#and this is going to live in my head forever

[curseluvr]

HONEYMOONERS ♡

Devotion consummated—how they cherish and claim you once the ring is on your finger.

ft. satoru, suguru, kento, toji, sukuna, choso

wc: 4.8k (i didn't mean to yap so much)

content: fem!reader, p in v sex, unprotected intercourse, est. relationships/marriage, possessiveness, praise kink, light bondage & restraint (sukuna), oral, creampies/breeding kink, pregnancy mentions, some emotional sex (crying, reverent language), overstimulation, marking, semi-public sex (gojo, nanami), gojo eats you out on a jet ski, mild voyeurism/exhibitionism (gojo, sukuna), just men in love

SATORU

Satoru doesn’t even bother to say good morning. Instead, he rolls over, pushes your robe open, and hums against your skin, “How many times can I make my wife cum before breakfast?”

It’s not even a question, it’s a challenge. He acts like you have all the time in the world, because you do. Satoru insisted on a month-long honeymoon. Thirty indulgent, jet-setting, skin-worshipping days where the world slows down and everything bends around his touch.

Week One: Maldives

It starts in an overwater villa with glass floors and no neighbors in sight. The sheets barely stay dry, the windows never stay closed, and Satoru’s face is basically glued between your thighs. He eats you out like it’s his first meal of the day and you’re also dessert. 

Always slow at first—kissing down your inner thighs, teasing your folds, whispering, “You sound so cute like this,” whenever you whimper for more.

Satoru doesn’t even touch himself most mornings. He just grinds his hard cock into the mattress while he makes you cum again and again, like edging himself for you is his favorite act of worship.

“One more, sweetheart. Look at me when you let go, mhm, there she is. That’s my wife.”

By the time you’re finally eating breakfast—sore, glowing, and satisfied—he’s already planning round two.

He eats you out from the back on a jet ski while you’re in the middle of the ocean. The salt spray mixes with your slick, and he comes in his swim trunks without even touching himself because you sobbed his name so sweetly.

Satoru takes you to a private island and fucks you against a palm tree while the tide rolls in.

“Told you I’d give you the world,” he whispers, biting your neck, “but it’s not enough. I need the world to see you’re mine.”

Week Two: Amalfi Coast

In Italy, Satoru doesn’t let you wear any of the underwear you packed. 

“No need,” he insists, slipping his hand between your thighs at dinner like you’re just a toy for him to play with. And you are. His favorite toy, his one and only. 

You ride him on the balcony of your hotel as the sunset casts a golden halo around your silhouettes. The Mediterranean breeze is warm, and he’s got your sundress bunched around your waist while Satoru leans back like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Come on, baby. Let ‘em hear how good I fuck you. You married a god, remember?”

You do almost get caught. An elderly couple walking by glances up, and Gojo just tilts his head, grinning lazily as your pace stutters. He slaps your ass to keep you moving. “Shy now? Thought you liked putting on a show.” 

The whiniest moans spill out of your mouth when you cum, body quaking with pleasure as Satoru smiles.

Later, he buys you gelato with the same fingers he fucked you with. Still sticky. Still smug. He licks the melting treat off your lips and says, “Sweet, but not as sweet as you taste when you cum for me.”

Week Three: Dubrovnik

You walk the city hand in hand. He’s smiling, chatting with locals, but his sunglasses hide the way his eyes stay on you—obsessed. Starving. The same man who bought the plane tickets mid-orgasm because you moaned that you’d never been to Croatia before.

In the mornings, he kisses your ring finger like it’s sacred. At night, he spoons you on satin sheets and plays with your pussy like he’s drunk off it. 

Says things like, “I could live in this moment forever. You and me, just like this. You’d let me ruin you every night, wouldn’t you, baby? It’s what you signed up for.”

Sometimes it’s slow. Reverent. Sometimes he’s unhinged—pushing your face into the hotel balcony railing and fucking you like he owns you. 

You try to protest, and he just laughs, “Shouldn’t have said ‘I do’ if you couldn’t handle the strongest.”

Before he comes, he pulls out and brings you to your knees. Satoru lets his cum paint your face, moaning how pretty you are, all for him.

Week Four: Macau

A high-rise suite, blackout curtains, and mirrors on the ceiling—because Satoru insisted. You stay in all day and only go out to enjoy the nightlife.

These days are more intense. Less playful. There’s a fever in his touch, a new kind of obsession brewing under the luxury. He fucks you with your legs thrown over his shoulders, watching your face contort in the mirror above. Presses a hand to your lower stomach and groans when he feels himself through you. 

“Would ya look at that. So deep in this pussy that was made for me.”

He ties your hands with silk and takes his time. Sometimes, you ride him with a hand around his neck, watching his pretty blue eyes gloss over. There’s one night he lends you his blindfold and teases you all night. Touch and go, kiss and retreat, until you’re crying from how badly you need him. 

He coos, kissing your tears away, “I just love how much you need me. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

By the end of most nights, all you can say is “Toru!” and “I love you.” 

And he always finishes inside. Always. Satoru never fails to hold you after, whispering, “I love every part of you. All I am is yours.”

By the end of the month, your body aches in the best ways. Your skin’s tanned, your throat sore from laughter and moaning, and your heart is full.

Satoru tucks you under his arm on the flight home and tells you, “If we don’t find out you’re pregnant soon, we’re going on another honeymoon.” 

You laugh against his chest, legs stretched across the plush leather seat, cozy in one of his hoodies. “I think you just like an excuse to keep me locked away.”

“Bingo,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “You’re so smart, baby. That’s why you’re my wife.”

He’s so warm. So calm. But there’s a shift in his voice, low and coaxing, and you know that tone—it always means he’s about to do something. His hand slides up your bare thigh, pushing your hoodie higher, knuckles grazing your inner skin like he’s testing just how much you’ll let him get away with.

“Satoru,” you murmur, quiet, warning, a little breathless already. “There’s a pilot—”

“Who knows not to disturb me,” he cuts you off, grinning as he kisses down your jaw. “And a privacy button.” He presses something on the side of the seat. The glass partition between the cockpit and the cabin begins to slide up.

“Oh my God.”

“Oh my husband,” he corrects smugly, slipping between your legs as he kisses you. “C’mon, baby. We didn’t break in the plane yet.”

You’re already melting by the time he tugs your panties aside, fingers teasing your folds. The low hum of the engines masks your gasp as he rubs slow circles over your clit, thumb firm, knowing. He watches your face like it’s his favorite movie, lips parted when he sinks two fingers inside you.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, fucking you slow with his fingers. “Is this ‘cause I said I’d get you pregnant? Or ‘cause you love my plane?”

“Shut up—”

He pulls back just enough to yank your panties down and get his cock out, already hard from the way you moan into his mouth. He flips you into his lap like you weigh nothing, settling you on top of him with your knees straddling the leather.

Your body sinks onto his with ease, and both of you groan at the feeling—tight, full, hot.

“Oh fuck,” he hisses into your neck. “You’re squeezing me so good. God, I missed this. Missed you.”

“We just fucked yesterday-”

“Still not enough,” he breathes, thrusting up into you with slow, decadent strokes. “Never is.”

His grip tightens on your hips, grounding you as he moves. The cabin lights are low, the sky outside an endless blur, and you’re bouncing in his lap with your hoodie still on and nothing else. His hands push it up to see your chest, and he latches his mouth onto your nipple, groaning against your skin.

“You’re gonna get me pregnant right now, on this stupid plane,” you pant, forehead pressed to his.

“Damn right I am,” he growls, kissing you again, his pace getting rougher. “My baby—our baby, fuck. I want that. I want you.”

You come with a desperate cry, gripping his shoulders as your whole body locks up, then shudders. Gojo doesn’t stop—he never does—fucking you through it until he’s right there with you, choking on a moan as gives you all his cum.

After, he holds you in his lap, still inside you, stroking your back and pressing kisses to your shoulder.

“Think it worked?” he mumbles against your skin.

“I think you’re crazy.”

“Let’s call it obsessed.”

You’re too blissed out to answer. Eyes heavy, body boneless, you drift off right there in his arms, lulled by the hum of the jet and the warmth of him around you.

Later, you’ll wake to find he’s buckled you into the seat, blanket tucked around you, and his hand on your belly like he’s already claiming it.

SUGURU

The destination was decided the moment he proposed—Bali. A peaceful escape carved into jungle hills, rice terraces, and the low hum of nature. Suguru secures a private villa with an infinity pool and open-air living space, where the warm breeze slips through sheer curtains and time seems to slow just for the two of you.

Every morning, he wakes you with soft kisses along your shoulder and collarbone before handing you a tray of fresh fruit and warm tea. He lets you eat in bed, sprawled beneath linen sheets, your legs tangled, the birds singing just outside. It’s a rhythm he could live in forever.

You walk barefoot through ancient temple grounds, explore artisan markets hand-in-hand, pausing to buy incense or admire a painter stroking the sea into canvas. He takes you to museums tucked behind hidden sanctuaries, and you spend lazy hours in quiet cafés, reading and people-watching in shared silence.

At night, you stroll dimly-lit paths lined with shrines and lanterns, his hand wrapped securely around yours. Then he brings you home to candlelit baths filled with flower petals. He sinks in behind you, warm water lapping at your skin as he kisses the back of your neck and hums something soft into your ear.

Suguru treats the honeymoon like a sacred ritual—a spiritual bond renewed night after night. Every touch deliberate, every glance a promise. At every opportunity, he worships your body like a temple.

He spends hours between your thighs, murmuring praises into your skin, taking his time until your voice breaks from moaning. His eyes stay locked to yours, even when your head tries to loll back—he catches your chin, kisses your temple, and whispers, “Eyes on me. Say it. You’re mine, wife.”

And when you do? He groans like he’s praying.

Some nights he undresses you like it’s holy. Like baring your skin is an act of devotion. He kisses every inch from your ankles to your knees and ribs until you’re flushed and trembling, body arching off the bed, mind going soft.

When he moves over you, it’s not just physical. It’s weight. His presence sinks into you like gravity. Suguru’s hands roam but never rush. He cups your jaw and makes you look at him as he slides his fingers between your thighs, working slow, steady circles over your clit.

“Forever, right?” he asks, even though he already knows.

It’s the easiest confession you’ve ever made. “Yours, Suguru. Always.”

And he leans in to kiss you—deep, sweet, all tongue and soft groans—before lining himself up and pressing into you with intention. Slowly. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you around him.

He doesn’t move right away. Just stays there, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot on your lips. You clench around him and his eyes flutter shut.

“Fuck… you’re so warm like this. Let me stay, just for a second.”

Then he starts to move. Deep, rolling thrusts that steals the air from your lungs. His body never leaves yours, his hands never let go. He laces your fingers with his beside your head, and when your wedding rings touch, they catch the lantern light and gleam like another promise.

Suguru fucks you like it’s a vow. Like he’s carving your name into every part of himself. When you cry out, his pace falters—not from hesitation, but awe. He kisses the tears before they fall. Cups your cheek as your back arches and you come around him, full and aching and utterly undone.

Only then does he let go. His thrusts grow erratic, voice breaking on your name as he fills you, sweat slicking the space where your skin meets his. Even afterward, he doesn’t leave you. Just stays inside you, arms wrapped tight around your waist, breath warm against your neck like he’s afraid this could end.

With your legs tangled and your bodies warm, all he says is “don’t fall asleep yet. I’m not done loving you.”

KENTO

Kento goes all out with his honeymoon, as he does with everything involving you. Your honeymoon is a blend of both your dreams and his—an elegant, slow-moving escape across three countries that feel like a glimpse of the life he’s always wanted to give you.

