as he adjusted, leaning lower to meet you, kissing you back.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as his tongue tangled with yours, deep and slow, tasting of heat. Your body burned as his hands roamed freely.

His fingers slid up, trailing to your breasts, squeezing, kneading, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. You let out a soft moan into his mouth, arching against him.

Your hand slipped between your bodies, wrapping around his hardened cock, stroking him slowly, teasingly.

Heeseung groaned, his grip on your breast tightening for a moment before his head dropped against your shoulder, breath heavy, unsteady.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice wrecked, his hips twitching slightly into your touch.

Your lips curled, satisfied, pressing kisses along his jawline, teasing nips along his skin. You could feel his pulse hammering beneath your lips, the way his breathing hitched as you kissed your way lower, lower.

Until you were kneeling in front of him.

Face to face with his cock, thick and throbbing, precum already dripping from the flushed tip.

His hand curled into your hair, you look at him with your eyes before slowly putting his tip on your mouth. Then—slowly—you parted your lips, letting the flushed tip press against your tongue before taking him into your mouth.

Heeseung groaned, his grip tightening, his hips giving a slight, involuntary jerk forward as you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper. The warm water from the shower dripped over both of you, rivulets sliding down his abs, over the flex of his thighs.

Your tongue dragged along his shaft, tracing every ridge, every vein, before pressing flat against the underside as you swallowed him further. His breath came out in a shudder, his jaw clenched as he watched you—watched the way your lips stretched around him, the way you let him slide deeper, let him use your mouth the way he wanted.

His hips began to move, slow at first, then rougher.

"Fuck—" He sucked in a sharp breath, his voice wrecked as you took all of him, his cock hitting the back of your throat. You choked, eyes watering, but you didn’t pull away.

One of your hands slipped between your own legs, fingers pressing against your aching cunt, rubbing slow circles over your clit as you lost yourself in the mix of pain and pleasure.

Heeseung’s gaze flickered down, and the sight of you touching yourself while sucking his cock had his restraint snapping.

"Shit, you’re too good for me." His voice was nothing but a rough whisper, barely audible over the sound of the water hitting tile.

His thrusts grew rougher, deeper, forcing you to take all of him, tears spilling at the corners of your eyes. He stopped suddenly, backing away.

You gasped for air, lips swollen, throat raw. But before you could process the loss, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you to your feet.

Your back hit the cold, slippery wall as he spun you around, his chest pressing flush against you, trapping you there.

The heat between you was suffocating.

You moaned as his cock slid between your thighs, not inside you yet—just teasing, just rubbing against your slick folds, coating himself in your wetness. He moved slow, dragging himself along your entrance, letting you feel every inch before he pushed in.

You gasped, your nails scraping against the wet tile as he filled you completely, stretching you, stealing the air from your lungs. His hands gripped your waist tightly, holding you still as he buried himself inside you to the hilt.

"Fuck—" Heeseung panted against your shoulder, his breath hot, ragged, his body shuddering at the feeling of you wrapped around him.

He started slow—savoring it, dragging it out, rolling his hips in deep, deliberate strokes that had you clenching around him, your legs trembling.

His pace quickened, his thrusts growing harder, needier, the sound of skin against skin mixing with your ragged moans. Your knees buckled, your body going weak, but his arm wrapped around you before you could collapse, pulling you closer.

Then, without warning, he hooked one arm under your thigh, lifting your leg, changing the angle.

You cried out his name, your head falling back against his shoulder as he slammed into you deeper, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.

"You sound so good moaning my name—fuck—but keep quiet for me, baby, hmm?" Heeseung whispered against your ear.

You tried—tried to muffle your moans, biting your lip so hard you nearly drew blood.

But when his hand slid up, fingers tweaking your nipple, and his other hand dipped lower to rub slow, cruel circles over your clit, you couldn’t hold back.

"C-close," you choked out, pressing your forehead against the wall, your body tightening around him. "Can I? Please, please—"

His fingers moved faster, his thrusts turning relentless, dragging you to the edge.

"Shh," he hushed, his free hand moving from your breast to cover your mouth, muffling the desperate sounds spilling from your lips.

Your orgasm ripped through you, your body trembling violently as pleasure crashed over you in waves, your walls fluttering around him as you came hard, legs shaking.

But Heeseung didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

He spun you around effortlessly, lifting you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he slammed you against the wall, thrusting up into you with reckless abandon.

You were whimpering, your body too sensitive, too raw—but the way his cock hit all the right spots had you falling apart all over again.

"Fuck, take it," Heeseung groaned, his grip on your hips bruising.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but feel.

Your hands slid into his wet hair, fingers tangling in the damp strands as you pushed it back, forcing yourself to look at him—really look at him.

His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched, his lips parted as he moaned your name.

You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, forcing his gaze onto you.

So close. So yours.

Then, with a sharp gasp, his hips stuttered, his cock twitching deep inside you.

And as your walls tightened around him once more, dragging him over the edge, his mouth met yours in a desperate, messy kiss, swallowing each other’s moans as he spilled inside you.

His grip on you tightened, his thrusts faltering, his body shuddering as he rode out his high.

You stayed close for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling in sync.

Heeseung let out a soft exhale before slowly lowering your feet to the ground, his hands slipping from your body.

You blinked up at him, searching for something—anything—in his face. But he was already turning away, reaching for the soap, brushing his hands over his own body as if nothing had just happened.

A pang of disappointment settled deep in your chest.

Your thighs trembled, his release still dripping out of you, and without thinking, you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. Holding onto him like he wouldn’t slip away.

But he froze.

And then—slowly, carefully, deliberately—he peeled your arms off of him.

Your throat tightened.

Heeseung didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at you. Instead, he grabbed the soap again, rubbing it between his palms before sliding his hands over your body—cleaning you.

You wanted to say something. Wanted to break through whatever invisible wall had gone up between you.

But the only sound was the running water, washing everything away.

That night, you sat beside Haneul at dinner, forcing a smile, forcing yourself to act normal even though everything inside you was crumbling.

Heeseung didn’t look at you. Instead, he shoveled rice into his mouth, nodding along as his parents talked.

You forced yourself to eat, each bite turning to sawdust in your mouth. Forced yourself to laugh at his father’s jokes. Forced yourself to swallow the bitterness burning in your throat.

And when it was time to leave, Haneul hugged you tightly, her shoulders shaking as she clung to you.

"I’m gonna miss you so much," she sniffled, pressing her face into your shoulder.

You hugged her back, blinking rapidly, trying not to cry too.

You felt so loved in this house—by everyone except the one person you wanted it from the most.

The train ride back was worse.

Heeseung sat beside you, but he never looked at you. Never spoke.

It was like you were nothing more than a stranger sitting next to him.

You swallowed the ache in your chest and slowly lifted your hand, brushing your fingers over his, searching for something—anything.

His eyes flickered down, annoyance flashing across his face as he pulled his hand away like your touch burned him.

You felt your stomach drop. You turned your head, staring out the window, your fingers curling into your lap as you fought the stupid tears stinging the back of your eyes.

But at least you confessed, right? At least you let your feelings slip through the cracks. As long as Heeseung kept coming back to you, it had to mean something.

Right?

The following days were harder.

Because you were the one who kept coming back.

You were the one who kept bothering him, knocking on his door late at night, spreading your legs for him just so he would let you stay.

You were the one whispering soft "I love yous" against his skin, hoping—praying—he’d say it back.

But he never did. And every time you tried to reach for him—tried to hold him, tried to kiss him just because, not just when he was fucking you—he would sigh, irritated, pulling away with that same tired look in his eyes.

"Go bother someone else."

But you still stayed. Because you told yourself that this was enough. That loving him, even like this, was enough. That if you gave him more time, if you loved him hard enough, he would eventually love you back.

But then—why did it feel so awful?

So fucking awful knowing that he was only good to you when he wanted something?

So fucking awful when you reached for him, only to be pushed away?

So fucking awful when he sighed every time you whispered "I love you," like you had ruined the moment?

You kept crying at night.

At first, it was quiet—silent tears soaking into your pillow, muffled sobs that you convinced yourself were just temporary. But the more the days stretched on, the worse it got. The exhaustion, the emptiness, the way everything felt so fucking heavy.

You were barely sleeping. Barely eating.

By the time you dragged yourself to class, you were nothing more than a walking corpse—a ghost of yourself, barely functioning, barely holding it together.

Julie and Natty tried to pull you out of it. They dragged you to cafés, talked about mindless things, gossiped about the latest drama, hoping it would distract you.

But nothing worked. Your mind was always somewhere else. On him.

And when that didn’t help, when you couldn’t sit still in a crowded café pretending you weren’t falling apart, you found yourself outside. Leaning against a streetlamp, standing in the corner of an alley, a cigarette dangling from your lips as you smoked, staring blankly at the city around you.

You had never been much of a smoker before. But now, it was routine. Now, it was something to do when you didn’t know what else to do.

Because Heeseung wasn’t in his dorm. Because Heeseung wasn’t texting you back.

You stared at your phone, debating whether or not to message him again—just one more time, just to see where he was, just to make sure he wasn’t with someone else.

But you already knew the answer. Sunghoon told you he had been partying. Of course, he was.

Drinking, dancing, probably fucking someone else—living his best fucking life while you were here, wasting away in your own misery.

You were miserable, weren’t you? Pathetic.

In love with a guy who never gave a shit about you, who only saw you as another body count—another name in his phone.

Fuck him.

"You need to get over this, babe," Julie said, dragging you into the mall, her fingers gripping your wrist like you might try to run.

"Stop acting like your whole life revolves around some asshole." Natty huffed, shoving a pile of clothes into your arms. "Try something new. Get a haircut. Get a piercing. Do something instead of moping around like this."

So you did.

You let them drag you from store to store, let them pick out outfits you barely looked at. You even sat through a piercing appointment, letting them stab metal into your skin—a new helix, a capital piercing, even one in your septum.

But none of it helped. Not really.

You still looked like someone who had stopped caring.

Your hair had grown wavier, messier, tangled from nights spent tossing and turning in a bed that still smelled like him. Your makeup was smudged from crying too much, sleeping too little.

And now—here you were. Sitting in a restroom stall, your fingers fumbling with another cigarette, the cold metal of your piercings pressing against your skin as you exhaled shakily, trying not to break down again.

But the tears came anyway.

You curled over yourself, palm covering your face, inhaling deep, shaky breaths as the nicotine burned down your throat. Why him? Why did you let yourself get so lost in someone who only reached for you when it was convenient?

Why did you still miss him—even now?

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to push the thoughts away—

"Okay, okay, I'll send you the links we need to order. Stop being stupid and listen to me! It’s a birthday party, okay? Not a damn Halloween—God."

Your head snapped up. A voice that is sharp and masculine.

Wait—

Did you just walk into the men’s restroom?

"Agh, what the fuck, it reeks of cigarettes in here."

Your stomach dropped.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to put out the cigarette as quickly as possible, waving away the lingering smoke. The last thing you needed was some random guy judging you for being an emotional wreck in the bathroom.

You waited. Listening.

When silence stretched, you assumed he was gone.

But the second you stepped out of the stall— You froze.

And so did he.

Standing at the sink, washing his hands, was a guy you had never seen before. His dark hair was down, strands still damp from the rain outside. His skin was pale, almost glowing under the fluorescent lights. His nose was sharp, lips plump and pink, his hooded eyes watching you with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then, his gaze flickered to the restroom sign by the door.

Then back to you.

He grabbed a napkin, drying his hands before picking up his phone, ending the call mid-conversation.

"Are you a trans man?"

Your face burned.

"No!" You blurted out quickly, biting your lip in embarrassment. "I—I’m sorry, I thought this was the female restroom, and—uh—sorry about the smell."

The guy in front of you let out a small, amused hum, his lips twitching, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he dug through his bag, fingers searching for something until he finally pulled out a small candy, offering it to you with an outstretched palm.

"Here. Eat this."

You blinked, staring at him.

"Not judging or anything," he continued, shrugging, "but cigarettes smell disgusting in your mouth. What if there’s an emergency and you need to kiss someone?"

A small, breathless laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.

"There’s no someone," you muttered, taking the candy from his hand. The moment it touched your tongue, the sharp sweetness cut through the bitter taste of nicotine.

The guy tilted his head, watching you with a slight smirk before rummaging through his bag again. A second later, he held out a small travel-sized bottle.

"You need perfume?"

You frowned. "Do I smell that bad?"

"Hey, I’m just offering," he said, grinning.

You sighed but took it anyway, spraying a little on your wrist before rubbing it against your neck. The light, citrusy scent replaced the stale stench of smoke.

Both of you walked out of the restroom together, passing by an older man who had been about to step inside. The second he saw you, his eyes widened in horror, and he muttered something under his breath while making the sign of the cross.

"God forgive these teens," the old man whispered, shaking his head as he entered the restroom.

The guy beside you rolled his eyes. "Drama queen."

You laughed, and he turned his head slightly, studying your face.

"See you later," he muttered before walking away, but then he hesitated for just a second, throwing a look over his shoulder. "Oh, and don’t smoke."

Soon enough, you were right back where you always were.

In his dorm. In his bed. In his arms, like nothing had changed.