It begins in Switzerland, your shared dream destination. You stay in a chalet nestled in the Alps, snow dusting the windows while a fire crackles beside you. Most evenings are spent curled up under thick wool blankets, sipping wine while he reads aloud from an antique book he found in a tucked-away shop.

Kento keeps you close, fingers intertwined, murmuring, “This is how life should always be.”

You take day trips to Lake Geneva, boarding private boats that glide across the still, glassy water, the mountains rising around you like ancient guardians. One morning, you ask, half-teasing, why he even rented the boat when neither of you has any experience. Kento quietly admits he got a boating license months in advance.

And that’s how you end up riding him under the Swiss sun, legs shaking as he grips your hips from beneath. He’s still wearing his captain’s hat. You try to laugh, but his cock is so deep and steady that all you can do is moan as he holds you flush against him.

“Keep your balance, sweetheart,” he says, breath ragged, voice low against your ear. “If you fall, I’ll follow you in and fuck you stupid right here in open water.”

Then comes the Côte d’Azur, France—your pick. A glamorous, sun-drenched stretch of paradise. You stroll Nice’s Promenade des Anglais at sunset, heels in your hand, his jacket draped over your shoulders. In Saint-Tropez, he watches you glow beneath the harbor lights, mingling with people as if you were born for it. And you were. 

He books five-star hotels, treats you to Michelin-star meals, but he’s never more satisfied than when your eyes sparkle across a candlelit table and you call him husband. That word, husband, undoes him every time.

And later, when he has you pinned against the glass window of your hotel suite, overlooking the Riviera, it’s the only word you can remember—gasping it into the crook of his neck as he rocks into you, slow and deep.

“Say it again,” he whispers. “Say it until you forget everything else.”

Finally, you land in Kuantan, Malaysia, Kento’s dream vacation. No itinerary, no pressure. Just quiet mornings and indulgent nights. He lets you sleep in every day, but the second you stir, he’s on you—kissing your neck, sliding his hand between your thighs, waking you up with slow, sleepy thrusts until your fingers are tangled in his hair and you’re breathlessly grinding back.

“I need you like this,” Kento groans, “every morning for the rest of my life.”

At night, he runs you a bath and massages your shoulders while you sit on his lap, water sloshing out of the tub as you sink down on him. You moan into his mouth, and he exhales like it’s a relief, whispering your name like a vow.

But when he takes you to bed—that’s when he falls apart.

Kento lays you out like you’re something sacred. Kisses your stomach, your inner thighs, the backs of your knees. His hands never stop moving, brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing every inch. He goes down on you with slow, thorough focus, eyes never leaving your face as you fall apart.

He holds your hips down when you squirm, murmuring, “Look at you. So beautiful… made to be mine.”

And then, when you’re breathless—wrecked—he presses into you with reverent force. One hand grips the headboard; the other anchors your thigh open. He fucks you slowly, deliberately, until your eyes are glassy and your voice is gone.

“Be still,” he murmurs, voice ragged with restraint. “Let me take care of you.”

But then you call him husband again, and the dam breaks. His rhythm shifts—rough, deep, urgent. His control slips with every thrust, every gasp, every whimper you make.

“So pretty like this,” he groans into your neck. “Mine. My wife. Don’t you dare forget it.”

Your honeymoon isn’t just a trip. It’s the beginning of a life where Kento, after years of restraint and duty, finally chooses joy and pleasure. And he chooses to pursue it with you.

TOJI

Three marriages later, Toji still doesn’t understand the concept of a honeymoon. What he does get is this: a week off the grid, your thighs spread across his lap, the adrenaline of almost dying on a hike, and your throat stuffed full by nightfall. So naturally, he books a wild trip to New Zealand, filled with rugged trails, volcanic springs, and as little clothing as possible. But by the end of the week? He sees the appeal. 

The second you check into the room, he’s got you pinned. Your luggage is thrown around haphazardly as Toji latches onto your neck. 

“Been waiting all day to fuck my wife,” he growls.

You swear he’s trying to breed you every time. His hands on your hips, his voice low and growling, “Gonna keep it in this time. Want you round and full, just like that.”

And everytime, you take it.

Day 1: You’re constantly on the move: Hell’s Gate, Rotorua. Steaming sulfur pools, mud baths, hikes through volcanic terrain that make your thighs burn. Toji’s behind you the whole time, watching the way your ass bounces with each step, palms itching like he's desperate for a handful.

That night, you're soaking together in a geothermal spring, steam curling around your shoulders like fog.

His voice cuts through it, low and smug. “Bet no one’s ever fucked you in a place like this.”

And then he proves it. He’s got you bent over a slippery rock, the mineral water scalding around your calves and his cock even hotter inside you. One hand on your hip, the other covering your mouth when you whimper his name. His wedding ring flashes in the moonlight, pressed to your skin.

“Don’t run from it, sweetheart. You married this. You married me.”

Day 3: You're mid-way through a remote hiking trail, stopping for water when a passing guide gives you one too many glances. Toji notices. He always notices.

His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you in close. He doesn’t say anything—just stares the guy down until he stumbles off, red-faced and muttering. 

Later, when you ask him if he’s jealous, Toji just scoffs. “Jealous? Nah. I just don’t like when people don't realize you’re fuckin’ mine.”

He ruins you in your cramped little camping tent, the zipper barely holding back your cries. He’s got your knees pressed to your chest, his body heavy over yours, fucking into you like he wants to brand the memory into your bones. You fall asleep sore all over, pinned under the weight of his chest.

Day 5: The ATV tour was your idea. Toji speeds through the jungle paths with a devilish grin. You’re screaming and laughing behind him, clinging to his waist while he yells back:

“Don’t fall off, wife. I’m not pulling over!”

You don’t fall, but your composure does. Later, you’re in the backseat of the rental car, thighs sticky with sweat, your pulse still racing. He’s sprawled out like a king—shirtless, cock heavy on his thigh—when you climb over and drop to your knees.

You’re slobbering all over him. Lips messy. Hands trembling. Spit sliding down to his balls. He groans, fingers in your hair, watching you with the kind of reverence that makes your gut twist.

“So fuckin’ good,” he pants. “What’d I do to deserve this?”

You pull off with a smirk, a string of drool clinging between your lips and his cock. Voice sweet, lethal.

“You took my last name.”

It wrecks him. You feel it in the twitch of his cock, the way his jaw flexes, the almost-growl he lets out as he yanks you back onto him—throat first, this time deeper, filthier, until you’re choking on his praise.

The rest of the trip is a blur of tangled limbs, high altitudes, low moans in high places. He fucks you in waterfalls. In a cave. On top of a cliff. Sometimes slow, mostly not. He’s rough, reverent, and definitely addicted.

And when the week’s finally winding down—your lips puffy, your thighs bruised, your whole body humming with the aftermath—he tugs you into his lap, zips his hoodie around your naked frame, and presses a kiss to your jaw.

“Next honeymoon, we’re doing Antarctica,” he mutters. “I wanna see you ride me in the snow.”

You blink at him, dazed. “That’s—oh!—not how honeymoons work…”

To which he just grins, sharp and smug. “Yeah? Well good thing this marriage will.”

SUKUNA

He chooses somewhere ancient. Alive. A place with heat in the air and thrumming under your skin. It’s sensual without trying—like him. There’s a sprawling riad with carved archways and silk-canopied beds, and he books the entire place out so you won’t be disturbed. 

The bed is a California king, but you never sleep apart. You’re wrapped around each other every night—his hand gripping your thigh, your face pressed to his chest.He likes the size for two reasons: so he can toss you around and still have room to avoid the stains you two leave behind.

Silk robes. Hand-fed fruit. Gold jewelry he bought for you but only puts on himself. He refuses to let you carry your own bags—growls if you even try. And he inspects every outfit you pack, every hem and button.

“You don’t wear anything unless I’ve seen how fast I can take it off you.”

He lets you be looked at. Adored. Worshipped by strangers, because they’ll never touch. He wants you seen—because they’ll never know what it’s like to hear you beg.

And whenever you get back to your room, he fucks you like it’s a rite. Not just sex—a ritual. A claim. A bond carved again and again into your trembling body.

“I could destroy everything,” he says one night, voice low, “but I’d rather build a world just for you. And set it on fire when I die.”

Sukuna leaves bite marks all over you and bruises on your hips. Smirks down at you, red eyes glowing, like he’s seen your soul and made a home in it.

He fucks you until your voice breaks, until you forget your name and only remember his. Then he makes you ask for more.

“What’s that, wife? Use your words. Or should I teach you again?”

One night, he pulls a collar from his suitcase. Thick leather. Heavy. He buckles it around your neck and drags his thumb over the tag. 

“This is how you should look every day. My pretty pet, my wife.”

You cum hard that night—so hard you cry—and he only shushes you, kissing your wet cheeks, licking tears from your skin like it’s nothing.

He makes you beg to cum, then pulls out  just to hear you sob. Cruel, yes. But when it’s over? The way he holds you afterward? That’s what ruins you more than anything.

He doesn’t talk much. But his love speaks through the way he kisses the back of your neck. Through the way he threads your fingers together when you sleep. Through the way he watches you like you’re the only thing he didn’t take by force.

And every night ends the same way, his voice against your skin: “Say thank you. Loud enough for the heavens to hear. You’re blessed to be mine.”

CHOSO

Your honeymoon is tucked away in a remote part of Iceland—just the two of you, wrapped in warmth while the world outside glows cold and otherworldly. You stay in a heated glass igloo, skin-to-skin beneath thick blankets, with the Northern Lights dancing above you in ribbons of green and gold. It’s quiet, sacred. Every night feels like a dream suspended in frost.

The first time he sees the aurora borealis reflected in your eyes, Choso cries. Not loudly or in a way he wants you to see. But the tears come anyway, quiet and reverent, as he murmurs, “Nothing compares to this. Not even close.”

The honeymoon is low-key and peaceful. Cuddling by the fire, cooking simple meals together, watching old movies in bed with your fingers tangled. You hold hands in gloves during your long, scenic walks, and he blushes every single time you call him your husband.

He brings his film camera and takes soft, candid photos of you doing nothing—staring out the window, making tea, laughing at something dumb. He thinks you’re the most beautiful like that, unposed and fully his.

But the way you look when you’re sucking his dick like your life depends on it… it’s a close second. It’s late into the night, firelight flickering across the walls, your cheeks flushed from wine and the weight of his gaze. You crawl into his lap without a word, kneel between his legs, and pull his cock out of his sweats like it’s yours to take. 

Choso just watches you with hooded eyes and parted lips as you stroke him once, slow, like a tease. Then your mouth is on him, warm and wet, kissing his tip before dragging your lips down his shaft. His breath catches, low in his chest, and he grabs a fistful of your hair as you sink deeper.

You’re filthy with it. Drooling all over him, moaning around his cock, looking up at him with glassy eyes while you choke just to take him further. He lets out a broken groan when you swallow around him, one hand tightening in your hair as the other strokes your jaw. 

He doesn’t last long—not with you like this, looking up at him like you’d die happy with him on your tongue. When Choso cums, it’s with a grunt and your name falling from his lips like a prayer. You swallow every drop and then kiss him sweetly, already getting him hard again.

The way Choso makes love is like saying thank you. He’s so gentle at first, overwhelmed by how much he loves you. But the second you moan his name like you need him? Something in him unravels. His mouth gets filthy, and his rhythm deepens. You’ll end up in his lap, bouncing on his cock as he grips your hips and growls about how pretty your wedding dress was, how perfect you looked saying “I do.”

He fucks you all through the night, stroking your thighs every time you cum and shake on his cock. But Choso never stops, like he’s starved for you. 

“So good,” you tell him on the brink of tears. “Always so good to me.”

His voice roughens as he holds you down, eyes wild with love and possession.

“Mine. My wife. My everything,” Choso moans. “You don’t get to walk tomorrow.”

“Won’t need to,” you reply. 

And you don’t—because he carries you everywhere. Holds you close like he’s never letting go. Both of you know he never intends to. 

a/n: interactions are appreciated :') lmk what you thought/if you have any requests! thank you for reading mwah

All rights reserved © curseluvr. Do not repost, copy, translate, or plagiarize my work.

[starmapz]

deprived - r. sukuna

❦ biker!ryomen sukuna x biker!f!reader [non-curse au]

❦ smut oneshot

❝ when you get home after work grumpier than sukuna usually is, he knows something's wrong. when you deprive him of a kiss once you've returned, well now he's just pissed. for that, he'll deprive you of all of your senses as he pampers you with his mouth and fingers. ❞

❦ cw ; 18+ only. mdni. contains explicit sexual content. husband!sukuna. dom!sukuna. sub!reader. sensory deprivation. ball gag. blindfold. music. manhandling. nipple play (f! receiving). neck kissing. marking. biting. licking. bondage. fingering. oral (f!receiving). spit. use of pet names (brat, baby, sweetheart, wife, girl). praise. praising degradation. taunting. edging. pussy slapping. toys (bullet vibe). teasing. aftercare. kinda soft!sukuna during aftercare :]. part of the love & company series of oneshots but can be read separately/out of order.

❦ words ; 5.2k.

previous l&c oneshot || love & company masterlist || main masterlist

Biker!Sukuna leans his head on the back of the couch, windswept pink hair hanging over the fabric as you sigh the moment you shut the door of your shared home behind you. He twists, a bulky bicep resting on the back of the couch to see you better. “Long day?”

“Long fucking day,” you agree, sighing once more.

“Work?”

You nod, pulling your laptop from your bag and setting it on the counter, only to open it back up and resume working. Your husband’s eyes narrow as he watches you stand at the kitchen counter in your work attire without so much as a welcome home kiss.

Like really, what the hell? You didn’t even kiss him?

With his extremely usual scowl, he pushes up from the couch, discarding the hoodie he was wearing (because there’s no world where you can resist Sukuna’s cocky charm and veiny forearms, right?) and follows you to the kitchen. He slides his body up to you, his hands finding a place along your waist as he presses his body against your back.

“I need to work, Ryomen,” you mutter tiredly, pulling away.

Stunned and downright offended at this point that you’ve just used his government name, denied him of his ‘honey, I’m home’ kiss, and shrugged him off like a discarded shawl, his lip curls in confusion. 

“You should quit.”

Your head finally whips around, and he swears his own scowl is mirrored on your face. “I can’t just quit. We have bills, Ryomen.”

“Stop fuckin’ calling me that-”

“Your name?” You query incredulously, giving him just an ounce more of your attention.

“My full name,” he corrects you, crossing his arms over his chest, and that’s when you notice it. Your big beefy husband is pouting.

Oh you do not have time for this. Shaking your head, you turn back to your laptop, still standing at the counter in your work clothes.

“C’mon. At least change into something comfy,” he prods, knowing you’re just at wit’s end with the day, and not with him specifically. He may be offended by your dismissal of his affections, but he knows he hasn’t done anything wrong.

Probably.

He does pause to think about it, though.

No, no. He’s good.

“I will later,” you wave him off again, leaving him further perturbed as he makes a show out of huffing and trudging back to the living room to resume what he was watching.

As over an hour goes by and you haven’t even moved from standing at the counter, he gets fed up, shutting the TV off and practically stomping back into the kitchen. He stands on the cusp of entering the room, arms crossed over his chest.

“You done yet? I need to make dinner, you’re in the damn way.”

That’s not the issue, he’s deflecting and he knows it, but Sukuna’s not about to admit that he wants your attention.

And his kiss.

“Not yet, give me another hour.”

“No. You got home fuckin’ forever ago. Go get changed, lemme make dinner.”

Sighing, you rub at your neck, sore from craning it to look down at your work. “Please, sweetheart. Give me a bit.”

Sukuna’s nose scrunches up in disdain. You only call him that when you’re attempting to sweet talk him in order to get your way when he’s uncooperative. And damn it, he’s a lovesick fool and it works. Every time.

You want to play dirty? He can play dirty.

With a huff, he takes a few steps towards you and physically shuts your laptop.

“Hey-!”

“Nuh uh. No more,” he frowns, looking you dead in the eye with that signature scowl, his hand firmly resting on your computer.

“You don’t understand, I have deadlines, I need-”

“You need to recharge,” he insists, his tone dropping to a hint of a growl. “I’m not arguin’ with you on this, sweetheart,” he mocks, flipping his hand to grab your wrist so that he can slide your hand into his much larger one. His skin is calloused and rough against yours, but the softness with which the grumpy and hardened man handles you never fails to make your heart race.

You want to give in and curl up on the couch and watch a reality show that he pretends to hate, but you have a presentation due early tomorrow morning and- “Please, Ryo. I just need one more hour, I promise.”

His scowl deepens and you fear the lines etched into his forehead might be permanent with the frustration he’s regarding you with. He grumbles your name, setting his free hand on your hip. He squeezes, making sure his intent comes across. “Go change into something comfy. I know you’re tired, don’t make this harder on yourself. Or are you askin’ to be tied up?”

With his breath fanning your face, he doesn’t miss the subtle way your pupils grow, your eyes darkening.

He snorts, squeezing your hip tighter. “If that’s whatcha want, then try me,” he taunts, pleased to have finally caught your attention. He knew from the moment you entered the door that you were overwhelmed and he equally knows that the easiest way to get his pretty wife to finally relax after the day he’s sure you’ve had is to take away your senses and allow you to focus only on him, only on pleasure, and only on yourself.

You contemplate his words, eyes sliding towards your laptop, then back to his lips. Your presentation is important, but you could just get up a bit early, right? Maybe you need a fresh perspective anyway, and you’re so wound up from the overwhelming day at work that giving in to Sukuna doesn’t sound so bad.

In fact, it sounds almost heavenly.

He watches carefully as you pull your arm out of his grasp, a bratty little smirk on your lips as you aim to open your laptop. He clicks his tongue before you even get the opportunity to touch the computer, barreling into your legs and flipping you over his shoulders with a triumphant grin.

“Good choice,” he hums in a gravelly tone as you squeal in surprise and cling to his shirt. “Even if you’re bein’ a brat.”

“Wait, my shirt, you’re gonna wrinkle it-”

“Enough about work,” he huffs, tossing you on your bed and pinning both of your arms over your head in one hand. “Enough. I don’t wanna hear about the damn presentation. You can finish later.”

“But-”

He growls your name in warning. “Don’t be a brat. Lemme take care of you.”

Your chest rises as you suck in a breath, nodding. He can see in the way that you hold your shoulders and the crease between your brows that you’re still stuck in your head and if that’s the case, he’ll give you something else to focus on. Pamper you in his own ‘Sukuna’ sort of way.

“That’s my pretty little wife.” He holds his hand out to you, searching for your consent. “You gonna let me take care of you?”

Again, you nod, taking his hand as you squeeze your thighs together. Heat pools in your core and you shuffle your hips, chasing the friction.

“Good,” he grins, rubbing his hand over your knuckles before disappearing altogether to open a drawer you know all-too-well. Your eyes darken a shade again as you watch him pull out a familiar set of ropes, as well as a new matching blindfold and ball gag you have yet to see. Your eyes widen, lips pursing as you take in the sight, shuffling on the edge of the bed.

“Is that new?” You ask, reaching out to slide your hands along the silk blindfold that matches Sukuna’s Ducati bike, a bright cherry red.

“Mhm,” he hums, a concentrated look on his face as he ties a slip knot into the shibari ropes you let him use on you every so often. “Wrists,” he commands, holding the knot out expectantly at you.

You make no attempt at arguing with him, slipping your wrists into the silk rope and allowing the cool material to bind your hands in front of you. The thrill causes your heart to race as you give in to your husband, allowing him to take full control. You shuffle once more, seeking any amount of friction on your already-throbbing clit.

Sukuna clicks his tongue, pressing his hands down on your thighs and spreading them just enough to keep you from seeking the friction you want so badly. “Be good,” he growls, leaving one hand on your thigh as your legs hang over the edge of the bed. “I’m only askin’ nicely this once.”

Your tongue swipes your lower lip before tugging it between your teeth, nodding slowly when the door suddenly creaks open. Sukuna pays it little mind until the newest furry addition to your family is softly headbutting his ankle and yelling.

“Not now, Cati,” he grumbles as though the young cat can understand him. When the little creature doesn’t let up and yells at her father for attention, Sukuna just sighs and picks her up, holding her out in front of him. “I’m tryna set a mood. You don’t make the mood better,” he explains. Her ear flicks and she wiggles her back legs, twisting her body in an effort to escape Sukuna’s grasp. “We can cuddle later,” he explains as he shuts the door with her outside it and heads to the ensuite to wash his hands.

“Brats, both o’ my girls,” he mutters to himself, turning to see you fiddling with the hem of your pencil skirt. He returns to the space beside you, picking up the blindfold and tying it expertly behind your head. He then takes the ball gag, using one hand to grab your chin as the other hovers the device over your lips. “If anything feels bad,” he says in all sincerity, staring straight through you to your soul as he even temporarily folds up the blindfold to get your full attention, “you use your foot to tap me twice, yeah?”

You nod.

“Words.”

“Yes, baby.”

“Good girl,” he approves before buckling the leather of the gag in place and replacing the blindfold. Testing your senses, or lack thereof, you twist your wrists against the rope, tilting your head in an effort to find your husband, only to whimper at the realization that you’re giving all of your trust to him right now and it’s hot.

You wait at the edge of the bed, twisting your head in search of any sign of him, but you’re unable to find him. It’s only when he turns on what might be the most generic ‘sex music’ you’ve ever heard that you get an idea of where he is. You want to tease him for his playlist choice, fight against the ball gag, maybe be the brat he keeps saying you are, but before you can, you’re yelping in surprise as your arms are carefully tied to the top of the bed, your body dragged with them.

You struggle to swallow, adjusting your lips around the gag as you aim to search for him again, but with all of your senses aside from smell completely deprived, you can only whimper.

A large hand presses against your collarbone, pushing you into the bed and allowing you to relax into the mattress and pillows. Your husband’s weight makes the bed dip as he crawls over you, testing the hold the shibari bamboo ropes have on your wrists. Satisfied with his setup, he sweetly kisses your cheek once, before shocking you as he massages your shoulders.

“Relax,” he purrs into your ear, sending a shiver straight down your spine. Beneath the blindfold, your eyes flutter shut as you turn to putty in his hands with the way his digits work the knots from your muscles. This isn’t exactly what you had in mind, but you’re pleased nonetheless. He slides his hand down the front of your chest, unbuttoning the front of your white blouse and pushing it over your shoulders to give him better access.

You sigh, melting as he straddles you in order to rub the knots from your muscles. It only takes a mere couple of minutes before you’re blissfully relaxed, eyes heavy with the exhaustion of the day as your husband takes care of you. So comfortable, you barely even notice that he unbuttons the rest of your top. He searches for the zipper on your skirt, unzipping it and slipping them down your legs.