The second you saw Heeseung, you collapsed onto his bed, clinging to him, hugging him tight like you hadn’t been falling apart for the past few days.

"Where have you been?" you asked, burying your face into his chest.

You felt his body shift slightly as he looked down at you, eyes scanning your face.

"What happened to you?" His voice was unreadable.

His gaze flickered to the piercings on your ears, your new septum, the slight dark circles beneath your eyes that no amount of concealer could fully hide.

Suddenly, you felt exposed.

"O-oh," you stammered, reaching up to tug at your hair. "I got piercings… out of boredom. Do they look good?"

Then, Heeseung’s eyes dropped back to his phone, completely ignoring your question.

The air shifted. Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to swallow it down.

So, instead, you talked. Told him about the past few days, about nothing and everything, about all the things you wished he had cared enough to ask.

And just like always—it ended the same way.

Him, thrusting into you like he needed you to break.

Your nails, clawing at his back like you needed to hold on.

Your legs, wrapped around his waist like you were scared he would disappear if you let go.

Your body, begging for something your heart already knew you would never have.

"I love you," you whispered into his ear, voice trembling, breath shaky.

Heeseung’s movements slowed for half a second.

You held onto that second like it meant something.

"You know it’s not just casual for me," you whispered again, pressing your lips to his shoulder, desperate for him to understand. "I feel it. I know you do too."

And then—he slipped his hand away from your body. The loss of warmth was instant, suffocating, unbearable.

"Fuck, here we go again," Heeseung muttered under his breath, exhaling sharply.

You swallowed, suddenly cold, suddenly empty.

"Did you really not feel anything?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. "How do you keep coming back if it’s nothing?"

He ran a hand over his face, groaning in frustration.

"God, because your pussy is good!" His voice snapped, sharp and cruel, piercing straight through you. "You’re being so fucking clingy, it’s pathetic! I don’t want a fucking romantic relationship with you! I just want to fuck! How long are you gonna make me repeat that?!"

"What about the times we cuddle?" Your voice cracked. "The way you take care of me after? You even invited me to meet your family! Was that all just—casual? Just fucking?! How long are you going to deny this?!"

Heeseung’s eyes flashed.

"Deny?!" He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Do you think any of that was special? I was just treating you with basic fucking human decency! Stop being so fucking delusional!"

The words hit harder than a slap. This was dumb love. This was pathetic love.

This was you, being fucking stupid.

Because even after all this, even after every horrible thing he had just said—you still loved him.

And he still treated you the same.

"Fuck, I miss those days that you were feisty and wild, not this annoying bitch who cry about everything."

Your vision blurred. You barely felt yourself move as you ripped yourself from his bed, scrambling to collect your clothes, your hands shaking so violently you could barely pull your shirt over your head.

You just needed to leave. Needed to breathe.

By the time you reached the door, your entire body was numb.

The only sound was the sharp echo of your footsteps against the floor as you stormed out of his dorm, not daring to look back.

Sunghoon was in the kitchen when you passed, leaning against the counter, a drink in his hand. His head lifted slightly at the sight of you—disheveled, eyes red, breathing uneven.

You ran. Ran until your lungs burned, until the cold air stung your skin, until the only thing you could hear was the echo of your own footsteps against the empty streets.

And then you screamed. Loud. Raw.

Kicking a nearby trash can with all your strength, watching as it toppled over, spilling its contents onto the pavement.

You wanted to rip yourself apart. Wanted to tear out the part of you that still loved him.

By the time you stumbled into a small convenience store, your body was trembling—anger, exhaustion, heartbreak—it all blurred into one.

You didn’t even look at the shelves. Your hands reached straight for the pack of cigarettes, slamming it onto the counter.

"Not getting anything else, ma’am?"

The voice made you freeze. Your gaze lifted, meeting a pair of soft, knowing eyes behind the register.

Oh.

The same guy from before. The one who had given you candy in the restroom.

Your eyes flickered to his name tag.

Sunoo.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, careful, like he could see right through you.

You swallowed, your throat dry. "You told me not to smoke, but here I am buying." You forced a smile, but it felt fake, hollow—like you were trying to convince yourself that you weren’t falling apart.

Sunoo didn’t look judgmental. He just tilted his head slightly, watching you.

"It’s okay." He shrugged. "It’s not healthy, but if that’s what you need to cope, then let yourself be. I just said that before because, well… I don’t think smoking is good for you."

You let out a small breath, setting the pack aside. "Well, what do you suggest?"

Sunoo hummed, tapping his chin in thought. "Maybe cutting your hair? Adding another piercing? Listening to music, crocheting, doing your makeup, reading books, watching movies—there’s a lot you could do instead."

You blinked.

"You really think cutting my hair is gonna fix this mess?" You gestured vaguely at yourself.

"No," he said, grinning. "But it’s a start."

You laughed. It was small. Short. You reached for a pack of bubble gum instead, placing it on the counter. "I’ll take note of that. Just punch this in instead."

Sunoo smiled, ringing up your item. "I’m Sunoo, by the way. If you ever need someone to talk to, I can give you my number."

You hesitated. And then—you pulled out your phone. Because God knows you needed it.

Turns out, Sunoo was one year younger than you—a sophomore at your university, but an irregular student, which explained why you had never crossed paths before.

And somehow, in the span of a few weeks, he became the one person you could be completely honest with. You told him everything. Everything about Heeseung.

How you loved him stupidly, blindly, recklessly. How he used you, broke you, ignored you—but you still kept coming back.

Sunoo never judged. Never told you you were dumb for loving the wrong person. He just listened. And when you cried, he let you.

Sometimes, he would visit your dorm just to sit with you, listening as you let it all out.

You tried not to feel guilty about dumping all your burdens on him, but every time you apologized, he just waved you off.

"It’s fine," he said, "I’d rather listen than see you destroy yourself over someone who doesn’t deserve you."

And maybe that’s what finally pushed you forward. What finally gave you the courage to do what you should’ve done a long time ago.

You blocked Heeseung’s number.

At first, it made your chest feel tight, like you had just slammed a door shut on something that had been part of you for too long.

But as the days passed, the feeling of relief started to outweigh the ache.

You even made a bigger decision.

You moved. Packed up your things and transferred to a new dorm—closer to Sunoo, further from Heeseung.

When you told Natty, she cried, whining dramatically about how you were replacing her.

But deep down, she understood. She understood that if you stayed, if you kept yourself in the same routine, the same dorm, the same hallways that led you back to him, you’d never really escape.

So she helped you pack, helped you move, hugged you so tightly before you left, whispering, "You deserve better."

You changed. Not overnight. Not all at once.

But slowly, little by little, you found yourself again.

The clothes you used to think weren’t your style? You started to love them.

Sunoo helped you with your hair, trimming it, dyeing it a new color every week just because you could.

"New hair, new era," he declared, dragging you into the bathroom with a towel around your shoulders. "We’re bleaching this shit."

You let him. Because why the fuck not? It was just hair. It would grow back, just like you would.

You started going out more. Not to drown yourself in cigarettes or alcohol, not to forget, but to exist again.

You filled your days with movies, books, stupid little hobbies that made you feel something.

And little by little—you learned how to breathe again.

"Are you ready?"

"No."

"Too late, babe."

Sunoo laughed, gripping your hand as you sat in the piercing studio, white-knuckled and nervous as hell.

"I swear to God, if I pass out, you better not record me."

"Mmm… no promises." He smirked, already holding up his phone, camera locked on you.

You groaned, gripping his hand like you were giving birth as the piercer prepped the needle.

Your heart pounded. You had watched so many videos of girls fainting from navel piercings. It was supposed to hurt like hell, right?

"Okay, deep breath in," the piercer said.

You inhaled. And then you felt the pain, the sharp stabbing pain.

"FUCK, IT HURTS!" You screamed, throwing your head against Sunoo’s chest.

He cackled, arms wrapping around you dramatically, rocking you back and forth. "You’re doing amazing, sweetie."

His other hand? Filming.

The needle went through. Your stomach tightened.

The world spun around you and just like that, you fainted.

When you woke up, the first thing you heard was Sunoo’s wheezing laughter.

"Dude." He was crying, clutching his stomach, shoving his phone in your face. "I got the whole thing. You looked like you died for a second."

You groaned, pushing him away, only to catch sight of your new silver barbell piercing your navel.

…Holy shit.

You sat up, poking at it carefully. "Fuck, that was traumatic," you muttered.

"But look at you now," Sunoo grinned, helping you stand. "A hot, bad bitch. I mean, you already were, but now you’ve got a belly ring to prove it."

You rolled your eyes. "This better not get infected, or I’m haunting your ass."

Sunoo winked, linking his arm through yours. "Worth it, babe."

People stared. Everywhere you and Sunoo went, heads turned.

And who could blame them?

Sunoo? A walking crayon, decked out in loud colors, funky sunglasses, and accessories layered on top of accessories.

And then there was you. A full-on emo resurrection—black on black on black, nails painted, piercings gleaming, boots stomping against the pavement.

The two of you together?

You looked like complete opposites, but somehow, it worked. Sunoo owned the rainbow, and you owned the night.

"People are staring." You whispered as another group of girls side-eyed you both, whispering amongst themselves.

"Good." Sunoo grinned. "Let them stare. They wish they were us."

Healing cost a lot. Like, a lot. You hadn’t realized how expensive self-care actually was.

But fuck, it felt good. Manicures. Hair dye. Jewelry. Perfume. Clothes you never thought you’d wear.

You spent shamelessly, like you were trying to buy yourself back, piece by piece.

And maybe you were.

Because with every little change, every small act of putting yourself first, you started feeling lighter.

The wind tugged at your short bangs as you sat on the bench, silver headphones snug over your ears, blocking out the world.

Your fingers moved over your notebook, writing something important—or maybe not important at all—but either way, it kept your hands busy. Kept your mind quiet.

"Holy shit."

The words were barely a whisper, but the sound of your name following after made your stomach drop. Your brow furrowed, fingers tensing against the page. With a sigh, you slid your headphones to the side, glancing up.

And that’s when you saw them.

Sunghoon. Jake. Some other guy you didn’t care about.

And behind them, standing slightly apart—

Heeseung.

Your throat went dry.

"Is that you?! Holy fuck." Sunghoon gasped, eyes wide, his gaze flickering over your appearance like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

You swallowed, feeling uncomfortably exposed under their stares.

"Long time no see," Jake chimed in, taking a seat beside you without invitation. "You’re not attending parties anymore."

"You look quite different," he added, voice slow, dragging his gaze over you—your ears, your nose, your shirt—lingering a little too long on the details.

"She became an emo, bro!" One of them laughed, the word emo rolling off their tongue like an insult.

"Yeah, but she looks totally hot." Jake grinned, elbowing Sunghoon with a chuckle.

You clenched your jaw. The way they were talking about you like you weren’t even here.

The way his eyes hadn’t left you since the moment you looked up.

You hadn’t looked at him once. But you felt him.

"You moved dorms."

You finally looked at him. And regretted it immediately.

Heeseung stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, staring straight at you.

His gaze was intense, his jaw was tight, his eyes dark, scanning you in a way that made something deep in your chest twist. Fuck this.

You pulled your headphones back on, drowning him out as you started shoving your things into your bag.

"Man, she’s back to being feisty. Heeseung’s gonna like her again."

The words were casual, amused, careless, but they made your blood fucking boil. Like you were some challenge. Some toy for Heeseung to get bored of, then chase again once you pulled away.

Fuck them for thinking you’d ever let yourself go through that again. Your movements were quick as you snapped your notebook shut, yanking your bag over your shoulder.

You stood up. Didn’t look at them. Didn’t say anything. You just turned on your heel, ready to leave.

But before you could take a step, a hand wrapped around your wrist.

"Why the fuck did you move dorm? Why the fuck did you block me?"

His voice was tinged with anger and frustration.

You ripped your arm away, glaring at him like his touch had burned you. Heeseung felt his chest tighten at the way you looked at him.

"Our last conversation answered that." You huffed, slinging your bag over your shoulder, walking away without looking back.

But of course, he followed. Ignoring the way his friends laughed behind him.

"Playing hard to get." One of them snickered. You didn’t even hesitate—you turned, raised your middle finger, and kept walking.

Heeseung’s jaw tightened.

"Fuck, that alone made you switch dorms?" His voice was sharper now, almost accusing. "Where are you staying? Why didn’t you tell me?"

You snapped.

"I don’t want any fucking contact with you anymore, Heeseung. Go to hell."

His steps faltered, eyes flickering across your face.

You had never talked to him like this before. Not when he ignored you. Not when he ghosted you. Not even when he broke you.

His fingers twitched.

Then—he moved faster.

Easily catching up, stepping in front of you, blocking your way.

"You told me you loved me, and now you’re acting like this?" You scoffed.

"And you have the fucking audacity to throw that in my face—when all you ever did was make me feel like shit?" Your laugh was bitter, broken, a sharp edge of something cruel underneath it.

"Yeah, Heeseung. I loved you." You spat the words like they disgusted you. His chest tightened.

"I loved you—so fucking much. Even when you treated me like I was nothing. Even when you acted like I didn’t exist until you were hard and lonely."

His lips parted. But you weren’t done.