He smirks at the sight of you in a pretty pair of black lingerie that he got you on your first wedding anniversary. Always spoiling him, even if you don’t mean to. His cock twitches in the tent of his pants, but he sets his own needs aside in favor of servicing you.

Placing himself over top of you again, he kisses down the expanse of your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your collar. He grins as you sigh in pleasure, relieved that you’re finally letting go of the shitty day.

His lips travel the length of your neck down to your collar, sucking and leaving his mark just below where the neckline of your shirt falls. Any higher and he knows you would scold him for forcing you to use makeup to cover it at work, but he toes the line anyway, sucking just a bit higher. Pleased with the marks that make up your skin and the way you’re squirming beneath him, he moves lower, palming your left breast over your bra.

His other hand slides around your back, unhooking the lingerie and letting your breasts free with a small jiggle that has him eagerly grinning.

“Mmph,” you attempt to ask him not to rip or ruin your favorite bra, but the gag does you no favors.

Moving your bra up to rest on your upper chest, Sukuna runs the flat of his tongue over your bare nipple, thrilled when you jolt hard at the suddenness of the metal of his piercing grazing your nipple. “Yeah, baby?”

Your muffled words make no sense as you attempt again to worry about something, and Sukuna’s not having it.

“Stop thinkin’. No sight, no sound, no taste, just feel me. Be a good lil’ slut for me, yeah?”

It’s hard not to listen to him when he talks in that low purr you adore so much, his hands roaming your body as he sucks your nipple between his lips. He flicks and pinches the other bud between his forefinger and thumb, allowing his teeth to graze the sensitive skin between his lips when he grins.

Every reaction is tenfold with how heightened your sense of touch feels right now, every movement by Sukuna increasing in pleasure immensely when it’s all you can focus on as everything fades away. Your head lolls back as he swirls his tongue around your perky nipple, breath coming in fast pants when he switches his attention to the other side. He nips at the perky skin, satisfaction coursing through him when you jerk and jolt, your wrists tugging on the bamboo ropes.

With a final soft kiss, his lips move down to your waist and hips, kissing every inch of your body as he quietly worships you. This may be about you, but Sukuna takes great pleasure in seeing you melt and quiver under his gentle and saccharine touch. After all, he’s not a particularly soft man, so he knows it turns you to putty when he shows another side to him.

He spreads your legs, one hand on each thigh, positioning himself between them so that you can’t close them. Leaning down, he watches the way you fiddle against your restraints, unable to stay still under his attention. He chuckles lowly, though you can barely hear it over the music, when your entire body jerks as he licks a stripe up your damp panties.

“So wet,” he groans, both of his hands roaming up your thighs to your hips and waist, before he brings them back down and pulls your panties with them, discarding them from your ankles. “So fuckin’ wet,” he repeats with a view of your bare pussy.

Unable to see him, your breathing quickens as you eagerly await the feeling of his tongue on your clit, but he only teases you as he runs his fingers through your soaking wet folds. You let out a muffled whine, jerking your hips up to meet his fingers as you chase the friction he won’t bestow upon his poor needy wife, too occupied with teasing you.

His fingers pause as you wriggle in his grip. “Ah-” he clicks his tongue, lightly slapping your pussy. “Be good for me.”

Your body jerks as you shuffle away from him, whimpering at the unexpected sensation and attempting to close your legs. Your husband pulls you back by your thighs, keeping you spread as his weight shifts, before he’s finally where you want him. He tests the waters, pleased when you tense with the small kitten lick he gives your clit. You can feel his grin against your skin when he buries his tongue in your needy cunt.

Your back arches for him and you tug against the ropes when his tongue plunges into the depths of your pussy, the metal of the ball piercing in his tongue amplifying the sensations of pleasure. He moves slowly, enjoying the taste of your slick and the way your body jolts, tenses, and twitches as his tongue explores your body.

He hums in approval when you whimper and whine, accentuated with gasps as it’s all you can manage behind the gag. You can feel drool slipping down your chin, unable to care as Sukuna has you so thoroughly bound, unable to care about anything but him.

You just barely hear him mutter “all mine”, before his tongue moves up to swirl around your clit. Your jaw clenches against the red ball gag as he sucks the sensitive bud between his lips, intense pleasure coursing through your body.

God, you needed this. You just didn’t know how badly, but the muscles in your stomach are already clenching as you feel the wave of your orgasm nearing its shore, only for Sukuna to pull back. You whine in protest, tugging hard against your binding as you yearn to pull him back down by his hair. You whimper again when you aren’t able to, lifting your lead in an effort to see him, but it’s all in vain. There’s nothing but darkness, no sounds to fill the air but yours and his, no taste but the blandness of the gag, and no smell but him to fill your nostrils.

It’s so overwhelming in all the right ways, unable to think of anything but his touch as you seek him out in whatever way you can. Work is a problem of the past as you clench your thighs.

“Thought I told ya to be good,” he hums, though his only punishment seems to be more serviceable to you, and you certainly won’t complain about that as he plunges his middle and ring finger suddenly into your soaking hole. He hums in approval as you gasp and clench your fists, nails digging into your palms with the sudden wave of pleasure that ripples through you.

He pulls them out slowly, pushing the digits back in to the hilt as you feel the cool metal of his wedding ring sink between your folds. You whimper, eyes rolling to the back of your head, attempting to whimper a “please”, but it barely comes out as anything more than “pfff”.

“I know, princess,” he hums, kissing your rib below the swell of your left breast. “Feels good, yeah?”

You manage a nod, crying out when he curls his fingers forward, your stomach clenching each time he expertly hits your G-spot. It sends you into a flurry, legs closing in around him as you chase that same wave from earlier, every muscle tensing as you swear you’re right there, only for him to pull his fingers from you.

Another whine, another tug of the ropes as you’re left hanging right on the edge of your orgasm. Again. Your stomach relaxes as the feeling passes and your chest heaves. You clench your teeth down on the ball again, growing frustrated and needy as hell. Sukuna can see it in the way your brow knits, a crease forming just above the blindfold.

You hear him chuckle again. “Somethin’ got you riled up, sweetheart?” His hand slides from your breast around your body until he’s arching your back closer to him. “Easy to forget all the bullshit when all you can focus on is me, huh?” You can hear the grin in his voice as the flat of his tongue licks a stripe up your right nipple, making your head hang back in sheer pleasure.

Your pussy pulses around nothing, desperate for attention and release. As you buck your hips up towards your husband, he presses you into the mattress with a strong hand.

“Needy girl,” he chuckles, sliding his opposite hand from your sternum to your chin. He runs his thumb along your lips, wiping the saliva from the corners of your mouth as you whine and whimper around the ball gag.

Every sense is completely occupied only by Sukuna, his touch electrifying. A shiver runs up your spine as you just barely hear the scraping of your bedside drawer open once more. The mattress shifts under his weight, before he’s leaning over you again.

His lips brush your ear for a moment, the deep rumble of his voice only making you more wet for him. “You’ll cum when I tell you, got it?”

Whining around the gag, you nod.

With a satisfied hum, the bed shifts beneath you as Sukuna positions himself between your legs again, able to feel his strong thighs seated between your own. He leans down, pressing a startlingly gentle kiss to your stomach that throws you off-kilter, only to meanly bully his middle and ring finger back into your pussy.

Your hands curl into fists as you cry out, desperate to cling to anything as you attempt to close your thighs on your husband, who keeps you spread with his free hand, while your other leg presses against his torso. Sukuna doesn’t let up his pace, hitting the gummy part of your walls with ease and sending bliss straight to your core like lightning.

His name comes out muffled as you attempt to whine for him, bucking your hips up as a knot ties in the pit of your stomach, threatening to come undone at any moment. The second your abdomen begins tensing, Sukuna’s pace slows to an agonizing halt.

“Ah- what’d I say?”

You whine, but he’s not having any of it.

“What did I say?” He repeats lowly.

It surely makes no sense with the ball still between your lips, but you repeat back to him that you’re only allowed to cum when he says. He hums in approval, one large hand leaving your thigh to caress your cheek as he tries to- literally- fuck you dumb, until you forget about your presentation altogether.

And it’s working. Well. 

Your head hangs back against the pillows, your chest heaving as you shuffle against your bindings, whining when he doesn’t pick up the pace at all, even as you obey his commands. The slow in and out of his fingers is just enough to keep you squirming and whining, but equally not enough to satiate your desire.

It’s muffled, but you just barely manage a “please,” much to Sukuna’s pleasure.

“Yeah, princess? You willin’ to beg?” He hums. The bed shifts again, and you jolt when cold steel is pressed to your clit. Gasping at the sudden chill, your body gradually relaxes as the toy is held still for a moment, only to be turned on a second later, the vibration sending a tingling sensation through your body to your limbs.

Your hips jerk and twitch with the subtle movements of the metallic toy, the continued stimulation to your clit and his fingers still slowly curling sending you closer to the edge and closer to overstimulation. You whine out, your stomach tightening as the knot is just about to unravel when he pulls away altogether.

You whine louder, pleading with him behind the gag though it all comes out as little more than mmphs.

Your legs are trembling, your walls pulsing around nothing as Sukuna teasingly flicks your nipple, pulling a cry from your pretty lips. “What’s that, princess?” He chides, tugging on the leather strap of the ball gag and pulling it back just enough to hear your whiny request.

“Please let me cum, Ryo, plea- mmph-!” Your chest heaves again as you pull on your restraints. Your movements are growing wearier the more fucked out you get, and Sukuna figures he might just have some mercy on you.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he purrs, and before you have time to process that he’s there, his tongue is on your clit, sucking hard and sending sparks straight to the knot in your abdomen. It tightens as his tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves, his teeth grazing it and causing you to jump. He keeps you right on the edge until tears of overstimulation are wetting the blindfold and you’re trembling around his fingers.

“Cum for me, baby,” he commands, latching his lips back onto your clit.

The final push across the finish line are his fingers effortlessly pinpointing your G-spot and sending you straight over the edge in an orgasm that rocks your body. Your husband slows his movements, pulling wave after wave of your climax through you and watching every subtle twitch and jerk of your body as he coaxes you into a completely blissed out state.

Your head hangs back against the pillows as he slowly pulls his mouth and fingers from your core, slipping the soaked digits between his lips. He pulls them out with a sinful pop! and a smirk that betrays his satisfaction, despite the rock-hard and throbbing issue between his own thighs.

His weight disappears for a moment as the volume of the music softens to something low and comfortable, before he’s carefully untying your wrists. No longer bound, he brings them down to your lap before focusing on the gag and blindfold. As he slips them both off and sets them aside, you blink as your eyes adjust to the low lighting of your bedroom.

“How’re you feelin’?” He grunts, gently taking your chin between his fingers and tilting your head in either direction as he searches your skin for any signs that anything might have been too tight.

Yawning, you nod. “I’m good. I needed that, thanks Kuna.”

“Mmm. I could tell,” he smirks, satisfied that the gag and blindfold he bought are to his liking. He checks your wrists over and nods to himself before focusing in on you. “Relax for the night, yeah?”

You nod again. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry I was a little snappy earlier.”

He kisses the crown of your hair in acknowledgement before making his way to the ensuite washroom. You watch as he leans over to fill the tub for you, a subtle smile making its way to your lips.

As he returns to your side, you eye the twitching tent in his pants, your gaze sliding up to meet his. “Turn off the bath,” you murmur sweetly, a feline look in your eyes that Sukuna shuts down with a scoff.

A goddamn scoff while he’s looking like that. Bewildered, you stare at him from your place on the bed.

“I got a hand, I’ll take care of myself. Now lemme take care of you,” he gruffs, slipping the sleeves of your blouse off your arms and pulling the straps of your bra along with it. He hoists you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you bridal-style to the bath and setting you on the edge to check the temperature before lowering you into it.

The water warms your skin and you feel your muscles loosen even more, but you still pout up at him. “Are you sure? You could join me, maybe-”

He says your name chidingly. “You’ve had a long day. Relax.”

Letting out a breath, you just smile at your husband. For as rough around the edges as he is, and for how frustrating and stubborn he can be, he’s a sweetheart when it comes to what matters. Pushing up on the edge of the tub, you place a sweet kiss on his cheek. “I love you,” you murmur.

You don’t expect him to reply, he rarely does. He’s a man of action, not of words, so his next movements don’t shock you.

He hums, heading to the cabinet below the sink. “Y’got any of those bath bomb things?” He asks, in his own little ‘I love you’ sort of action.

“Um, probably. Towards the back in a little bag, maybe?”

He rustles through the cabinet for a moment before pulling out a brown stone with a questioning raise of his brow as he presents it to you.

“That’s a pumice stone.”

“So… no?”

Stifling your giggle, you shake your head. “Definitely not.”

“Don’t say ‘definitely’,” he gripes sarcastically. “I don’t know any of this shit.”

You don’t hold back your giggle now, only pausing your laughter when he presents a pink bath bomb to you. You nod, though your fit of giggles doesn’t cease.

Returning to your side, your husband flicks your forehead softly in mock disdain, waiting silently by your side for the water to fill before dropping the bath bomb into the water in front of you. It fizzes softly, dyeing the water (and the side of the tub) a soft pink. With shining eyes and a weary but satisfied expression, you grip Sukuna’s wrist before he can leave.

“Thank you.”

“‘Course. Maybe now you won’t forget my kiss when you get home,” he grumbles, grumpy as ever once again.

Your jaw slacks, gaze narrowing. “Hold on. Is that what this was about?”

Sukuna freezes in your grip, regarding you with a deep scowl. “No. Just wanted you out of the kitchen to cook.”

It’s just about the saddest excuse you’ve ever heard, and while you brushed past it earlier while you were busy, it sounds even more pitiful now. “Ryo.”

“What?” He huffs.

“Come here, you big baby.”

He doesn’t move for a split second, still caught in the grasp of your hand on his wrist, but even with the frustrated scowl he’s sporting, he can’t deny you. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He’s doing this for you.

Duh.

He gets down on his knees, letting you pull him in for his hard-earned ‘welcome home’ kiss. It’s soft and sweet, filled with the very same love he’s poured into taking care of you.

Your eyes flutter open as you pull back, your fingers tracing the rough stubble poking through his skin along the tattoos lining his chin. “Better?”

He grunts, side-eyeing the wall as if it’s suddenly interesting. “Love you.”

Your eyes widen for a split second before you break into a grin, pulling him in again. Your lips brush his as you whisper your reply. “I love you, too.”

previous l&c oneshot || love & company masterlist || main masterlist

❦ a/n ; hope you enjoyed the return of my fave freaky couple! needed a break from the angst of my ongoing sukuna series [wyk], but the next chapter is about halfway done <33

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist to be added or removed. 18+ only, age must be visible on blog.

@toffeebrat @gojodickbig @4acoffee @billiondollarworth @qyuin

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writing & format © starmapz. art © too-many-owls. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune.

[cinnamanz]

✦ ─── 𝓘'll envy even the earth that wraps your body, 𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza

─── 𝓞n the night of her debut, sophia gave her heart to the one girl she was never meant to love in silence. they'd promised each other forever, a lifetime of warmth and love. but a kingdom is bound to have enemies. bound to lose men, treasures, have casualties. bound to break promises. sophia just didn’t think it would be hers.

❝𝓭eath doesn't discriminate,

𝓫etween the sinners and the saints.❞

⊹₊♚₊⊹ pairing݁ᛪ༙ princess sophia laforteza x knight genreᛪ༙ angst, slight fluff, character death, princess x knight, wc: 14.9k words

❝𝓲t takes and it takes and it takes,

𝓪nd we keep living anyway.❞

THE FIRST TIME SOPHIA LAID EYES ON YOU, you stood beside your father in the great hall, silent and stiff-backed, a tiny shadow of the man who commanded the king’s guard. she was five years old, small and delicate in a gown too fine for someone who preferred to run barefoot through the castle gardens. you were five, too, but you stood differently—composed, disciplined, hands clasped neatly in front of you, eyes steady and watchful, taking in everything without a word.

her father, the king, looked at you with approval.

"arthur’s daughter," he mused, pleased. "you will make a fine knight, just like your father."

your father kneeled before him, his fist over his heart. devotion, loyalty. "she will learn well, my king. one day, she will take my place and serve you loyally. she will protect what is most precious to you and she will serve your daughter until her dying breath."

sophia watches as you bow your head, murmuring a quiet, "your grace.” acknowledgement.

you did not meet her eyes like she wanted you to. you barely even looked at her. and sophia, who was used to attention, finds herself frowning at the lack of exchange.

later, sophia finds you in the courtyard. you’re sitting alone on the stone bench, the quiet space overlooking the training grounds where the knights practiced. the air was was thick with the sound of clashing swords, the loud shouts of young men sparring, and the laughter of the nobility’s sons racing across the field, poking fun at pretending to be knights. 

but you’re not like them. you wouldn’t be. you sat still, perfectly composed, your hands folded neatly in your lap, watching the knights with an intensity far too strange to be seen in a child.

the boys run and play, their laughter echoing in the distance, but you don’t join them. you don’t laugh. (why would you?) you don’t even smile. 

instead, you watch the knights’ movements. the way they wield their swords with practiced ease, the way their feet shifted against the dirt, the way they carry themselves like warriors in their peak. 

sophia decides that it was your father’s influence.

sophia approaches you, her cheerful voice piercing through the quiet. "hey, you’re the commander’s daughter," 

you glance up, your sharp gaze catching hers for just a moment before you returned your attention back to the knights below. "and you are the princess," you replied, your voice steady.

she beams at you, completely unbothered by the formality in your words. "uh-huh!" she exclaims, plopping herself down beside you without asking. 

"which means you must be my knight." her grin is wide, innocent.

you blink, taken aback, your eyes flicking to her for only a second. "i am no knight," you say quietly, turning your attention back to the knights on the field, feeling their movements etch themselves into your memory.

"not yet," she corrected, "but you will be. you’re going to be the greatest knight in the whole kingdom!"

you don’t respond to her excitement. you’re quiet, your thoughts heavy and focused on the distant sparring knights. sophia’s words hang in the air, and they don’t quite reach you.

 instead, you continue to watch the training grounds, fascinated by the fluid wave of the knights’ movements, wondering if you’ll be able to stand to their level one day.

"why are you here, princess?" you ask after a moment, the question simple but with a curiosity behind it that you don’t usually show.

she shrugs, looking at the sky above. "because you looked lonely."

because you looked lonely.

you don’t say anything in response. you simply keep your gaze on the knights below. the boys who were once laughing and playing are now just faces in the distance, you don’t bother familiarising yourself with them anymore. 

"why are you so quiet?" she asks, a little puzzled, her voice dripping with concern.

you turn your eyes toward her, noting the genuine curiosity in her expression. "why are you so loud?" you counter, your tone even.

she giggles, a light sound that rings through the silent courtyard, warming your chest as you shifted in your spot. 

"someone has to be," she says, nudging you playfully with her shoulder.

for the first time, the smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of your lips, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

"i’ve decided," sophia says suddenly, her voice full of determination. "you will be my most loyal knight.”

you exhale softly, not surprised, but amused by her certainty and boldness. "it’s not your choice, princess. there could be someone much better trained out there, compared to me."

but she doesn’t back down. she never will, as you’ve come to realise later on. "no, there won’t," she says firmly. "because when i am queen, i will command it."

you don’t answer right away. you just stared at her, gaze softened. this time, you do smile. just a small thing, barely there. but it was real. 

in that quiet moment, you realized that she did seal your fate. though for now, you are just children. for now, she smiles at you like you are the only thing in the world that mattered. and for now, that is enough.

—-

you stood in the training yard, the sound of clashing swords ringing in your ears, the weight of the blade in your hand grounded you to the moment. your father’s approval was always there, a quiet pressure in the back of your mind, and the thought of it kept you moving, kept you focused. every swing of the sword, every calculated step was done with purpose. you were determined, relentless. there was no room for anything else. 

you must prove yourself.

the other boys laugh and joke as they sparred, their voices light and careless, and you knew you can’t afford to be like them. they move with the ease of someone who knows that there will be another chance, but you? you don’t don’t have that luxury. you must be better, always better. every strike, every movement is a step closer to something you can’t even name yet, but something that feels like the only way to survive.

your father watched from the sidelines, his gaze unwavering, and you could feel it, sharp as a blade like always. it’s all the validation you need, even if you’ve never heard a word of praise. that was the way it’s always been.

and yet, as you pushed yourself, you felt something in the air shift, an uneasy weight. it’s the feeling of never being enough, no matter how many times you proved yourself.

and then that’s when you saw her—sophia, standing off to the side, leaning against the stone pillar, her eyes fixed on you. her gaze was unblinking, and there’s something in the way she watched that made your heart stutter.

you don’t want her attention. it feels too soft, too invasive, too vulnerable, in a way that makes the air around you feel more suffocating, heavier.

when you stopped for a moment, sweat dripping down your brow, she spoke. her voice cut through the silence, light but pointed. “you’re trying too hard.”

you froze for a moment, the weight of her words settling over you like a blanket. your first instinct was to brush it off, to shrug and say nothing and ignore her. but you can’t. couldn’t. not this time. 

instead, you wipe your brow and glanced at her briefly, offering only the barest of responses. “it’s how i’m taught. because if i don’t, someone else will be better.”

she doesn’t look surprised by your answer, just studied you in the way she does, her gaze never faltered. she stepped forward a little, her voice quieter now, a hint of something softer behind it.

 “and what if it’s not enough? what if being the best doesn’t make you happy?”

you felt  the question settle in your chest heavily and unfamiliar. it’s not something you’ve ever really allowed yourself to consider. happiness isn’t something that existesd here, not in the world where only the sharpest and most disciplined survived.

you looked at her funny, but didn't answer straight away. instead, you turned your attention back to the sparring knights, needing the distraction. needing to bury the question before it took root in your mind.

“it will.” you mutter, and you don’t let yourself dwell more about it, even if it felt wrong and foreign in your tongue.

there’s a long silence. you can feel her watching you, but you don’t turn to meet her gaze again. you focused on the sword in your hand and the weight of it, the way it felt like an extension of your body. 

it was the only thing that made sense right now.

but behind you, sophia doesn’t respond. she doesn’t argue, doesn’t push. because knew better than to believe your words. but you know that lingered, awaited for something—maybe for you to look at her again, to actually hear her.

you kept moving, movements sharp and precise, but even as you fought, there was something unsettled, something more than just the burn in your young muscles. a small, quiet part of you that wondered if she was right. but you couldn’t afford to stop and think about it. you’ve wasted too much time talking to her. so, you kept going, because that’s all you knew how to do.

yet.