"But I’m done. I’m fucking tired of this casual bullshit. I’m tired of pretending like this didn’t fucking break me. I don’t want you, I don’t need you, so do us both a favor—leave me the fuck alone and go find some other pussy to bury your dick in."

The words hit Heeseung like a gut punch, knocking the breath from his lungs before he could even process them. But the sting of your voice—sharp, raw, final—was nothing compared to what you did next.

You spat at his face.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

The warm, wet impact landed just below his cheekbone, sliding down his jaw, and Heeseung stood there, frozen in place, feeling the slow, humiliating trickle of it. It should’ve pissed him off. He should’ve been angry, should’ve sneered at you, should’ve thrown some cruel words back in your face just to get the last hit in.

But he couldn’t.

Because you didn’t stay long enough to see him break. Didn’t look back to see the way his entire world fucking shifted.

Didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter, didn’t do any of the things he was used to. No regret, no second guessing, no lingering in the space between leaving and staying—just walking away.

That’s when he saw another man.

Heeseung watched, breath stuck in his throat, as the man approached you, slipping his arm around your waist with ease, like it was natural, like he had been doing it all along. Then, before Heeseung could even begin to comprehend what was happening, the man pulled you in and pressed his lips to yours. Right in front of him.

Heeseung’s stomach twisted into a tight, ugly knot. His vision blurred at the edges, not from tears, fuck that, but from something far worse—a feeling he didn’t want to name. His hands clenched at his sides, nails pressing deep into his palms as he tried, really fucking tried, to convince himself that he didn’t care.

And what made it worse—what made his entire body fucking ache—was the way you let that man touch you, let him kiss you, let him hold you.

Like you weren’t thinking about Heeseung at all.

You looked happy.

Not forced. Not pretending. Not putting on some fake smile to get through the moment. Genuinely happy. Like you had been set free. Like the months you spent wrapped up in his sheets, tangled in his arms, breaking apart at his hands had been nothing more than a phase—a mistake you had already wiped clean from your memory.

Sunoo turned slightly, just enough for his gaze to land on Heeseung.

The look in his eyes wasn’t smug. It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t the expression of a man who had stolen something from someone else.

Heeseung hated him for it.

His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, but he forced his body to stay still, forced himself not to move, not to react, not to pull you away like he so desperately wanted to. He had no fucking right to do that. You had made your choice, and for the first time in his entire life, Heeseung was the one being left behind.

This wasn’t some game anymore.

This wasn’t like all the times before, when you would tell him you were done, but then come crawling back the second he called. This wasn’t like the fights in his dorm, when you would cry and yell and break your own fucking heart, only to kiss him breathless later that night.

This was real. You had actually left.

And the worst part was, you weren’t hurting.

You weren’t looking over your shoulder, weren’t hesitating at the door, weren’t giving him a single chance to fix this. You were just gone.

And Heeseung had never felt so fucking lost. He told himself it didn’t matter.

You were just another girl.

He could go out tomorrow, find someone new, wipe you from his body the same way he had done with every other girl before you. This was nothing. You were nothing.

Then why—

Why the fuck did his chest feel so tight?

Why did he feel like he had just been ripped open from the inside out?

He lifted a hand to wipe his face, expecting to feel the lingering wetness from where you had spit on him, but instead—he felt something else.

A single tear, slipping down his cheek.

He let out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head at the memory—at all the things he told you, the rules he set, the lines he swore he’d never cross.

Was it ever really casual?

perm taglist: @won4me @ikaw-at-ikaw, @kristynaaah, @fancypeacepersona @tunafishyfishylike @vvenusoncasual

#enhypen #enhypen fic #enhypen fanfic #heeseung angst #heeseung smut #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #enhypen heeseung #lee heeseung angst #sunoo x reader

512 notes · View notes

heavenbarnes · 9 months ago

Note

Thinking of being Ghost's fiance and making invite the 141 over for dinner to finally meet them and he begrudgingly accepts because anything to make u happy and they're still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that he's engaged

mmm omg your mind 🫶🏼

finally getting older bf!simon to have the 141 around your dinner was the equivalent of pulling teeth.

come to think, pulling teeth would’ve been easier.

“well fuck me for wanting to meet the people the man i’m marrying spends 90% of his time with”

“sweet’art y’know i don’t like bringing work ‘ome”

then you’d gone and put your hands on your hips with just one (1) eyebrow raised-

and the lads were knocking at his fucking door.

“gidday- don’t fuckin’ start w’me”

“some bloody way to greet y’guests, big man”

as he corralled all their snide little remarks about “didnae know ye’ owned a nice shirt” everyone managed to find their best behaviour upon your appearance.

it might’ve had something to do with the stunned silence.

when he’d begrudgingly invited them, they’d all been in a little bit of shock- first of all, ghost had a fiancé? second of all, ghost is letting us into his home?

then it all round off with, third of all-

ghost’s fiancé was a fucking looker, that’s for sure.

sweet, nice, bloody easy on the eyes- how the hell had he managed that?

you were just happy to meet the closest things to friends that simon had.

price took lead by drawing you into a hug, thanking you for your hospitality. followed closely by a sweet talking gaz who was already making your cheeks warm with his manners.

naturally, johnny had to chime in with some stupid little-

“nae wonder L.t disnae want us knowing about ye’, i’d keep ye’ all t’maself too”

he’s too slow to avoid simon’s flat palm coming up the side of his head, but it doesn’t dissuade him much.

he’s peachy fucking keen to meet you.

simon eats his tea with a tense jaw, rolling his eyes every time someone makes you laugh a little too long, tells another ‘embarrassing’ story about him.

he also keeps his palm firmly on your knee, nervous twitch of a thumb running circles over your skin.

when you pop out to the kitchen to fix dessert, they’re on him like starved dogs.

“all this time and not so much as a bloody photo?”

“kinda’ photos i’m gettin’ aren’t f’you lots eyes”

johnny nearly falls out of his seat.

you can hear them whispering all the way from the kitchen, for a bunch of SAS guys- they’re not very subtle.

simon’s got one ear on the shit chatter coming from his team and the other on the kitchen, waiting for the slightest sign that he might be able to join you.

it comes- in the form of a gasp from you followed by “ow fuck”

simon’s out of his seat like a bullet.

“what’s wrong- what ‘ave y’done?”

you know the 141 are watching, doesn’t take a genius to see the way they’re all craning their necks around the kitchen doorframe.

“i’m fine, si- just a little burn from the pan”

“lemme’ see, gimme’ y’hand”

so the 141 see their ghost, unshakeable mountain of a man- a face they never see-

and they see his face, and they see genuine fear on it.

they see simon.

your simon.

“i’m telling you it’s fine, si”

“i’ll make that call, alright”

and they’re all looking at each other across the table, trying to decide whether to be impressed or even a little jealous- they’re leaning towards jealous.

so instead they settle on taking the absolute piss out of him.

not that he minds-

before you could even reach your chair he was pulling you into his lap- having you eat dessert perched on his thigh.

as you settle back into his chest, you could swear you feel him laugh.

that hand settles back on your knee again but there aren’t nervous circles anymore.

more like gentle squeezes.

your simon.

right at home.

#domestic simon save me save me domestic simon #older bf!simon #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

1K notes · View notes

aemsgirl · 3 months ago

Text

The Genius, Michael Gavey.

Michael Gavey x Reader.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, masturbation, foul language, loss of virginity, cum control.

English is not my first language, so I hope you will forgive me if there are any mistakes.

oneshot.

Michael’s good at a lot of things, and he knows it. Brilliant, really. Genius, if we're being honest. Maths? Please—he’s never even touched a calculator. Numbers are his domain, his sanctuary, the one place where he feels entirely at ease. Books too—though never fantasy; he’d rather lose himself in something real, something concrete. But everything else? Social skills? A complete disaster, really. Painful to watch.

It’s not as if anyone’s queuing up to see what’s behind those smudged glasses or that same red sweater he pulls on every Monday. And that's fine. Honestly, it is. He's made peace with it. It’s their loss, isn’t it? That's the mantra he clings to, the thread keeping his fragile ego intact: They're the ones missing out. And God, doesn’t he need to believe it.

When you arrived in Oxford, it hit him hard. Why? Because even when he was buried in the silence of the library, there you were, watching him. Always watching. Maybe intending to read a book—upside down, no less—or lounging with your legs thrown over a table, headphones blaring as if you couldn't care less about the world around you.

Michael Gavey isn't used to being seen. For fuck’s sake, he’s Michael Gavey. Nobody. Invisible, as he’s always preferred. But then you came along, and suddenly, invisibility wasn't an option. You became something else entirely: a problem, a distraction, a bloody nuisance he couldn’t seem to get rid of. And maybe, deep down, that’s what scared him most.

So, naturally, his response was to start staring back. Maybe if he leaned into being a proper weirdo, you’d back off. But no, of course not. You didn't flinch. You just stared right back, unwavering, unbothered. It didn't take long for one of the teachers to step in, warning him, of all people, to knock it off. And you? You just smiled. Smiled like you'd won some secret, twisted game, baring all your teeth like a predator who'd just cornered its prey.

When he squinted at you, furrowing his eyebrows in some attempt to decode whatever the hell was going on, you simply glanced at the table, still grinning like you had a secret you were dying to keep.

What was your problem? Were you planning something? Was there a game being played here, something sinister he couldn’t quite see? The questions clawed at him, gnawed at his focus, and yet, no answers came. Only that smile. God, he hated it.

Things weren't improving, no, they were deteriorating rather quickly. And it all took a turn for the bizarre when, in the dead of night, he awoke still half hard, with his shorts drenched in cum and his mind? Cluttered with vivid memories of a particular dream from the previous night. Never had he scrubbed a piece of clothing with such fury in his life; this treacherous body was doing him in. And the most egregious part? His cock was a bloody jest, because even after such mortification, he had to wank off once more just to make the torment subside.

That day, the Oxford corridors felt like they were smoldering beneath him, each step fueling the inferno inside his chest. His sneakers might as well have been on fire for how much he burned with rage. And then he saw you, loitering by your locker, looking infuriatingly calm as always. It was like you wanted to drive him insane.

He stormed over, slamming your locker shut with a single hand, his nostrils flaring like he was ready to tear you apart—not literally, of course. Well, maybe a little. He was unraveled, utterly tormented, and you? You were only making it worse.

“Stop.” The word came out flat, almost pitiful, his voice cracking under the weight of his irritation. His blue eyes, usually so sharp, were clouded and bloodshot, as if they’d been scorched by his fury.

“With what?” you asked, tilting an eyebrow, that insufferable smirk tugging at your lips. Carefree. Effortless. It made his teeth grind in pure frustration. He didn’t even understand why he felt so unhinged—just that he did.

“What the hell do you want?” he barked, his voice echoing down the corridor. Heads turned, a few people pausing to glance at the scene, but you didn't so much as flinch. No fear, no embarrassment. You just leaned lazily against your locker, staring at him down like you had all the time in the world.

“Your number, to start with, would be great.” The words hit him like a physical blow. His pupils dilated so fast it felt like the world had tilted. If darkness swallowed everything right then and there, he was convinced he’d still see you.

And that’s when everything shifted. You weren’t messing with him—not in the way he’d thought. No, you were interested in him. The realisation hit Michael like a slap, and even then, his perpetually self-loathing brain struggled to piece it all together. For once, his stupid mind was just that: stupid.

But then the messages started, tentative at first, and something clicked. You actually got on—really got on. It was strange, almost unnerving, how much you seemed to have in common. You liked some of the same nerdy things as him, and he found himself listening to bands he’d previously written off because you mentioned them. Slowly, the conversations moved out of his phone and into the library, where you started sitting at the same table.

People noticed, of course. Curious glances trailed after the two of you, some even daring to linger when Michael—Michael Gavey, of all people—was caught smiling. Not a smirk or a grimace, but an actual smile, albeit half-hidden behind his hand. But it was there, and for once, he didn’t mind. Not entirely.

And then, on a Friday night when everything seemed eerily serene, the text message arrived. 'Do you want to come to my dorm?' Panic ensued. Perhaps it's a tad presumptuous to assume you want to fuck him, isn't it? Yet, he was presuming precisely that. But the truth is, Michael has only kissed one girl in his entire life; otherwise, his knowledge comes from pornography, books about the human anatomy, and the hushed conversations in the men's locker room. And it's not that he didn't want to; in fact, he wanted to, desperately so, but the truth was that no one seemed sufficiently captivated to offer him the chance. But you, you were offering. Maybe. What does one do with that?

He took a shower, donned his usual jeans and a white shirt, slipped on his sneakers, and even spent time before the mirror wrestling with his blond hair, to little avail, of course. He decided he wouldn't be a coward; he had this chance, maybe, and he wouldn't squander it with timidity. He made his way to the girls' dorm on campus, garnering more than a few disdainful looks from the passing girls. It was just because it was him; if it were Felix sneaking in, they'd be all smiles. But who cares? There was only one person he hoped would truly appreciate his presence. He reached your door, his breath caught in his throat, and knocked so feebly that perhaps he thought you wouldn't even hear. Pathetic, honestly.

But you heard him, and when you opened the door, he froze for a moment. You'd just taken a shower; your skin was still slightly flushed from the hot water, wearing an oversized shirt, once black but now faded to grey, and some pajama shorts that honestly looked more like his underwear than actual shorts. He swallowed hard, managing a crooked smile. You leaned against the doorframe, your smile much more genuine.

"You came." The words slipped from your lips with such ease, rolling off your tongue with a genuine satisfaction that straightened his crooked smile.

"Yeah, well. It's not like I have anything better to do, of course." His reply lacked the sharpness he'd rehearsed in his mind, accompanied by a glance at the floor and a stupid, silly smile.

"Yeah, of course." You laughed, rolling your eyes, and turned your body to give him space to enter, if he wanted to, though he looked as if he might bolt at any second.

But he didn't run away; no, he actually stepped inside. The room was like most others, yet he was struck by how orderly it was. Like any typical dorm, there was the TV, the two single beds, a small table, and in the corner of an adjacent smaller room, the bathroom. The scent of cleaning products lingered, indicating you'd taken the time to tidy up before inviting him over. This shouldn't have pleased him as much as it did, but it did.

"Just take off your sneakers before you lay on the bed," you said with that nonchalant tone of yours, picking up the TV remote from the table.

He glanced at the paused movie on the screen before turning his attention to the bed. His mind wasn't exactly racing as he sat down, beginning to untie his sneakers, but his focus soon shifted to the side of your face. He was transfixed by how your hair framed your features, how your lips were so perfectly shaped, and how your eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. He had to run a hand over his face, nearly knocking off his glasses, to bring himself back to reality, blinking several times to refocus on removing his sneakers.

"I chose 'Evil Dead,' but they didn't have the classics." Your voice drew his gaze upward again. You casually made your way to the bed beside him, practically throwing yourself down, causing the mattress to bounce. "Is that a problem for you?" you asked, turning to look at him, your eyes locking with his.

His throat visibly tightened as he swallowed, while you didn't even blink. For a moment, he found it a rather amusing jest. What could a girl like you, with the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, with lips that curved into the brightest smile he could imagine, possibly want with him? He was either the luckiest bastard in the world or the biggest delusional of the year. But that was fine, at least for now.

"No, it's not a problem at all," Michael mumbled, unsure if he was referring to the movie choice or something else entirely. But it would suffice either way.

He saw you smile widely, and you felt you should, noticing his blue eyes dilate behind his glasses. Looking down where you had crossed your legs beneath you, you tried to focus and simply pressed play on the movie. The low noise from the TV soon filled the room, the colors of the film painting your faces and reflecting in Michael's glasses. The silence was comfortable, as always. The sounds of calm breathing filled the space, but well, his eyes weren't really on the TV; they were on you. To the point where he had to rest his hand on his face, just to appreciate it, perhaps.

"You know, watching a movie works better when you're looking at the screen," you commented, your eyes still fixed on the screen, though you felt the heat from his gaze on your cheek.

"I prefer to watch you." His words were barely above a whisper, but they reached you, making your smile widen even more.

Your eyes flicked to him, while his remained steady, though he felt his palms sweating against his cheek. He was nervous, and his attempt at an impassive expression wasn't fooling you. The words that left his lips were just truths, and seeing you smile, it was good to see you smile, it brought a subtle curve to his own lips. Sighing, you drew your knees up to your chest, resting your chin there, unsure of what to make of his words or of him. Just as he was unsure of what to make of you or how much you unsettled him.

"I hate almost everyone here except you." Your words mirrored his in tone, quiet, perhaps too intimate to slip out.

They made him pause, just looking at you, wondering. Time seemed to stand still, the screams from the movie not reaching your ears; things were quiet, almost silent. And that's when his hand rose, wrapping around the back of your neck, perhaps with the most courage he'd ever mustered in his life. Your lips parted slightly when you noticed him shifting on the bed to get closer, and you responded in kind, leaning towards him, your hand hesitating before also reaching up to the back of his neck, slipping between the golden strands to hold him firmly. Bringing your faces close, your breaths began to mingle, and soon all that was reflected in his glasses were your lips, all his attention focused solely on them.

"You're trouble, and you want to know why?" Michael whispered, your gaze falling to his lips as they formed the words. They were thrown at your face, raw and direct. "Because it seems like after I met you, there's been something wrong with my brain." He lifted his thumb to trace your bottom lip, as if to commit it to memory.

"Yeah?" Your response lacked strength, not truly. "That's good, because it seems like after you I'll never be the same." Whispering another confession, now it seemed more than fitting, even with your breathing too rapid to say much more, or what you truly wanted to.

A faint smile touched Michael's lips, perhaps an attempt at composure before he leaned in closer. Tilting your heads in opposite directions, your noses brushed against each other, the taste of each other's breath mingling on your lips, shared. His lips were the first to part, capturing your lower one slowly, almost tentatively, until yours responded, capturing his upper lip. The kiss started slowly, your lips moving together with an unhurried grace, despite your quickening breaths at the contact. His free hand found your waist, attempting to pull you closer, while your hand tangled in his hair, gripping it almost in a fist.

But it wasn't enough, far from it. Leaning forward, Michael guided you both down onto the bed, supporting himself with each hand on either side of your head, positioning his body between your legs, which parted to welcome him. One of his hands slid down to your thigh, lifting it and pressing it against his side, your hips naturally seeking each other, and his already hardened cock brushed against your increasingly aroused intimacy. Sounds escaped between kisses, your hands sliding to grip his back, when Michael pressed your bodies together again, rolling his hips and drawing out a sly moan from his own lips, making it difficult to continue kissing you.

Your hands reached for the hem of his shirt, attempting to pull it up, but his hands caught yours, pinning them above your head, fingers intertwining there, as he pulled back just enough to look you squarely in the eye. His heavy breathing made his chest rise and fall, sweat causing his glasses to slide down his nose.

"I..." the words seemed reluctant to escape as he gazed down at you, your lips flushed and your chest heaving. He didn't want to dissuade you, but he had to say it. "I've never done that."

Your only response was to lift your head from the bed, seeking his lips and succeeding in a gentle capture, with him lowering himself to return the kiss. Though not deep, your teeth nipped at his lower lip, tugging gently, perhaps trying to draw him closer. Your fingers pressed against his above your head, yearning to be free, you just wanted to touch him, feel him, it didn't matter if he was inexperienced, if you had to guide him step by step, or if this was all you would have, feeling him like this above you.

"Just touch me, I don't care," you murmured against his lip, without the strength for more words, which in response prompted him to roll his hips against yours again, closing his eyes with a moan, just as your head tilted back, lifting your hips to meet his movement.

His hands released yours, and you quickly grabbed his shirt, pulling it up and off him, and he reciprocated, lifting yours inch by inch until he could pull it over your head. Without a bra, your breasts were bared to him, making him pause. His lips went dry as he took in the sight of your hardened nipples, ready for attention, despite his momentary hesitation. You saw it in his eyes, in how they flickered to meet yours, and your hand reached to caress his cheek before grabbing the back of his neck, gently guiding him toward your chest, arching off the bed to ensure he understood your consent.

And he understood more than clearly, leaning down to kiss the space between your breasts before moving to one, enveloping it with his mouth entirely, using his hand to squeeze it firmly. The sensation of your skin against his mouth elicited a low sound from him that vibrated through your body, prompting you to grind your hips against his already hard cock. His tongue followed, swirling around your nipple, sucking as if his life depended on it. His mouth salivated, saliva running down your chest, glistening your skin with his essence. His free hand went to your other breast, squeezing it tightly, his lips trailing kisses to the other side, his tongue sliding along until it reached your other nipple, circling it with fervent enthusiasm.

"Fuck," you murmured, your intimacy throbbing, squeezing as you leaned on the bed to create friction against his erection, making him to bite the nipple in his mouth to stifle a loud moan.

His lips left your chest, observing the glistening, swollen flesh from his attentions. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight, going straight to his core. He looked down to where his hardness met your shorts, stopping himself from climaxing right there, taking deep breaths.

"Tell me..." his words trailed off, his lips struggling to draw in breaths. "Tell me how to be good for you." His whisper was broken, he was too far gone to really care about it.

You smiled, even in the throes of your overwhelming need for him. One of your hands took one of his, slowly guiding it to your core, and he watched intently as you slipped it inside your shorts and soaked panties, biting his lip as his expression contorted with pleasure. Slowly, you positioned his fingers perfectly over your clit, starting to move them in circles, making your breathing quicken further. Fortunately, Michael was a quick learner, or perhaps just desperate enough. Your fingers left his as he took over, moving them faster, circling over your soaked clit. You tried to reach for his hardness in his pants, but with his free hand, he caught yours and pinned it to the bed.

"Don't." The words came out swiftly, a desperate command because he knew well that if you touched him, he would cum right then and there.

You accepted it, not attempting to touch him again. Feeling his fingers slide over and over your most sensitive spot, the sounds began to fill the room, the wetness so intense it seeped through your pajama shorts, and he could hardly believe his incredible luck. His eyes moved to your face, noticing your parted lips, your cheeks flushed red, and your breasts, still glistening from his saliva, seeming to beckon him. One of your hands gripped his wrist, and he could see from your expression how close you were. The hand that had been holding yours to the bed released it, moving to the back of your neck, lifting your head to make you look down.

"Watch," he murmured, sliding his thumb perfectly over your clit, and you felt like stars were bursting behind your eyes even as you complied and stared.

You saw his hand moving inside your shorts, the veins in his forearm pulsing with the effort, the muscles there flexing. His hand held you tightly, almost encompassing your neck. And when his fingers started moving side to side, you knew you were finished. Your lips parted completely, a groan trapped in your throat escaped, you tried to throw your head back but his grip prevented it, and then, your walls clenched, he could feel the pulsing around his fingers, your belly flexing as you reached your climax, clamping your legs around his forearm.

Your body goes limp on the bed, your thighs still trembling as his hands slide from your neck down to your thighs, smearing his taste there. He grips the hem of your shorts, pulling them down along with your panties. When his eyes meet your pulsing, glistening pussy, a sigh escapes him, eyes closing momentarily to regain control. You hear the sound of his pants being unzipped, him kicking them off along with his underwear. Your eyes open just in time to see him grip the base of his cock, bringing the head to your sensitive clit, eliciting a tight, desperate moan from you.

"You're so beautiful." he murmurs, dragging the precum-slick tip of his cock across your clit, making your walls clench as he watches. His free hand runs down the inside of your thighs, ensuring they're coated in your own wetness.

He squeezes his eyes shut in pure ecstasy, rubbing his cock from your clit to your entrance, gripping the base tightly to stave off his climax. Your thighs tremble, your hands gripping the sheets, but nothing seems to alleviate the intensity, there's no escape. You're consumed, completely. Your hips start to move desperately for contact, even as your body protests, your fingers threatening to tear the sheets apart. He rubs once more, the almost sinful sounds echoing off the walls, mingling with his low moans and the contractions of his stomach. You can tell he's doing everything in his power not to cum.

"Can I?" He opens his eyes to whisper, looking directly into yours, and with no strength left to speak, you simply nod.

He sighs deeply before positioning himself at your entrance and pushing inside, feeling your walls resist yet yield as he presses in until fully seated, your groins meeting. A drawn-out moan escapes your lips as his head falls back, a soft groan leaving his throat followed by a sequence of breaths that made his entire body tremble. Michael pauses, trying and failing to calm his racing heart and the overwhelming sensation of your hot, tight insides. Leaning forward, he rests one hand on the bed while the other removes his glasses, setting them aside. Your hands rise to the back of his neck, bringing his forehead to yours, holding it there as he makes the first thrust. Both of your lips part, your moans and breaths mingling.

His thrusts were deep, yet slow. He would withdraw almost completely before sliding back in, each time making your eyes squeeze shut tighter and your head press against his. The sweat on your foreheads seemed to meld you together, turning you into one entity. His eyes opened, burning into your face, and you met his gaze, your eyes filling with tears of pure pleasure as he thrust even deeper.

"I like you," he murmurs, cupping your cheek as his other hand grips the headboard, making the wood creak. A smile graces your lips, almost cut off by his cock sliding in deeper.

"I like you too," you manage to reply between ragged breaths, your fingers tightening around the back of his neck as if it's your lifeline.

He brings his lips to your forehead, giving you a long, lingering kiss, his breath warm against your skin. Then, he brings his hand to your mouth, and with that signal, he starts thrusting with all he has, making you scream into his hand, which hopefully muffles the sound. He rests his own mouth there to also muffle his moans, feeling sweat run down every part of his body, mixing with yours. The bed bangs against the wall, your eyes roll back when he hits that sweet spot inside you, your hands lifting to dig your nails into his back. As your walls clench around him, he feels your climax spill out, soaking the sheets and his lower abdomen. With a louder moan, he quickly pulls out, his cock spilling his cum over your belly.

He releases your mouth and the headboard, letting his full weight rest on you, his head finding solace in the crook of your neck. Your arms encircle his neck, keeping him close as your entire body trembles with the aftershocks of pleasure. Both of you are exhausted, both satisfied. Michael's thoughts drift back to the early weeks of knowing you, how he wished you would vanish, and now, how he dreads the thought of you leaving, like everyone else. The irony might have drawn a bitter laugh from him if he weren't so physically spent.

"I wasn't bluffing," you hear him murmur into your neck, capturing your attention amidst the sensations still coursing through your body. You slowly turn your head towards him.