—

over the years, you and sophia had grown closer in ways neither of you ever expected. when you were younger, the distance between the two of you had always been clear—but that that divide blurred, softened, throughout the years.

sophia’s playfulness never truly went away, but it had deepened, matured. that much you expected.

and you? you stayed calculated, still planned three steps ahead, but somewhere along the way, you had learned to let her in past your defenses.

at sixteen, the two of you were no longer just the princess and the daughter of the commander. you had become something else. friends, yes, but possibly something more. 

sophia had become someone you trusted, someone who understood the quiet moments between words, the way your mind never really stopped moving even in moments of peace.

and she had learned to meet you there.

sometimes, when she laughed, it would remind you of the way she used to be when she was younger—loud, carefree, like she had no care in the state of the world. 

but now, there was a certain softness to her, a calmness that reflected in the way she had matured over the years. she still teased you—that, you were sure will never go away—still pulled you into moments of silliness and you’d begrudgingly let her pull you in.

one afternoon, the sound of your father, calling out commands, echoed through the open space. 

he was pushing you harder than usual, the drills grew more intense, more demanding. you stood tall, your posture unwavering, sweat dripping down your brow as you went through each movement with practice.

 there was no room for error—every strike, every block, every step had to be perfect. it had to be perfect.

sophia, manon, and lara happened to be passing by, and as they approached, they couldn’t help but pause at the sight.

“oh, wow,” manon said, eyes widening in dramatic surprise as she stared at you. “look at y/n. she’s, like, all muscles now.”

lara squinted at you, her face a picture of exaggerated thoughtfulness. “right? definitely all muscles. i wonder if you run into her that she’ll just end up feeling like a wall. not to mention, god, she’s so pretty.”

sophia’s gaze shifted towards you, following the movements of your body, the way you moved with such focus and strength. she hadn’t realized how much you had changed over the years. the lean muscles in your arms, the way your body had grown from the thin, aloof child into someone far more charming.

and for a brief moment, she found herself staring. but it was different this time. it held her prisoner in the moment, unable to look away.

however, she quickly snapped out of it, cheeks flushing a little as she tried to laugh it off, but her gaze kept returning to you. there was something about the way you moved—so disciplined, so intense.

“what are you staring at, princess?” manon teased, nudging sophia’s side with her elbow.

“nothing!” sophia replied a little too loudly, trying to mask her sudden fluster and red cheeks with a laugh. “i—i’m just... uh, just admiring the, uh… the…te.. technique! the technique! it’s impressive, okay?”

lara snickered, crossing her arms. “sophia’s got it bad,” she said in a sing-song voice. “someone’s in love.” the rajagopalan dynasty’s princess dragged out.

“i’m not in love!” sophia quickly protested, her voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing. “i’m just—look, it’s just hard not to notice, okay? she’s... all grown up. and... very focused.”

meanwhile, you were blissfully unaware of the ongoing conversation, too deep in your training to care. your father, watching from the sidelines, was doing his best to hide the smirk creeping onto his face.

 he crossed his arms, eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and mild amusement as he watched sophia try to hide her flustered expression from her friends’ teasing.

"y/n!" he called out, his voice thundering throughout the courtyard. "stop getting distracted. focus!"

confused at his sudden outburst despite the fact that you were focusing, you immediately snapped back to your drill, adjusting your stance and continuing the movements without a second thought. 

sophia quickly looked away, her face turning a shade redder than usual as manon and lara fought to keep their grins in check.

“yep, totally not in love,” lara whispered to manon with a wink.

“she’s definitely not in love,” manon whispered back, both of them now completely absorbed in watching sophia squirm at their words.

your father caught the exchange out of the corner of his eye once again, though he pretended to ignore it. his lips that had had let the smirk spread, but his gaze never wavered from you as he called out again, “again, y/n. one more time. don’t get sloppy now.”

you didn’t notice a thing, of course. you were too focused on keeping up with your father’s rigorous pace to pay any attention to sophia and her friends. but sophia? sophia would never quite forget the way she had found herself staring a little too long at the girl she had known since she was a child—the girl who was now possibly so much more than that.

and as they walked away, manon leaning in to whisper something to lara, sophia’s thoughts were a little scattered, her eyes flicking up to you one last time before she hurried to catch up.

your father watched her go with a raised eyebrow, amusement barely hidden. "you're doing well, y/n," he said, his voice steady, though there was a knowing glint in his eye.

you nodded, eyes trained on your sword. "thanks, father."

and somewhere, deep down, you couldn't help but wonder why everyone else seemed to be so focused on you all of a sudden.

–

a week later, sleep had evaded sophia. the nights seemed longer lately, and her thoughts tangled in ways she didn’t want to admit. the silence in her room only made the restlessness worse, so she decided to take a late night stroll through the castle’s endless corridors. 

wrapped in a loose nightgown, her bare feet were quiet against the stone floors, she wandered aimlessly, letting her mind travel wherever it pleased.

the castle at night was always quiet, eerily so, and sophia liked it that way. but tonight, there was something almost peaceful in the quiet. that was until she reached the courtyard.

through the large arched windows, she saw a figure moving against the night sky. it was you—no doubt about it—still training, despite the late hour. 

your tunic was soaked with sweat, clinging to your skin as you moved through the steps of another drill, oblivious to the time.

sophia stood there for a moment, watching you with furrowed brows. she could feel the cool night air brush her skin, but there you were, perfectly in sync with your movements, as if it was any other day.

she shook her head, biting back a smile. "this is ridiculous." she mumbled to herself.

with a deep breath—hyping herself up to talk to you—, she stepped forward, her bare feet making almost no sound as she moved through the dark courtyard. 

her eyes locked onto you, and she steeled her shoulders, walking up to you with the kind of authority only a princess could carry, even in her sleepwear.

"y/n!" she called, loud enough to break the quiet and peace of the night. "stop!" you didn’t hear her at first.

"sophia," you muttered to yourself, barely pausing to look in her direction, blinking confusedly. 

sophia raised an eyebrow, huffing with mock irritation. "i said stop." she repeated when she caught your arm attempting to swing again. 

this time, her voice had a firmness to it, and you finally turned, sparing her a glance. your expression was neutral, almost bored as you stared back at her.

"i'm not stopping," you said, the words clear and defiant as you wiped the sweat from your forehead. you changed stances, readying for the next move.

sophia crossed her arms, her lips curving into a smirk. smug. "you’ll stop because i’m ordering you to."

you narrowed your eyes, raising an eyebrow. "really? you’re going to pull rank on me at this hour?"

sophia hesitated, looking at you in disbelief for a moment before giving a dramatic sigh. "fine, i won’t ‘order’ you. but can you at least take a break? i’m surprised you even know how late it is now."

you didn’t immediately respond, and instead, you moved into another series of attacks, form still perfectly sharp.

"y/n," she tried again, this time with an exaggerated whine. "you’re going to wake the whole castle with your...your… clanging!"

surprisingly, you actually stopped. rolling your eyes as you set the sword down. you were beyond exhausted, but you refused to show it.

"whatever, princess. go ahead and get your beauty sleep," you said, feigning indifference. “don’t want to wake up the whole castle, after all.”

sophia couldn’t help but laugh at your sarcasm. "are you always this annoying?" she asked, her voice filled with teasing, though there was a glint of something else. something less playful, more... curious.

you turned your head just slightly, avoiding her eyes. "i’m not annoying. you’re just tired. go back to bed before you wake up your entire kingdom."

sophia blinked, suddenly remembering something that had been bugging her all night. "speaking of which," she said, "why are you even still training this late? don’t you know it's a new moon tonight?"

 she waved her hand vaguely toward the sky. "it’s literally so dark out here, y/n. like, how are you even seeing anything?"

you paused, staring at her. "are you... are you really asking me if i can see in the dark? do you not know that knights are trained to fight in all conditions?"

she leaned back slightly, exaggeratedly inspecting the sky. "yeah, well... i thought maybe you were secretly a bat or something. you know, like, using echolocation to fight? you could probably just echolocate the entire castle and then—"

you blinked, completely deadpan. "okay, no. what are you even talking about right now?"

sophia let out a snort of laughter at the absurdity of it all, her eyes lighting up as she giggled louder than she had meant to. 

louder than she expected, louder than what was probably necessary. for a moment, everything seemed to stop, until she could feel the sudden tension in the space between you two.

you stared at her, eyes wide in confusion, your face heating up with the weirdest mixture of annoyance and... something. 

 "what? why… why are you laughing?" you asked, furrowing your brows, your lips threatening to form a scowl, but failing.

"i just—echolocation," sophia giggled, clutching her sides, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "that’s just... i don’t even know where to start with that, but it’s so funny!"

you quickly turned away, trying to keep your expression neutral, but your face flushed a deeper shade of red as you mumbled, "shut up, sophia. you’re gonna wake the whole castle with that laugh."

but even then, your words felt weaker than they should have. there was no bite behind them—just a strange sense of vulnerability in your voice, something you weren’t sure how to hide at the sound of her giggles. at the sound of her.

the sound of her laugh, free and unburdened, caught you off guard. it wasn’t the carefree laugh of a princess anymore,  it was something more. it was real. had your gaze softening and your shoulders hunching in the slightest.

and that’s when it hit you. her hair, dark and shining under the moonlight, seemed to shimmer, like it was dusted with stars. the pale moonlight painted her skin a soft silver, and her eyes, her eyes seemed to glint with a hidden amusement, the sort of amusement you could never quite figure out even if you’d wanted to.

then you felt a sudden warmth rising in your chest, and before you could stop it, your face flushed with embarrassment. you quickly looked away, determined not to show it.

sophia, still giggling to herself, barely heard the softness in your tone. she was too lost in the moment.

"maybe i should wake them up," sophia teased, voice light. "imagine all the knights running in to see what’s going on, and then they see you, the stoic commander’s daughter, getting made fun of because you could echolocate your sword moves—"

you cut her off, giving her an exaggerated sigh as you walked back to your training spot, trying your best to ignore the lingering laughter—her laughter— that hung in the air.

she didn’t seem to care, still beaming at you (like always), completely unaware of how her teasing had managed to chip away at your usual composure. you felt that odd warmth again, but this time you didn’t bother hiding it.

“stop laughing. you’re actually going to wake the whole castle this time.” your words came out sharper than you meant them to, but they lacked the firmness they usually carried. 

you were only half-serious, trying to hide the way your heart had skipped a beat. “you’re truly annoying, you know that?”

"absolutely," she replied, grinning ear to ear. "but don’t worry, i’m going to let you get back to your echolocation training now. just try not to wake up the entire castle next time, alright?"

“you try not to wake the entire castle up with your laugh.”you just waved her off, though there was a softness in your demeanor now, a quiet that wasn't quite like your usual aloofness. 

when you picked up your sword again, you could’ve sworn she had already noticed—maybe she was even smiling to herself—but you wouldn’t dare let her catch the flushed look on your face.

sophia made her way back toward the castle, humming a tune to herself. she’d never know how her laugh had done something to you. 

but tonight, it didn’t matter. sophia had just managed to make you feel something that she didn’t even realise she'd been doing all along.

—---

finding herself in the ever-so-lavish solar room of the castle a week later after the midnight run-in with you who had never really ended up bringing it up again, sophia found herself stuck and confined in the silk-lined walls with thread spools scattered around her in every unimaginable colour as she sat stiffly across her mother in the embroidered velvet chaise, early sun filtering through the open windows of the castle.

her mother coughs softly. “fifi, sweetheart, your debut’s just around the corner,” her highness, queen laforteza started, lips quirked into a small, knowing smile.

sophia’s hand stilled on the embroidery hoop perched on her lap, halfway through finishing the attempt to embroider the laforteza house crest—though one of the griffins looked like a lopsided duck instead.

sophia didn’t bother to muffle the groan that escaped her lips, dramatically dropping her head back to meet the golden edge of the chaise and bringing the hoop up to cover her face. “please don’t call it that.”

“don’t call what what?” her mother said innocently, threading a new color into her needle. “your debutante ball? your formal entrance into society?” she gasped, feigning shock. “your grand unveiling?”

“my god,” sophia muttered, dragging the needle through the fabric with a little more force than necessary, brows furrowing as she stared back at her mother unimpressed.

sophia wasn’t dumb. far from that. give her some credit. she knew exactly where this was going. her mother was inching toward the topic like it was some diplomatic strategy that her father had given her the task to look over, all smiles and cunning eyes. 

and of course, the first dance was at the center of it. which, to be fair, any mother would want to know in order to guarantee the safety of her daughter—and in this case, it was the one and only princess of the laforteza kingdom. 

not to mention the suitors. oh, for god’s sake, the suitors. they seemed to multiply with every passing day, letters stacked in neat little piles outside her room after a worker had done their daily rounds droppiung mails to each royal family, always signed too formally and written too stiffly. she sat up, continuing to work on her shit attempt at needlework.

she loathed it. just the mention of it makes her shiver. by god, she can’t deal with them. doesn’t even want to think about them approaching her next year because she knows for a fact that they will, because their ego just truly is at an all-time high whenever they lay eyes on her when really, sophia only knows the only reason why they do is because they either see her as a trophy, or the siren call of the throne.

her thoughts somehow drifted to you.

queen laforteza continued, arching a brow. “and have you thought about who your first dance might be with?” she asked, the question light and playful, but unmistakably pointed.

sophia didn’t look up from her needlework. “mom, my debut’s not until next year.”

“and you say that as if that gives me no reason at all to start planning now,” the queen said, voice airy. “you do know who your dear mother is, don’t you?”

sophia rolled her eyes. “you plan things like they’re battle strategies.”

“well,” her mother said, threading a perfect knot into the fabric, “i did grow up married to a war general. was his assisstant for quite some while too… still kind of am.”

sophia sighed, lips pressing into a thin line. “i’d rather have a sword in my hand than dance with any of those obnoxious lords who can’t even look me in the eye without turning into a puddle.”

“then who can?” her mother said gently. “there must be someone who doesn’t turn to dust under your stare.”

sophia hesitated. her fingers slowed against the hoop. her thoughts drifted to you once more. 

because she was right. god, was her mother right. 

someone can keep their composure perfectly still under her stare and dish it right back, who, even after all these years, never once broke eye contact unless sophia showed signs of discomfort at the exchange—not even when sophia was being absolutely ridiculous or bratty (asking you to play with her dolls with her when she damn well knew you were born with a sword in your hand).

she stayed quiet, not daring to utter your name. she’d have otherwise, were she in the comfort of her own room, but not here with her mother to hear and her too keen eyes peering at her. 

so instead, she stabbed the needle through the fabric a little too hard, forcing a shrug. “i don’t know. maybe i’ll just pick randomly and call it a day.”

the queen gave her a long look but said nothing. only smiled to herself, as if she already knew the answer and was simply waiting for her daughter to admit it out loud.

“alright.”

—

sophia had felt suffocated.

it was only 5 pm in the afternoon and she had already felt the life sucked out of her being after the particularly long session of tea etiquette, posture corrections, and painfully long lessons on “how to cross one’s ankles like a proper lady.” 

which after being dismissed by her etiquette teacher—an old, stern woman who looked as though she’d been plucked from the dustiest corner of the royal library—she made a beeline to where she knew you’d be, eager to run away from the woman’s judging gaze and almost tripping over the skirt of her dress.

she needed air. so in turn, she needed you.

“hey, echolocating knight-in-training, come with me.” her voice was soft and amused as it echoed across the courtyard, breaking your focus just enough. 

you were in the middle of footwork drills as your eyes flicked up toward her, finding her leaning lazily against one of the stone pillars to your right, her silk, pastel pink dress catching the breeze.

she smiled at you, open and easy, albeit a little smug—and you had to suppress the involuntary shiver that crept up your spine at the sickly sweet sight.

you scoffed, unamused. “and why should i?” 

sophia chuckled, shaking her head as she pushed off where she’d been leaning on the pillar and made her way to you, footsteps light. 

you halted your practice, wiping your chin dry of sweat that ran down your cheek. “you forget yourself, y/n.”

“you forget your princess.” 

then, without explanation, she extended her hand out to you, palm tilted slightly upward, waiting. you stared at it blankly, caught off guard by the sudden movement. 

your eyes flicked between her hand and her face, trying to piece together what on earth she was doing. “what are you—”

“kiss the back of my hand, you idiot. gentlemen do it all the time as a greeting.” she wiggled her fingers impatiently, eyes squinting at you with a barely concealed amusement. 

“guess we can’t say the same for you.”

you groaned but took her hand anyway, your fingers rough and calloused from years of hard work—one she’d closely watched—asharp contrast to her soft, perfumed skin. 

you brought it to your lips with a gentleness that surprised her, brushing them across the back of her hand with the kind of reverence usually reserved for sacred things, or those in higher rank than you are.

sophia’s breath caught, just for a second.

she hadn’t expected that.

she’d thought she could handle it. it was just a joke, a moment of teasing. she didn’t except you to actually go through with it.

her etiquette teacher had done it to demonstrate, and sophia hadn’t blinked then—possibly because she was a fossil—. but this? this was you, and her heart had the audacity to trip at the way your lips touched her skin.

“i’m not a man,” you muttered, your voice low and even, but your grip on her hand stayed careful, firm. you paused, then added softly, “i’m a woman.”

it shouldn’t have made her stomach flip. but it did.

her cheeks flushed, heat crawling up her neck as she yanked her hand back, clearing her throat. “well. clearly.”

you shot her an ‘are you kidding?’ stare, sighing softly at her interrupting your practice once again. a daily occurrence that you should’ve been used to by now. 

“so, where are we going?”

sophia spun around before you could read her expression too closely. “the gardens,” she said over her shoulder, pretending like her face wasn’t on fire. 

“and the lake. i’m tired of breathing in dust and listening to lady maribelle complain about my posture.”

you trailed behind her as she walked ahead, arms swinging with a freedom that had you quietly smiling to yourself.

the gardens were nearly empty by the time you and sophia reached them, the sky shifting into shades of orange and yellow as the sun began to dip behind the castle walls. the breeze smelled faintly of roses and lavender.

but sophia didn’t stop to admire them—she’d seen them way too many times to gag over them. she kept walking ahead, skirts gathered in her fists, guiding you down the stone path that led behind the hedges and past the willow trees, straight toward the lake.

“...we’re not just going to look at the water, are we?” you asked warily, already eyeing the small wooden boats bobbing at the dock.

sophia glanced over her shoulder, her grin suspiciously wide, eyes crinkled into crescents. “nope.”

“please tell me you’re not expecting me to—”

“get in the boat,” she sang sweetly, already stepping onto the dock and reaching for the nearest one painted gold.

you didn’t move. “sophia, i’ve been training all day.”

“and this is me rewarding you.” she turned and held out her hand again—not to be kissed this time, but to tug you forward. “you can row me around like a charming little gondolier.”

you sighed, staring at her like she’d grown two heads. “i hate you.”

“and yet, here you are.” she tilted her chin with mock arrogance, eyes glinting.

you groaned under your breath but followed her anyway, climbing awkwardly into the boat while she settled into the seat like it was the throne/, fingers trailing through the water. you grabbed the oars begrudgingly, shooting her a tired glare that only made her giggle.

fuck.

“you know,” she said after a few minutes of quiet rowing, “you’ve got a nice rhythm. maybe you were a sailor in another life.”

you raised an eyebrow. intrigued. “a sailor?”

“mhm. gruff voice. tragic, tragic past. always looking at the horizon like you’ve got unimaginable memories out at sea.”

you snorted. “you’ve clearly read too many romance novels. now i know why you spend too much time in the library with your nose buried in a book.”

she leaned back in the seat, eyes closing for a moment as the breeze sifted through her hair. “and you clearly don’t row me fast enough.”

you splashed her with one oar, just enough to make her yelp and sit upright, eyes wide.

“y/n!”

“oops.”

sophia narrowed her eyes but was still smiling, wiping her now-damp sleeve with playful offense. “you’ll pay for that.”

“good luck,” you muttered, rowing a little faster, trying to ignore the way your heart kept doing jumping jacks at how pretty she looked when she was mock pouting, sunsett dusting her skin like gold, water around her glowing.

you told yourself it was just exhaustion. 

definitely not the way she kept watching you with that quiet amusement, like she could see right through you. like she always had.

—---

the solar room hadn’t changed at all. the same velvet cushions. the same lace-curtained windows. the same faint scent of lavender and rosewater that clung to the cushions, the walls, even the thread in sophia’s embroidery hoop. 

the only real difference was the tapestry she was working on—no longer clumsy or full of crooked stitches, but neat, straight.

and her mother, of course, still sat across from her, spine perfectly straight, pale blue gown immaculately laid around her, with her embroidery in hand and a glint in her eye that made sophia immediately suspicious.

“dearest, your actual debut’s around the corner now,” queen laforteza said, voice lilting and casual. too casual, she’d dare say.

sophia didn’t even look up from her stitching, words tugging at a memory she hadn’t planned on revisiting. 

suddenly, she was seventeen again, hands clumsy, posture slouched, hiding behind a half-finished crest while her mother teased her about first dances and suitors.

the memory irked her slightly. especially because nothing had changed, and yet everything had. if that made sense.

“have you picked out who’ll be your first dance now?” the queen added, sipping her tea like she didn’t already have a shortlist of eager young noblemen memorised from months ago as she requested for names of those interested.

sophia hummed, tying a knot in her thread with practiced ease. “i’ll just have basil as my first dance.”

that got her mother’s attention. the queen blinked, lowering her teacup mid-sip. “wait, but your brother—”

“i’ve already talked about it to him,” sophia said calmly. “he said he was fine with it. didn’t feel comfortable enough to have someone else dance me instead. i could’ve ask father to do it too, but i fear he’s already got too much on his plate. with the new knight recruits and all.”

her mother didn’t respond right away, which was rare. she simply studied sophia for a moment, as if trying to uncover whether her daughter was being genuine—or evasive.

“sweets,” she said after a beat, “are you sure you don’t want to pick a noble to be your first dance instead? i heard marquess barretto’s son leon, is interested.”

sophia groanef immediately, slumping slightly despite her attempt to stay firm. “mother, leon barretto wears more perfume than i do and nearly tripped on my gown last week trying to kiss my hand. i’d rather drown in the lake.”

her mother pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “he’s not that bad.”

“he’s that bad,” sophia deadpanned, finally setting her embroidery hoop down in her lap. 

“besides, it’s not like the first dance has to be romantic. it’s ceremonial. traditional. it doesn’t mean anything.”

“it used to,” her mother said gently.

what she didn’t say was that the idea of dancing with a stranger made her skin crawl. that the thought of twirling in a room full of watching eyes, arm in arm with someone she barely knew, made her chest tighten.

and maybe there was someone else she’d rather offer her hand to. someone who stood steady in the moonlight and made her laugh when she wasn’t supposed to. 

someone whose hands were rough and real and held hers like they were afraid to hurt her, like she was the most fragile thing in the whole world.

she found herself unable to articulate it into words again with her mother in the room. 

her mother watched her quietly for a long moment, then gave a soft sigh and returned to her embroidery. “well,” the queen murmured, “if basil steps on your toes, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

sophia cracked a small, lopsided smile. “he won’t. and if he does, i’ll blame it on the wind.”