"What?" you whisper, perhaps fearful that even a slight increase in volume might make this moment slip away, just as much as he is. His eyes, those blues that most people overlook, capture your senses.

"I really like you." Hearing those words again, this time not in the heat of the moment, did something different to you stomach, perhaps quickened your heart more than the entire act itself, burned your skin more than anything else.

Drawing him closer with your hand, you adjust his position so he lies on your chest, where he places a gentle kiss. Your fingers delve into his hair, and you cast a brief glance to the side where his glasses still rest. A smile graces your lips because the truth is, you are utterly and hopelessly in love with the genius Michael Gavey. The irony is that he doesn't seem genius enough to realize it.

#smut #michael gavey #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #aemond targaryen #aemond #house of the dragon #oneshot #saltburn #fanfic #x reader #aemond x reader #hotd aemond

536 notes · View notes

enderlovez · 3 months ago

Text

Late-Night Genius

Spencer Reid x Female BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 1500+

Summary: During a late night in the BAU, reader finds Spencer hunched over his desk muttering to himself about the deranged killer on the loose, and decides that in the midst of all this carnage, he needs someone to look after him, too.

Content Warning: mentions of death, mutilation of the human body, blood and murder, pocket knife used as a murder weapon, intentional sleep deprivation, strangulation, overworking yourself

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Nine people are already dead, and nobody has a single piece of useful information on the unsub, only that they are — possibly, not definitely — an old white man, which sums up half the human population.

Most of the team, including yourself, have been staying in the office until stupid hours of the morning recently, to try and figure out what you're missing before this mysterious killer takes another victim.

Some believe he's already done so, but the bodies are still unfound.

There are no connections between the victims, except for the fact that each of them are from out of town, but each of them were killed in similar fashions — strangled with a noose made of fishing line, then their throats jaggedly sliced open post-mortem.

All of them were also missing both hands and both feet, hacked off poorly by a pocket knife found near the crime scene. That, however, was not post-mortem, meaning that these poor people were mutilated while still alive, possibly fully aware of what was happening.

It should be impossible that the unsub left no trace with something such as this, but here you are, struggling in the behavioral analysis unit at two in the bloody morning, to come up with what should be the most basic details.

You sigh dejectedly as you relax into your chair, pressing your palm into your nose with a little more force than necessary and tiredly rubbing your shut eyes with your thumb and pointer finger.

Right now, you think you'd do just about anything to be back home in bed — not that you technically can't go home, you're free to go home anytime you please as long as you're back in... later this morning, but you feel an uncomfortable sense of duty to this case.

A sound draws you out of your half-asleep state on the chair, a soft mumbling from the desk adjacent to yours. You begrudgingly peel your eyes open to find Spencer Reid hunched over his desk in a way that definitely can't be good for his back.

His face is twisted up in concentration as his finger runs up and down the page he's reading.

"You're going to give yourself back problems, Spencer," you mumble, using your hands as leverage to push yourself up from your seat. He doesn't look away from the paper in front of him, but hums in acknowledgement, though you're not entirely sure he heard you.

It's probably a really bad idea to be overworking yourself so much, tiring out your body to the point of exhaustion, considering your line of work. But you don't plan on stopping until this killer is behind bars, and apparently as it turns out, neither does Spencer — you can sleep once the risk of another person dying is handled.

With another near-silent sigh, rubbing your hands over your face once more, you grab a few things out of your bag and start making your way towards the exit.

Spencer doesn't ask where you're going, but you feel the need to specify anyway, albeit vaguely.

"I'm heading out for a bit," you whisper over your shoulder, waving your hand around limply. Realistically, you know you should head home like Hotch suggested, catch some sleep before you're back at work, but you just... can't. Exhausted as you may be, you don't think you could sleep even if you tried.

The cool early-morning air against your skin soothes the heat lingering just beneath as you slowly trudge towards your car, hopping into the drivers seat and pulling away from the building. You shouldn't be driving in this state, but you desperately need something to eat.

If Spencer were here, he'd be telling you all about how many people die while driving tired. Probably lightly scold you and insist on driving, even though he's just as, if not more tired than you are.

You're only half-aware as the car takes you away from the building, mind zeroing in on the music playing quietly over the radio. Boring, not something you would ever listen to on your own.

It's a miracle that you're able to reach your destination without getting pulled over — a little twenty-four hour café you frequently visit. Granted, it's usually at more appropriate hours of the morning.

The girl behind the counter looks bored and tired, just over everything and likely wanting to be at home in bed, much like you. As you shuffle up to the register and see her smile falter, you feel pity.

Poor girl probably doesn't get paid enough for this.

"Hello, welcome to Pine and Pastry," she says in a flat voice. "What can I get for you this morning?"

"Hi there, Caroline," you whisper, eyes halfway shut. For a moment she looks surprised that you know her name, before you point to the nametag pinned to her apron.

She writes down your order in sloppy handwriting as you speak — a plain black coffee with a crap ton of sugar for Spencer, and a hazelnut latte for yourself, along with some extra espresso shots in a cup just in case. You also get a couple of breakfast bagels and a box of cinnamon rolls.

It takes her maybe ten minutes to get everything ready, making the coffee, and even going the extra mile to warm up the cinnamon rolls.

"Your total is $34.79," she says, rubbing her eyes with one hand as you place a fifty dollar bill into her other, murmuring a quiet 'keep the change' and grabbing a handful of sugar packets before collecting your things and stepping back outside.

The drive back to work is easier, you're more aware of your surroundings now that you've been off your ass for a little while.

"You're back," Spencer comments softly as you walk back into the office, though he doesn't even look up from the page — a different one than before, but still one he's looked over hundreds of times.

"I'm back," you agree as you set everything down on your desk. He glances up at you once as you place the coffee and breakfast bagel on his side. "I got you some coffee and something to eat."

He watches you for a second before offering a quiet 'thank you', picking up the bagel and taking a bite out of it — still hunched over.

Spencer's eyes widen when you're suddenly beside him, ushering him out of that horrid position and into a chair, holding him up straight for a moment before returning to your own desk.

"You need to take better care of yourself, Spence," you demand softly, looking down at your own files, fully aware of how intently he's staring at you. "It's bad enough that we're keeping ourselves awake at all hours of the night and into the morning, you can't just not eat."

If you're being honest, you've always had a bit of a thing for the genius boy, so seeing him doing so... not well upsets you a lot little.

A small smile appears on his lips as he takes a sip of his coffee. "You already take such good care of me, though," he snipes back playfully, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You really shouldn't drive while this tired, it can actually be worse than—"

"—Worse than driving intoxicated, I know, Spence," you finish for him, rolling your eyes and taking a bite of your own bagel. "I think Hotch might put us on mandatory rest, if we don't get some sleep soon."

Spencer hums in agreement, looking back to the files on the desk in front of him, making a sudden thought spark in your mind.

He doesn't look at you as you stand up again, rounding the desks so you're back on his side, but he does give you a side-eye when you place your hands on his shoulders and start pushing his head down towards the desk.

"What are you doing?" he asks, though he doesn't make any moves to stop your ministrations, folding his arms on the hard surface and letting the side of his head rest atop them.

"You've been working so hard," you whisper soothingly, gently squeezing his shoulders in what you hope is a comforting gesture, "just give your mind a minute to rest — and I know you'll say you don't need it, but maybe it'll help you think better."

He bites his bottom lip a little before giving in, letting his eyes close. "Maybe if it's just a minute," he agrees quietly, voice already drifting off into silence. He's out like a light before he can stop it.

With a small, tender smile on your face, you use your finger to brush some of his hair out of his face and let your thumb briefly stroke over his temple.

He's so absolutely, heartbreakingly adorable when he's sleeping, you realize, heart stuttering and eyes watering at the sight before you. His face is no longer twisted in concentration, rather soft and peaceful.

Just because you're tired, doesn't mean poor Spencer needs to be, not if you have any say in the matter.

He might be slightly upset with you when he wakes up, even if it's only brief, but all of that's fine if it means he'll get at least a little bit of sleep.

Humming a quiet little tune to yourself, you return to your desk and continue your work where you left off.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x bau reader #spencer reid x female bau reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #plus size reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #fluff #cute #enderlovez

422 notes · View notes

chithereader · 3 months ago

Text

two idiots / aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader , aaron hotchner x shy!reader cw: bau!reader, shy!reader, painfully awkward, a little naive!reader too, more of pining hotch, build up word count: 1.7k genre: fluff a/n: ahh i got so much love for shy!reader thank u all so much, here's one for you <33 i really wanted to show little moments between the two that spoke volumes about how they really felt. hope you like it!!!

You’re deep in thought at the crime scene, carefully taking in the mess caused by the struggle between the victim and the unsub. Playing out possible scenarios in your head to figure it out, arranging and rearranging the order of events– pushed into the table, hit with the lamp on the head, victim runs to the kitchen based on the blood droplets..

While in the background you can faintly hear Reid and Morgan bickering, also barely registering the conversation between Hotch and the sheriff, as well as Rossi in your peripheral who is looking closely at the picture frames that lined the wall.

You walk back to the door, quietly working things out in your head. You act out your theories subtly, quickly getting caught up in piecing it together. You fail to notice Hotch taking notice of you, studying you in your element– it’s always been your thing, puzzle pieces. He’s noticed in the first few months since you’ve joined that you view every case like a puzzle, and every clue, every factor, every moment- a piece.

Hotch, along with the other members of the team, are in awe of you. Even Reid, who is a certified genius, is intrigued at the way you view these cases– often asking you for your thoughts and theories. Sometimes, your input and analogies are actually what helps him solve a case, proving your effectiveness in the team especially given that the team’s clearance rate has only increased since you’ve joined.

But being too caught up in your own world, you’ve failed to notice Rossi bluntly staring at Hotch– watching him watch you. Morgan, who also noticed, has been smirking into his phone quietly relaying to Garcia that boss man’s in one of his “love haze” trances again, to add to the many that have happened over the course of a few months.

Shaken out of his trance, Hotch straightens himself as if realizing something when he was watching you moving around the kitchen. He walks out the door quietly and disappears into one of your cars.

While Morgan and Reid continue their investigation upstairs, Rossi stays with you. Partly waiting if you stumble upon a revelation, and partly for Hotch to come back, curious as to why he suddenly went out.

It’s been a few minutes and the reenactment in your head has taken you upstairs– onto the second victim.

Just as you were about to envision what could’ve happened, the room made you halt in your steps. You didn’t know how long you were standing there when you heard Morgan ask, “You okay, kid?” with a barely-concealed look of concern on his face.

You realized you were probably standing frozen for a while, taking in the gut wrenching sight of the nursery bloodied up. He walks towards you and as he nears you, recognizes the look on your face. You were trying to hold it together, to not let the broken crib and stained sheets break you.

You nodded, “Yeah, it’s just–” you open your mouth but nothing really comes out. Looking around, you realize there are no words to say. You can only offer the four walls your silence for what they’ve witnessed.

Your shoulders notably drop and that’s when Morgan reaches for you, wrapping his arms around you to ground you. With your head on his chest, you feel the vibrations as he mumbles, “Just another day, kid.”

With closed eyes, you breathe in his scent deeply– oak and mint, a seemingly weird combination that of course works on him. His comforting touch, rich smell and low voice have all comforted you. It’s brought you back to reality: that this is already done. And that the best you can do is catch the unsub who did this.

You lift your head from his chest to look at him, to genuinely convey your gratitude through your eyes when you notice Hotch and Rossi out of the corner of your eye, looking at the two of you from the top of the steps.

Deciding to go back to the precinct so you could build a solid profile, you all make your way back to the cars. You went to the crime scene riding with Morgan and Reid but to your surprise, Hotch ushers you out of the house and into the car he’s driving with a gentle but firm hand on your lower back.

He guides you to the passenger seat- opening the car door for you and closing it as soon as you’re settled. You can only watch Rossi from the window waving you goodbye with a teasing smile, boarding the car Reid and Morgan came in instead of joining you and Hotch.

As Hotch settles into the passenger seat, he reaches for a water bottle, opens it and hands it to you. You raised it in confusion while looking at him, not really sure why he’s giving you a bottle to drink. But he’s not looking back at you, only buckling his seatbelt getting himself ready for the drive.

You start to lift it to your lips to drink it when he says, “You haven’t drank water since this morning– you’ve only had coffee.” Eyeing you from the side, as if pointedly saying that’s right, I know.

The thought of Hotch watching you enough to notice what you have and haven’t been drinking makes all the blood in your face pool in your cheeks. You actually start to feel it getting hotter.

You turn your head to the window while gulping down water, hoping that the movement and bottle are both masking the smile that’s fighting its way onto your face.

His concern and ringing silence in the car, despite the radio playing softly in the background, made you feel pressured to talk and fill in the silence. But you really should’ve thought before opening your mouth because making conversation has never been your strongest suit.

As you’re slowing down for a red light, you blurted “So… ho-how have you been, Hotch?” and as soon as the words awkwardly rolled off your tongue, you grimaced as if bracing for impact.

You slowly turned to look at Hotch, expecting him to be annoyed or weirded out by your awkward and random question. Your eyes travel from his hand that’s on the wheel, along the length of his arm, to his shoulder and his neck, and finally to his face- sporting a soft but proud smile.

“I’m okay, thank you for asking. You?” Thank you for asking? What are you- 4? Hotch is mentally kicking himself in his head, he should’ve said something cooler or more casual. He literally just sounded like a kindergarten teacher or the kindergarten himself.

He bites his lip, stopping himself from looking like an even bigger fool– waiting for you to just bite and answer the question, then maybe he can come up with a better response and recover.

Not expecting him to entertain your question, let alone return it, you stumble over your words. “Oh– uhm.. Well, I’m okay. I’m– I’m good.” Your finesse always seems to leave the room the minute Hotch is in the vicinity.

Nodding slowly, Hotch answers, “That’s good.. Good to hear.” God, can I be any more awkward? He couldn’t think of a better response, not when your reply didn’t leave him much of a choice but to start a new topic– all possible ones instantly fleeing his head when he sees your blushing face in his peripheral.

You muster up the courage to steal a glance at him. Normally, you’d be in the backseat in cars, or at the back of a room, or to his side in the conference room– you’d just always be in positions and places that are strategically out of his sight. This was intentional because you enjoyed studying him.

One would argue that Hotch is the hardest to read out of all the team members, but for some reason it has never been hard for you. You see the clenching of his jaw when he’s angry or irritated. The fiddling thumb thing he does when he’s deep in thought or drowning in worry.

You know his voice gets louder when he’s pushed past his limits, you know the pace of his breaths when he’s trying to calm himself. You know when he’s asleep because his brows twitch, as if the muscles in that part of his face aren’t used to being relaxed after a whole day of being scrunched in seriousness.

Little did you know that the only reason why you know and notice all these things about him is because he lets you. His guard is alarmingly down ever since you’ve been around. Perhaps because there’s something about you that comforts him. Your presence relaxes him enough that he no longer feels the need to mask how he feels, to make himself unreadable.

But maybe it’s also because he wants you to know him. The real him. Maybe he worries that you’d think he was emotionless. Hardened by the job and damned by the things he has seen.

“You’re staring.” The deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. Oh god, how long have I been staring at him?

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I- I didn’t mean to. I was just– I was thinking and I got wrapped up in my– I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.” You rambled, fully panicking because not only have you made yourself look like an awkward idiot but you’ve now successfully added creep to the list.

While the embarrassment is sinking in, you’re trying to look anywhere but at him, but your stomach drops even more when you realize you’re about to pull into the precinct– How long was I actually staring at him??!?

Hotch easily puts the car in park as you’re now just staring at your lap in embarrassment and regret, and shame and– “I like it.”

Lifting your head in surprise, “Wha-” in the split second that your eyes met you processed that he didn’t look uncomfortable or annoyed or weirded out– he actually looked.. Is he blushing? His neck is turning red, and you notice he swallows as if to clear his throat.

“I like it when you stare at me.” Then he unbuckles his seatbelt, wears his sunglasses, and gets out of the car, in the cool hot way he always does while you’re left with your mouth slightly open, your stare following him as he rounds the car and talks to Rossi who just got out of the car parked across you.

a/n: i think hotch definitely redeemed himself at the end!! i also thought maybe i should try the jealous!hotch route next time- what do you guys think? ◡̈

934 notes · View notes

my-castles-crumbling · 5 months ago

Text

prank - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 308

"Thank you for meeting with me, Mister Black and Mister Lupin," Professor McGonagall said stiffly as she led the two men to her office, looking tired. "I know the hour is late."

"It's Mister and Mister Lupin now, Minerva," Sirius corrected, gripping his husband's hand and peering around the halls, memories flooding through him. "I seem to remember you getting rather tipsy at the reception."

"Hm. Well, old habits and all," McGonagall said as she seemed to fight back a blush. "But no matter. We are here about-" she opened the door and led them into her office, "-your godson."

The godson in question was sitting in a chair, head down, looking both upset and angry.

"Harry!" Remus called to him, making him look up. "What happened?"

A furious mumble fell from Harry's lips, but nobody in the room caught what he said.

"What?" Sirius asked, confusion clear on his features.

"I-" Harry cleared his throat and bit his lip before continuing. "I turned Snape's hair pink. And...and when he tried to turn it back, I made it so it just...fell off."

A shocked silence followed, both Sirius and Remus fighting for their lives trying not to laugh. In a choked voice, Remus tried to say diplomatically, "That...Harry, you can't..."

But Sirius burst out in tearful mirth, his laughs echoing in the small office. "That's bloody genius, that is! Gods, what a prank! Prongs would have been so proud, Haz!"

Relaxing from his defensive posture and breaking into a smile, Harry lit up. "Really?" he asked, like he'd just been given the best compliment in the world.

"Of cou-"

But McGonagall stepped in, looking livid. "You two are obviously no help," she growled. "Just leave."

And, still laughing, Remus and Sirius hugged their godson, reminded him to invite Ron and Hermione to visit that summer, and headed home.

553 notes · View notes

hirukochan · 2 years ago

Note

Can I please request a snape smut fic? The reader and him have been friends since school and she is in love with him only he does not know it or realize his feelings till Sirius is flirting with her and it leads to a fight between them leading to them confessing to their feelings. Maybe some dirty talk biting and rough smut

Sooo...I got a bit carried away with this...definetly not the roughest smut I've written, but I hope you like it anyway.

Severus and his sunshine

Pairing: Severus Snape x fem!reader

warnings: Smut, loss of virginity

Wordcount: 7402 (oops...)

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

“To the youngest Professor in the history of Hogwarts!” You cheer and raise your glass clumsily into the air, spilling half your drink down your arm. “Oops-” You giggle.

It’s not the first drink of the evening and not the first time you toast to Severus’ new job - and certainly not the last. It bears repeating after all because how fucking awesome is this? You have always known that Severus is the most intelligent and brilliant and ingenious person you’d ever meet! It’s unfair - no, a bloody shame! - how many people never realised it just because Severus’ is a bit awkward and rude and- alright he’s a downright cunt sometimes but he has every bloody right to be with the road his life has taken so far! With a father like that and that awful Potter and his stupid goons!

“We need to cut you off.” He drawls, the corner of his lips curling, and tries to snatch your glass from you. You jump off the chair you're standing on and cradle your drink protectively to your chest, firewhiskey dripping down your arm.

“Try and I’ll bite your finger off!”

“You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not.” Severus shakes his head but doesn’t try to get your drink again, instead focusing on his own (the second of the evening - what a bore). The pub is crowded and loud, nobody pays any attention to the two of you sitting at a table in the corner.

You plop back down on your chair and take a sip of your drink.

Severus’ eyes have gone distant again. That happens a lot lately. Like something is on his mind that he lacks the words to tell you. Social interactions aren’t his strong suit. You’re the ‘Severus-translator’ Lily used to joke when you three were still friends because you always knew what Severus wanted to say but couldn’t. You always made sure he was included in conversations, told others to shut up so he could speak or smooth over his rough edges whenever someone didn’t get Severus’ dry and dark sense of humour.

One look at him from across the Great Hall during breakfast and you knew whether he was in a good or bad mood. You knew when he had a nightmare the night before and needed a gentler touch or when to bluntly tell him he’s being a cunt.

This you can’t seem to figure out.

He smiles less these days. Even less than usual. The four years since you finished school have been hard, especially for him, especially with the war.

Emotions are not Severus’ thing.

His long black hair falls into his face, hiding his grave expression from the world and you. His face has lost its boyish features. His jaw is more prominent, complementing his high cheekbones. His hooked nose suits him. It’s something about the proportions or symmetry of his face - you can’t quite put your finger on it. Most people seem to be put off by his appearance, but to you he has always held something uniquely beautiful.

He taps his finger against his glass repeatedly. His fingernails are still painted black…You made him let you paint them last time he was at your flat. It suits him.

You place your hand over his, stopping his fidgeting. You wish you’d know what’s going on in his head, clearly whatever it is puts him on edge, but you trust he’ll talk to you when he is ready.

“You’ll be great.” You say. “I have no doubt. You’re a bloody genius, Severus! These kids are so lucky. They can learn so much from you!”

“I am certain they will share your attitude.” He says sardonically and you snort. Severus downs his drink and takes your empty glass to get another round (and probably a glass of water for you because he’s such a mum sometimes). You smirk as you watch him make his way through the crowd.

He sticks out like a sore thumb in these new robes he got, but you think they too suit him. It’s probably the first time he isn’t wearing hand-me-downs. He’s wearing all black of course. The most colour you ever saw him wear was at Hogwarts in the form of his emerald green school tie.

Severus looks intimidating. It makes him look older, stronger somehow. It’s such a stark difference to the beat up jeans, the The Cure bandshirt you gifted him one Christmas and the shabby leather jacket.

But not in a bad way.

He looks good.

Maybe it’s the fact he has grown taller since graduation. He’s a head taller than he used to be and shed his bend over posture. Escaping both Hogwarts and his recently deceased father agrees with him. That and your continued effort of forcing him to eat three whole meals a day, every day.

His wide shoulders and dark hair disappear behind people and you rip your eyes from the spot you last saw him.

So much has changed in the last four years but that little flutter in your heart whenever you look at him has not changed. When it first started in your fourth year you didn’t even realise what it was about. You’d start stammering around him, earning you silent glares and raised eyebrows from Severus at which you’d blush. After an embarrassingly long time you finally accepted that you had developed a crush on your best friend.

You’re too terrified of losing him as a friend to ever tell him though.

Severus isn’t good with feelings. They are too complicated. Too messy. He doesn’t need messy. His life is messy enough and so you swore to yourself to never tell him.

Your friendship was already a miracle. You are his polar opposite. You are outgoing and friendly, polite - too polite sometimes - bubbly and optimistic. Severus is - well Severus. He is grumpy and quiet and rude.

You decided to befriend him in your first year. You saw him during the sorting and something about him pulled you in. You really wanted to get to know him and when you heard him talk during your first potions class you made the decision to gain his friendship however long it would take.

You started by sitting at the table next to his in the library. You’d sit there everyday, quietly doing your homework and when he stopped shooting you irritated looks when he thought you weren’t looking, you moved to sitting at his table. You simply smiled at the befuddled Severus and did your work.

You approached befriending Severus like one might approach gaining the trust of a wild animal. Over the year a truce-kind-of study group had formed between you.

Towards the end of term he asked for your help collecting some things from the forbidden forest - Lily would never break school rules, but you are certain Severus didn’t actually need help, he just didn’t know how to tell you he wanted to spend time with you.

During the summer you send him letters, even after not receiving any back from him and when you saw him by himself in the Hogwarts Express in September you sat down next to him and you’ve been friends since.

You know a romance is even less likely than your friendship was.

“Merlin! I almost didn’t fucking recognise you!” A familiar voice says and you throw up a little in your mouth.

“Black.” You say monotonous. As if he owns the place Black sits down opposite of you on Severus’ currently empty chair.

“You’re hot! How come we never snogged in school?”

“Because whenever I am forced to face the fact that you exist I want to smash my head against a wall.” You say with a honey-sweet tone of voice at which Black’s grin only grows. He doesn’t get the hint.

“How come you’re drinking alone, gorgeous?” Black continues undeterred, a poised and arrogant grin on his lips.

“I’m not.” His grin wavers ever so slightly but Sirius Black has always believed himself so utterly irresistible that such small details don’t matter to him.

“I don’t see anyone.” He is wearing muggle clothes, trying just a tad too hard to look like a rockstar, but he talks and holds himself like a pureblood still. He might have run away from home but he is still living off of his family’s wealth and he hasn’t changed one bit since school.

Black is (as usual) utterly unaware that he isn’t welcome. Black’s eyes roam over your face and down to your chest like he is appraising you, determining how much effort you are worth putting into seducing you.

“I think it’s fate we meet like this! You look-” He licks his lips and a shiver of disgust rushes over your arms. “So different. Bet you cut loose that tosser Snivellus. He was clearly dragging you under. A frown on such a pretty face should be considered a fucking crime.” You clench your fists under the table. You have your wand in your boot. It would be so easy to hex him-

“Someone as stunning as you- Oi! I was about to head to this club in Dublin that recently opened to meet Moony and Wormtail - You should join me!” He winks.

“As I said - I am here with someone.”

“But you could be with me!” He laughs as if he just made a joke but you know he is dead serious. He thinks you’d gladly ditched whomever you are here with for the chance of spending time with him. “Bring her too - the more the merrier.” There is a not so subtle suggestive tone to his words and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Come on gorgeous! Someone as sexy as you should not be so uptight! Let’s have some fun, let loose a little - it’ll be worthwhile to you, I swear.”

“What a compelling offer.” Sneers Severus and your heart drops. Great. “I wonder how many you made that promise to, Black, and how many you left disappointed.” Black’s grin falters for a split second.

That’s right.

Severus is different.

He stands taller. He’s fierce and strong and you aren’t at Hogwarts anymore where it’s four against one with the teachers turning a blind eye. You have no doubt Severus would pull out his nastiest curses on Black given the chance.

“Let’s leave, Sev.”

“Come on, gorgeous!”

“That’s not her name, but one can hardly expect a simpleton like you to care for such fine details as names.”

“Sev.”

“No wonder she looked like somebody was fucking murdered in front of her eyes when I found her - how Lily could bear being close to you for so long I’ll never understand.” Black turns towards you. “Kick this dick to the curb - I’ll buy you a drink, gorgeous.”

“She does not need you for that-”

“I can buy my own drinks.” You hiss and when Severus still makes no move towards leaving, you grab your jacket and storm off. Let them duel like little children if they want, but you won’t get in the middle of that.

The cold hair of the night hits you while you run down the street. Tears sting in your eyes and you feel so stupid and pathetic for crying. Nothing even happened. You don’t know what’s going on- that’s a lie. Severus sounded like he was about to suggest you’re with him and therefore don’t need Black to buy you drinks which…it’s not wrong. You were at the pub with Severus and you were going to make him pay (he’s a Professor now after all and from what Sev let on the pay isn’t bad) but it wasn’t a date. And Severus suggesting or intending to suggest that hurts. You want it to be a date goddamn! You’ve wanted it for over eight years!

Severus calls your name but you just wrap your arms tighter around yourself and continue down the empty street on the outskirts of London.

“Just wait!” He catches up to you. “What a fucking wanker.” He huffs.

“Mh.”

“What did he say to you? I should have hexed him! I knew it!”

“Drop it.”

“No, I will not drop it! He made you cry- come on tell me what he said and I’ll-”

“What?!” Abruptly you stop walking and spin around to face Severus. He looks at you perplexed, his cloak billowing behind him in the breeze. “You’ll go and start a duel? Why? I told you to drop it.”

“He’s a fucking cavemen! Just the way he looked at you-” Severus grimaces. A muscle in his jaw tenses and he flexes his wand hand.

“Why the fuck do you suddenly feel the need to defend my honour?! You just ignored me in there- nevermind. I’m tired. I want to go home.”

“Don’t let Black ruin our night-”

“You ruined our night! I asked you to leave, you ignored me. I ask you to drop it, you ignore me. I don’t want you to fight Black! We aren’t at school anymore - you’ll get arrested!” Something you have never before seen crosses through Severus’ eyes. Something dark. A cold shiver runs down your spine and you take an involuntary step back.

“I wouldn’t be arrested, Sunshine.” He says, voice low, rumbling like thunder, a muttered promise of destruction and ruin and heat pools in your belly. That he called you by his nickname for you which he uses very sparingly, if ever, doesn’t help the matter. Severus takes a step forward. The heat morphs into a twisting, curling mass that takes your breath away. Severus looms over you, shadows dancing over his pale skin, drawing his cheekbones into an even sharper contrast and you gulp.

“You think Luci is going to come and rescue you?”

“Lucius? I don’t need Lucius for that.”

“Do you even fucking hear yourself?!” Your voice echoes through the empty streets, thrown back off the house.

“He made you cry!”

“Why does it matter?!”

“Because-” He clenches his jaw, his fists shake with suppressed rage. His nostrils flare and for a split second a tingling sensation winds around your heart at the expression in his eyes - the softness in the middle of a raging storm. A lone, untouched, unbothered island in the midst of a roaring ocean.

Severus exhales. Tension falls off his frame and the expression is gone.

“Fine.” He says quietly. “Let’s go then.” And he walks past you.

“No.” You can hear his steps stop behind you. Tears drip over your cheeks and you stubbornly wipe them away. “Say what you wanted to say.”

“I thought you’re tired.”

“Say it.”

“It’s- it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not moving until you say it.” You cross your arms in front of your chest. Behind you Severus sighs and you can practically hear him pinch the bridge of his nose like he does whenever you annoy him.

“You sound like a spoiled child.”

“Good practice then. You’ll have to deal with a lot of those, Professor.”

“Are you- I have the feeling you’re angry with me.” You spin around and glare at Severus. He’s not good with emotions, sure - but now he’s just being dense.

“What made you think that?” You deadpan. He rolls his eyes and his disregard for your feelings drives you mad.

“Black’s a bastard-”

“This is Warren all over again!”

“Yeah and I was fucking right about Warren wasn’t I?” A vein on his forehead pulses, but you don’t give a shit. Warren was your first boyfriend and Severus behaved absolutely rotten towards you.

“Warren was a huge mistake, yes - but he was my mistake to make! What- do you actually fucking think I would ever fucking touch Black? Just the thought gives me an STD!” The barest flicker of amusement flashes over Severus’ features. “I just- I don’t get why you overreact like this everytime I talk to a guy. And it’s not like I was engaging Black there! The fucknugget is just to stupid to get a hint!”

“I-”

“There it is again! You did it again! What is it that you can’t tell me? Come on Sev! You can tell me everything. When did you start having secrets from me?” It’s a hit to your ego as much as you don’t like admitting it.

You have always been Severus’ safespace.

He told you things he never even told Lily! Something you didn’t know until third year when Lily asked whether Severus’ parents are ‘fighting again’ when you knew Tobias dickward Snape beat Sev with his belt the day before the Hogwarts Express left for the new term. You fucking healed him in you compartment because his ribs were broken and she asked whether they were fighting.

Why can’t he tell you this?

Another tear slips over your lower lid and slides down your check. Your bottom lip quivers. You suppress a sniffle and nod.

You have never felt further away from him than you do at this precise moment. It feels like Severus is sand slipping through your fingers and the harder you try to hold onto him, to the way it was before, the faster he slips away. Maybe too much has changed. Maybe he’s too different. Maybe this unlikely friendship was doomed from the beginning.

You know you’re about to start bawling and that’s the last you want Severus to see.

“Alright…I see.” You whisper. “Life’s different now. We’re keeping secrets now…”

“Sunshine-”

“No- no, ‘tis fine-” You roughly wipe your eyes. “See you- see you sometime….congratulations again.” You turn around to find a quiet alleyway to disapparate to your flat and break down there like a pathetic little teen that got her pathetic little heart broken without ever even working up the courage to confess her pathetic feelings.

Your steps sound horribly loud in the dark, cold night and with every step you take away from Severus you feel like you’re losing him more, every step is another crack, another break, another insurmountable obstacle between you. The cold wind cuts through your clothes with ease and you shiver.

“I love you.”

You stop dead in your tracks. Your heart skips a beat or two or maybe it forgets how to work entirely.

Severus’ voice is quiet, uncertain like it has not been since second year when he thought you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore after he lashed out at you.

“Sunshine- I knew Warren would only hurt you. That he’s not good enough for you. He bragged in the Slytherin common room that you showed him your boobs- He said all sorts of awful things and I- I just sat there. I should have said something, defended you, made him shut up but- Warren was two years above us and…” He takes a shuddering breath, dispelling old shame and insecurity from his voice. “Black’s just like that. He never cared for you before and now all of a sudden he is dying to go out with you? You don’t even realise it, Sunshine but- you- you are stunning. You have changed so much since school, you are- fuck I don’t know- words-” He sighs and rubs his hands over his face.

You feel numb and like you’re on fire at the same time. Of course you knew Warren spread some shit about you around, it’s why you broke up and broke his nose in the process for good measure, earning three weeks detention with McGonagall, but you wished you would have known sooner...

And- Severus loves you? No- that can’t be right- He’s in love with Lily- it’s always been Lily-

“You’re happier somehow- you- you’re radiant and beautiful and- you’ve grown up so much and- and- I love you. I’ve loved you for years- I want to protect you. I want to guard your happiness and yes I’d go back to knock out every single one of Black’s teeth for talking to you like that. You just have to say the word - sunshine - I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. And I know I’m not bloody good enough for you- I am rude and surly and miserable to be around - I don’t expect you to feel the same…I- fuck I don’t know-”

“You love me?”

“I love you.”

“I thought you love Lily.”

“Lily is- was- still is- I have no goddamn clue- she’s like a sister. I love her. And I think marrying Potter was a huge mistake and that she’ll divorce him in about three years - if she manages to stand him that long and when she does I hope- I hope we can mend our friendship…maybe- but- but I don’t love her like that. Not like I love you.”

Severus loves you.

Has loved you for years.

Severus loves you… You swirl around and before your anxiety can overpower your heart, screaming and aching and thrashing about in your chest you cup his face with your trembling hands and press your lips against his.

Severus stiffens. For a moment you just stand there, on your tiptoes to be able to reach him, holding onto him, feeling his heat against you, your lips exploding with electrifying tingling. Your stomach clenches and twists, flip flops and gives birth to a thousand erratic butterflies and all flutter around in a whirlwind of emotions that are too colourful, too many, too intense to ever find words worthy of describing the sensation.

Cautiously Severus puts his hands on your back and moves his lips against yours. You’re still crying, tears stream over your cheeks and run along the curves of your face to your lips.

As if woken from an enchanted slumber, Severus drags you against his chest and kisses you fiercely. One arm wrapped around your back and clutching at your waist, and one hand cradling the back of your head, long slender fingers threading through your hair. You grab the front of his robes and cling to him.

You both stumble a few steps and your back hits the brick wall of a house. Severus licks along the seam of your lips which you happily part for him. Your kiss grows sloppy and desperate. Your tongues meet gingerly at first but soon the slight air of discomfort and wariness at this development vanishes, flies away into the cool air of the night, gone and forgotten, as unimportant as your stupid fight.

Severus is kissing you. You are finally kissing Severus. He loves you. He has loved you for years.

Everything is good.

“Sev-” You whimper against his lips between two kisses. You try to break them, to wrench an inch of air between you but Severus is like a man dying of thirst that finally found a water source and is clenching his burning thirst. “Sev-” You push against his chest. Severus releases your lips, but doesn’t move away, doesn’t let go of you.

He leans his forehead against yours and blinks back at you, his dark eyes seemingly trying to pervade yours, to find a direct path to your deepest thoughts, a link between you and him that is untouchable by anybody else, that runs deeper than any other connection between two people.

“Don’t you want to invite me back to your place?” You murmur and tug playfully at the button just above his throat. Severus’ eyes darken. A muscle in his jaw jumps. Your cunt clenches around nothing. Needy, desperate, wanting.

He clears his throat and steps back. How the fuck does he still look put together? How can he manage to reign in that storm in his eyes so expertly, so fast and clean while you’re a panting, sweaty, needy mess after just a few damn kisses?

“You won’t like what I’d do then.” He says, voice heavy with what he leaves unsaid. You push yourself off the wall and wrap your arms around his shoulders. You trail a few chaste kisses up the side of his jaw and flick the tip of your tongue over his earlobe. Severus inhales sharply and flexes his hands again.

“I don’t break easy, Sev.” You whisper and press a kiss to his ear. “You should know that.” He takes another shuddering breath and just when you think you’ll have to deal with the aftermath of his kiss on your own while picturing him nestled between your thighs (once again), he pulls you against his chest and holds you in a bone-breaking grip. You feel the familiar pull of side-along apparition and in the next moment you smell the even more familiar, dusty scent of Severus’ house. The smell of books is new, added after Severus renovated the house enough to evict his father’s influences and put his own touch to it - namely by adding a shittone of books.

Severus doesn’t give you time to catch your breath. He grabs your hand and pulls you up the stairs. You giggle and run to keep up with him. He practically kicks the door to his old room open (you know for a fact he has not even touched the door to his parents room since his father died) and crushes his lips against yours as soon as he pulls you over the threshold.

The burn marks from where Severus used to zap flies with his wand are still on the ceiling. The little pencil sketches you made near the baseboards are as well. He replaced his bed though. A brand new double which you are being steered towards now.

“Severus-” You moan against his lips and tear at the buttons of his new robes.

“Is this real?” He whispers back and leans his forehead against yours again, watching you struggle with his clothes. “I’ve pictured this so many times- thought about how I would feel to have you here- is this happening? Or am I sleeping?”

“It’s real.” You say, lips against his recently freed throat. “I’m here.”

“You’re here…”

“Severus-” You hesitate and pause your quest of revealing Severus’ body to your eyes. “I’ve never done this-” Suddenly you feel shaky and overwhelmed.

“Warren-?”

“Is full of shit. He lied- about all of it. Have you-” He nods, but there’s a distant expression in his eyes that tells you it’s not something he wants to talk about. Probably something he’s ashamed of. You know the kind of company Lucius, Mulciber, Rosier and the other’s like to keep and don’t pry further.

“I’ll trust you then.” You murmur and sit down on the bed, pulling Severus down with you.

“I’d never want to hurt you, Sunshine.” You kiss and between kisses scoot up the bed until your head is resting on the soft pillows and Severus’ lean body between your thighs. “I’ll take care of you.” He mutters against the corner of your mouth and kisses your cheek. “Such good care.” He trails down your jaw. “Like Black or Warren never fucking could.”

“I never wanted them.” You moan. Your body moves on its own, knowing precisely what you want and need even if your mind has yet to catch up. Your legs wrap around his hips, your back arches, pressing your breasts to his chest. You thread your fingers through his silky hair. “Only you.”

“Me?”

“Only you. Always you. Whenever I thought about it…when I pictured how it would feel while touching myself I only ever pictured you.”

“Oh sunshine-” He groans and rolls his hips against you.

“Sev-” Severus draws his wand and mutters a quick spell. Something curls in your stomach, it’s the weirdest sensation and for a second you are utterly confused, but then your gaze meets Severus’ and you understand. Contraception spell. You didn’t even think of that. Of course Severus did. You smile.

He mutters another charm and your clothes vanish. You squeak, blush and hide your face behind your hands.

You can hear the clanking of wood hitting wood as Severus tosses his wand onto the nightstand.

“You- fuck…” Cautiously you peek between your fingers. A faint pink tinge has spread over Severus’ cheeks and nose, down to his now fully exposed neck. He looks cute. Adorable. You take a deep breath and drop your hands. This is Severus. Your Severus. There is nothing to be afraid of with him. “You put to shame all great beauties of the comprehensive history of this world.” His words brush over your skin like a tender caress and make you shiver and burn with embarrassed heat at the same time.

“Severus-”

“It’s true. The old greek masters wish they would have had a model like you sit for their marmour statues. Such beauty has to be preserved for the ages - but you…you are just mine.”

“Who are you and what have you done to my stammering, cute, insecure Severus?” You tease. Severus’ eyes are still pinned to your breasts. He visibly snaps out of his thoughts and looks up to you. There he is. Flashing through his impossibly dark eyes for the flicker of a second before they return to the heavy gaze, consumed by carnal desire that has been ignored for too long and has now broken free with demanding force.

“He knows he’s about to find out how you feel.”

“Come and find out then.” You shoot him a challenging grin. Severus kisses you in response. He kisses you and settles more of his weight on you. His very much hard cock presses against your exposed cunt. You gasp and clutch at Severus.

“Shit- Severus- that won’t fit!”

“It will.”

“You sure?” He chuckles, his eyes lighting up with amusement like they do so rarely and you relax.

“I’m sure.” You trust him. You love him. You want him. He’ll take care of you.

You let him take control. Severus kisses you more. He seems determined to cover every inch of your body with all the confessions of his love he has missed out on. All the elapsed opportunities. All the kisses you could have shared if you both had had just a little more courage. But it doesn’t matter. You are here now. You are together in his bed, skin pressed against skin, breathing the same air, staring into each other’s eyes longingly while his hand slips between your thighs.

You’re soaked and whimper when his slender fingers gather your slickness, brushing your aching cunt with featherlight touches. He draws gentle, slow circles over your clit. Pressure and heat build in your belly and deep inside your cunt fast. You cling to his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin without even noticing.

“I wondered so many times how you’d look…” He murmurs. His lips brush over yours as he speaks. His breath dances across your cheeks.

“...in the throes of pleasure.” Severus’ voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it. A smoky rumble that goes straight to your core.

He teases your entrance until you’re squirming and rolling your hips against his touch before finally plunging a finger inside you. “I wondered how you’d sound…how I would feel knowing it was me making you feel like that…” You give him the answer promptly. Moaning and whining, gasping for air.

“Sev!” You throw your head back and arch your back. The pressure keeps building and building, beyond anything you ever managed yourself. He adds a second finger and with it a delicious, stinging stretch. He curls his fingers and presses the heel of his palm to your clit. You squirm under Severus’ intense gaze that seems to look right through you, through your skin down to your very soul. He watches every flicker of pleasure and desperation he paints onto your face with utter, devoted, undisturbed attention to you and nothing else. Nothing else matters.

Severus knows you like no other. It feels right to share this with him as well.

He loves you.

You still can’t believe it.

“Sev!”

“Cum for me, sunshine. Cum on my fingers. I want to know- I’m done wondering. I want to know.” You do. Crying out and panting his name, thrashing about beneath him as waves upon waves of intense pleasure run havoc over you, but it’s fine. You can let go with Severus.

“I need you Sev- please-” You gasp even before your orgasm has released you from its clutches. “Please please please- Sev-” He groans.

“Fuck and I thought you sounded needy in my head.” Severus mutters and aligns himself with you. He takes his time, giving you time to adjust to his girth, slowly pushing deeper and deeper into your still spasming channel, forcing it to give way to him. He grunts and whispers praise, how tight you are, how good you feel for him, how well you’re taking him. You whimper and hold onto him, leaving red streaks across his back. Severus doesn’t even bat an eye at it.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and savours your every sound, every twitch and throb of your cunt finally, finally gloved around him.

“Sunshine-”

“Severus…” More words aren’t needed. He rests there, deep inside you, his body pressed to your trembling smaller one, shielding you from the cold of his room and the world itself and you know there is a promise in there somewhere.

“I can’t believe it-” He murmurs and kisses your collarbone, down to your sternum. He kisses and licks, sucks, grazes your skin with his teeth. “You feel…incredible…you’re so good for me sunshine-” He kisses your breasts, flicks his tongue over your hardened nipples, licks broad strokes and teasingly closes his lips around them.

When Severus finally moves again he does so in slow, measured thrusts. He watches your expression with hidden wariness, watches your every reaction. He can’t hide from you though. He is waiting for you to regret this. To tell him to stop. He’s afraid of letting go, afraid of scaring you off, of losing you.

But he’ll never lose you.

You buck your hips and whine impatiently. “Come on Sev.” You whimper. “Fuck me like you really want to fuck me.”

“It’s your first time I will not-”

“It’s done, Sev. Bye bye virginity! That train of stupid little things society places far too much worth in has left the station indefinitely. Now fuck me.”

“Sun-”

“Severus Snape! Fuck. me. properly.” He groans. His eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Fine.” Severus grunts and a rush of excitement pulses through your stomach and drenches his throbbing cock in more fluids. “I warned you.”

The bed creaks dangerously under his thrusts. His hips slap against yours with a wet, fleshy sound that drives you crazy.

“Oh fuck yes- yes- just like that- that’s-” You babble more nonsense, moaning and shredding Severus’ back with your nails. He fucks you mercilessly into the mattress, spearing you open with his cock with each hard thrust. Your entire body trembles under his thorough attention. Your cunt yields to him in wet, fluttering excitement. It cherishes the promise of soreness his thrusts leave behind.

Any attempt at grasping for and trying to hold onto one of the many thoughts rushing through your fuzzy, hazy mind is a fruitless endeavour.

“Fuck! Ahhh- so good…” Severus mutters against your collarbone and plunges his cock into your drenched cunt again before pulling out almost completely and driving back in with such force he knocks your head against the headboard. You both laugh.

“Sorry-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” You weave your fingers through his hair and pull him down into a sloppy, passionate kiss. You gasp and moan into the kiss and drink up the way Severus continues to lose the iron grip on his emotions he had cultivated since graduation, revealing more and more of the love-starved, unapologetic, fierce man you know him as. The man that feels so freely, so intensely, so deeply that it hurts him so much.

Every thrust, every kiss, every exploring hand gliding over your sweaty skin, squeezing your breasts in testing, careful motions is a testament to how deep his feelings for you run and have been running for so long.

It breaks free of him in violent bursts and buries you beneath roaring pleasure.

Severus is not good with words.

But he will be damned if he doesn’t show you what he can’t figure out how to say.

“Severus-” You moan, joining the creaking bed and his grunts, the symphony of your love. This would not be a pretty, romantic, fairytale like love. You are both messy and broken in your own ways. It will be hard. It will take work and compassion and will seem impossible at moments, especially in the midst of a war, but Severus is worth it.

To you he is worth it.

He always was and will always be.

You whine in protest when Severus pulls out of you but before you have a chance to voice it otherwise or even glare at him, Severus flips you over.

“Put your hands on the headboard.” He rasps in your ear. You are shaking and struggle to keep yourself upright, but Severus’ arms around your waist stabilise you. You hold onto the headboard so tight your knuckles turn white. Severus is kissing your neck, nibbling and sucking, painting his marks onto you as if to say ‘I was here’ or maybe ‘back off’. Maybe both. Maybe more.

He fills you up again, reaching much deeper than before and you gasp at the unfamiliar, intense feeling.

“Your cunt clutches me so hard-” He grunts and bottoms out. “Sucks me in- all soaked and desperate.”

“Sev-”

“Hmm…yes. I’m here…” He sucks the delicate skin on your neck into his mouth and bites down gently, at which a loud, wanton moan breaks free of you and he bites down harder.

You meet his thrust with your hips, his cockhead hits a spot inside you it previously missed and you fall apart. His grip around your waist turns bruising and Severus pulls you back. Your grip around the headboard goes slack. You melt into his touch, twitching and shivering, whimpering, mind fuzzy with always new, higher, stronger, more intense levels of pleasure.

Severus holds you to his chest, your thighs on either side of his, useless, hands helplessly holding onto his arms, and moves your body up and down his hard shaft. Using you and the fluttering of your cunt as your orgasm continues to coarse through you. He grunts and bites your shoulder, harder than before and a particularly strong spasm shakes your body. You drop your head onto his shoulder, melting further against him.

“Again-” You rasp and present your neck to him. A grin flashes over Severus’ lips. Sweaty strands of hair stick to his forehead, his eyes are glazed over with hazy lust.

“My pleasure.” He coos, but instead of indulging you, he kisses you. One small, chaste peck after another. You squirm against his grip, claw at his arms, painting more red streaks on his pale skin.

“You never told me you got a tattoo-” You murmur. The sight of the jet black snake and skull on Severus’ left inner arm pulls your mind out of its haze and into a brief moment of clarity. Severus hesitates ever so slightly in his thorough, teasing attention he’s paying to your neck. Something about the tattoo unsettles you, though you can’t exactly decide why.

“Must have forgotten. It’s new.”

“Hmm…very metal.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Why’d you get it then?”

“I thought I would.” Severus sucks on your neck and that plummets you back into mind-numbing, all-consuming, ecstatic pleasure.

“Maybe we should go to Dublin after.” Severus purrs in your ear. “Show Black all your pretty marks.”

“Idiot.” You giggle.

“I’m going to cum-”

“Cum inside me.”

“I don’t have to.”

“Please, Sev! Cum in me.” Severus pushes you forward and you fall face first into the mattress with a tiny outrages squeal. Severus laughs at you and grips your hips, adjusting them to sit flush with his own. He fucks you roughly into the pillows. You clutch at the sheets. Severus loses more and more of what little composure he still had. He mutters things you can’t make out.

His thrusts are accompanied with lewd, wet noises and the headboard hitting the wall.

“Severus!”

“I’ll fill you up ahh- with my cum- leave you dripping-”

“Yesyesyes-” He moves your hips with each thrust, pulling you back into him as he buries his cock inside you. His balls hit your sensitive cunt. His fingers dig into your skin, sure to be leaving bruises.

Severus cums with your name on his lips, tumbling over them in a low, reverent, lust-drenched prayer which you join with your own faint, desperate whimpers.

Feeling the hot spurts of cum hit your inner walls violently kicks you over the edge for the third time. Severus slumps above you, pressing his forehead to your back between your shoulder blades, panting and spent.

You stay like that for a while. Both of you trying to catch your breath, relishing in the buzzing glow of your aftershock and the feeling of each other’s love on your skin and warming you from the inside.

Gently Severus pulls his softening cock from you and lies down next to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“Sorry.” He murmurs in your hair and presses a tender kiss to the top of your head. “I hurt you.”

“I liked it.” You murmur back and place your hands against his chest, nuzzling your face to his neck. “Why did it take us so bloody long to finally do this?” He chuckles. He tugs a strand of messy hair behind your ear. You look up to meet his gaze. It’s heavy with emotions, a swirling storm of love and care and fear. You reach out to him in a futile attempt of soothing it. The pads of your fingers meet his cheek and he shudders under your touch, before leaning into it. His eyes fall closed and for a brief moment he looks at peace. Content. Home.

“I-” He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it again. His brows pull together into a frown, a deep crease forming between them. His lips go white as he presses them together into a thin line. His jaw tenses. “I’ve made a terrible mistake-” His voice is hoarse from unshed tears and the effort of suppressing them. He loses. One escapes from between his closed lids and slides down his cheek, meeting your fingers. You wipe it away, but more follow.

“I’m trying to fix it- I am! But I-”

“It’s ok.” You whisper and press a tender kiss to his jaw.

So he did it…You had your suspicions, of course you did, but a part of you refused to believe Severus capable of those horrible acts committed by the Death Eaters. And you were right. The pain, regret and self-loathing is so evident in his face. He can’t bear to look at you.

“We’ll fix it. Together. It’ll be fine.”

You are there when the Aurors storm his house to arrest him. You were sitting on the threadbare sofa in his arms as he read to you.

You tell him not to resist, to not tell them anything.

You send an owl to Dumbledore.

You are at the trial, sitting on one of the benches. Severus looks miserable sitting in the middle of the courtroom, deep shadows under his eyes, a tremor in his wand hand. The chains of the chair are wrapped tightly around his arms. He avoids your eyes.

Dumbledore defends him passionately. Recounting Severus’ turning spy for him, reporting you-know-who’s steps to Dumbledore, how invaluable his intel had been. He recounts the dangers Severus was willing to face. He demands he is released. And he is. The Wizengamot clears him of all charges and you walk out of the Ministry with him, holding his still trembling hand in your own.

“Is this real?” He whispers and you bite the inside of your cheek to not start crying. You want to be strong for him.

“Yes.” You kiss his cheek and wrap your arms around his neck. “It’s real. You’re a free man. I’m here. I will always be here. We’ll figure this out.”

“Together?”

“Together. I love you, Severus.”

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

#severus snape #snape fandom #ao3 fanfic #severus snape smut #Severus Snape x reader #snape x reader #snape x you #request #dividers by cafekitsune

4K notes · View notes