–

the golden sun hadn’t even finished crawling its way over the castle walls when you were dragged—half-asleep and wholly unwilling—up and off the bed to stand barefeet in your chamber, marble flooring cold against your feet.

you hated breaks in your training. hated breaks in general. hated stillness. they made you feel like a blade left out in the rain, dulled and useless. 

but as the king’s guard’s commander’s daughter, and more importantly, as the personal guard to the princess herself, you were expected to be rid of all training and any hard work the day before the debut of the king’s only daughter. 

so, instead of sparring or drilling or doing literally anything useful, you were subjected to a full day of tailoring that commenced at the break of dawn. stupid, stupid, tradition.

the fabric was heavy and foreign on your skin. the uniform was modeled after your father’s—same deep navy blue tones, same sharp gold embroidery stitched along the lapel and hem—but unlike his, yours bore no jewels, no medals, no markers of great achievement. 

it was a blank canvas, clean and awaiting, quiet proof that your legacy had not yet begun.

it’ll have one, one day. i’ll make sure of it.

now, hours later, you were only half in it. your jacket draped halfway up your shoulders, the sleeves rolled awkwardly around your arm as you stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching the new recruits go through their drills.

 it should’ve been you out there. every muscle in your body ached to move, to sweat, to strike.

“that’s what you’re gonna wear for the princess’s debut?” yunjin called out, amusement thick in her voice as she twirled her practice sword lazily.

 “wow, so fancy, y/n. unlike you, we have to stay in these heavy, uncomfortable pieces of metal.”

keeho laughed behind her, clutching his stomach in mock agony. “how’s a man supposed to pick a woman up in this?” 

he groaned, dragging a hand through his sweat-matted hair and down his face. “at this rate, you’ll sweep every single woman in the vicinity.”

you scowled, arms crossed over your half-dressed chestplate. “you’re there to support and show your loyalty to the kingdom. that armour is there to protect you in case something happens. you’re not there to pick up women, keeho.”

he gasped, utterly affronted. “god, you sound like my mother. geez.”

“maybe she’s smarter than you,” you muttered, and yunjin barked out a laugh.

truth be told, the uniform felt strange. it fit, sure, it had been measured to the bone, trimmed and cinched and hemmed perfectly to your body, but it wasn’t you. 

it felt like wearing someone else’s skin. someone softer. someone still figuring out who she was underneath the polished buttons and polished roles, made to perfection as overlooked by your father.

tomorrow, you wouldn’t be in the shadows like you always were. not with sophia standing in the middle of the grand ballroom, not with every noble eye on her, and by extension, on you.

you didn’t mind being her sword. her shield. her quiet. but you just weren’t sure how to be seen. 

still, as you watched your friends spar, the laughter between them easy and real, your hand tightened slightly on the edge of your sleeve. you could do this. you would.

because tomorrow wasn’t about you. it was about her. your princess. sophia. the same one who’d slowly chipped at your walls ever since she barged into your life all sunshine and rainbows.

and you’d wear this damn thing like it was yours. because sophia deserved someone who could stand beside her without cowering beneath the pressure of legacy. even if your uniform didn’t carry medals, your loyalty didn’t need stitching or .

—--

this was it.

the music slowed to a hush as the double doors opened, and all conversation stilled. heads turned, gowns rustled, fans fluttered shut. the grand ballroom, lit by towering chandeliers and flooded with golden candlelight, held its breath.

at the top of the staircase stood sophia.

she descended like something out of a painting—dressed in a gown that shimmered faintly with every step, the soft blue silk catching the light like moonlit water. 

her hair was pinned with delicate gold leaves, and her gloves, the palest cream, trembled just slightly as she reached the last few steps.

you were already there, waiting.

my god, of course you were.

you stood at the foot of the stairs, back straight, gloved hands behind your back until you extended one forward for her. 

your uniform, tailored and formal, fit you like a second skin, and though the medals were missing, your presence felt like its own badge of honour. sophia’s eyes found yours immediately, her expression unreadable but drawn—always drawn—to you.

a faint smile appears in her lips at the notice of your uniform matching hers.

she slipped her hand into yours.

gloved hand in gloved hand, you escorted her across the ballroom floor, past suitors and murmured gasps. your steps were steady. hers were lighter now, as if walking beside you was enough to melt the nerves off her spine.

you led her to her brother—basil, dutiful and already stepping forward with an awkward smile. sophia hesitated, only slightly, before she turned to you once more, her voice low. 

for you and for your ears only.

“wait for me?”

you gave her a nod. “always.”

then she turned, and basil offered his hand. the music swelled, and sophia began her first dance under the eyes of the kingdom.

—-

time passed. champagne flutes clinked, music floated high into the domed ceilings, and laughter curled around crystal chandeliers. 

you had tried, god you had tried, to disappear into the crowd after your brief appearance at her side, but your father had other plans. like always.

“you will socialise, y/n,” he’d said, placing an annoyingly firm hand on your shoulder before nudging you toward a young noblewoman who looked just as uninterested in the conversation as you were. 

he wanted you to make a name for yourself.

gabriela, she introduced herself. from some lord’s house you didn’t care to remember. sharp eyes, sweet but cunning smile. she was fine. too curious, maybe. too flirty.

you were halfway through a polite excuse when the music shifted again, and she reached for your hand.

and somehow, you let her.

you weren’t thinking. you were tired. you were overwhelmed. and the thought of getting yelled at again by your father had already made your shoulders tense. so, you danced. you gave in.

your first dance, ever. not with the person you'd wanted, not with the person you’d imagined, but still, a dance.

across the ballroom, sophia had just finished her second spin in the arms of her youngest brother, oreo, whose too small tux kept making her laugh between steps. 

she ruffled his hair after the last note and watched him scamper back to where the rest of the royal family was seated, cheeks flushed with pride.

then her smile fell.

because there you were. dancing.

not standing off to the side. not waiting for her like you said you would. always, my ass. but dancing, with someone else.

gabriela laughed at something you said. sophia could only assume it wasn’t even that funny—god, you’re not even that funny—and your hands were still joined, her other palm resting on your shoulder.

sophia didn’t even wait for the song to end.

she marched straight toward the drink table, lips pressed into a thin line, her expression far too aloof to be casual.

manon, trailing behind with lara following suit, raised a brow. “that was quick.”

“i need a drink,” sophia muttered.

“you just had a drink,” lara said, nursing a half-finished flute of champagne in one hand.

“i need a stronger drink,” she said, already eyeing manon. manon caught the implication.

she didn’t bother saying a word. just reached into the inside of her embellished cape and handed her a hip flask with all the ceremony of a royal decree.

sophia didn’t even blink. unscrewed it. took a slow sip. let the burn bloom across her tongue and down like acid into her stomach.

lara watched her carefully. “everything alright, soph?”

 sophia lowered the flask, eyes sharp as they slid across the ballroom to where you and gabriela were still dancing.

“peachy,” she said flatly. 

hands off. she knew that this woman could have anyone else, nd god, why did she have to pick you of all people? fuck, she might end up begging if she doesn’t let go og you anytime soon.

manon didn’t bother asking. she knew. so she just handed her another sip. and the two of them shared a look.

—-

“you know, fifi’s fond of you. like, really, really fond of you.”

your head turns to watch oreo under the moonlight. you’d found the king’s youngest child in the balcony after seeking for coolness and peace after the dance with gabriela and the chaos of being surrounded by nobles desperately wishing for sophia’s hand in marriage or for just a mere dance—which props to her, she’s only danced with her brothers. 

the fact settles you.

“she shouldn’t be.” your reply garnered a laugh from the boy, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“but she is, though. it’s… unsettling, sometimes. makes me wonder if she’ll actually ever wind up finding a lord or something to date, because she spends too much time trying to, uh, what’s the word, have your friendship grow? i don’t know.. but you know, i just thought you’d want to know. ‘cause… yeah.”

you nodded, brows furrowing in thought as you leaned your elbows on the railing, lost as to why oreo, of all people, was telling you this. 

you’d barely talked to the boy before, and you’re more than sure that this is the first time you’d had a proper conversation—which just happened to be about sophia.

you weren’t surprised it was about her. not that you minded, anyway.

“i heard marquess barretto’s son might be a potential match.” you’d commented after a beat, and oreo hummed.

“yeah, i overheard them talking about it. don’t think fifi’s as fond of him as she is of you though.” he replies casually, like it wasn’t anything big of a deal.

the two of you stood outside for a few more moments in silence, comforted that you’d both reached an understanding and bridged a new friendship that was built upon the love and concern for sophia.

then he spoke. calm, slow, took his time. he wanted it to linger, that much you knew. every word enunciated firmly, yet heavily blanketed with warmth.

“i hope it’s you.”

—---

the ballroom had grown louder. brighter. unbearably warmer.

and somewhere between her second drink from manon’s flask and the half-glass of wine she’d sipped too quickly after, sophia lost sight of you again. she was a lightweight, surprisingly (not) enough.

the music spun and so did the chandelier, her steps a little less poised now as she slipped through groups of nobles, skirts brushing against her gown, their laughter buzzing like gnats in her ears.

her mind was foggy. her throat was dry. her eyes eere hazy. her head was a mix of bass, violin, and the sharp reminder of of your betrayal—irrational and sticky, crawling beneath her skin like fire. burning hotter than the liquor that ran down her throat.

you had danced with someone else.

her stomach twisted every time she thought of it. the way your hand had rested so easily on gabriela’s waist. the way you let her smile at you. like it was nothing. like it didn’t mean anything.

how dare you. 

how dare you dance with someone else that wasn’t her. it was her debut. her ball you were supposed to keep your eyes on her and her only. dance with her and her only. god, why didn’t you? you didn’t keep your promise.

you didn’t keep your promise.

her heel caught on the edge of someone’s coat and she stumbled forward with a sharp breath, hands out instinctively to grab onto something—and then—

“whoa—sophia—”

you caught her before she hit the floor, arms wrapping around her waist without hesitation. her gloved fingers curled into the front of your uniform, clinging, her cheek resting against your chest.

“you’re drunk,” you muttered under your breath, keeping it together like her close proximity didn’t do things to you. 

“am not,” she mumbled into your jacket, and then, louder, “you danced with someone else.”

you stiffened. “sophia—”

“you did,” she huffed, pulling back just enough to glare up at you. her eyes were glassy, but sharp with frustration. 

“i saw you. with that girl—gabby? gab—gabriela—manon told me.”

you hushed her immediately, grabbing her by the shoulders and casting a quick glance around. you’d already caught one or two nobles side-eyeing the princess in your arms, and the last thing anyone needed was this being tomorrow’s headline in the newspapers. 

no, your dad would kill you. the king would behead you. (you’re dramatic. but it’s a possibility.)

“we’re going,” you said, low and urgent, slipping an arm around her waist as she swayed again. “you’re done. come on.”

“don’t wanna go,” sophia slurred stubbornly, stumbling as you started to guide her through the crowd. “s’my party.”

“you can barely stand.”

“still mad.”

“don’t care.”

you maneuvered quickly, expertly, keeping your head down, fingers steady around her arm as you led her past the sweeping golden drapes and into one of the side corridors. 

the music dulled behind the ballroom doors. the cool air of the hall washed over you like waves, blessedly quiet.

sophia groaned dramatically as you pushed open the door to one of the unused sitting rooms. she sagged against you, like every ounce of tension had finally slipped from her bones the moment the door clicked shut behind you.

you helped her to the couch, kneeling in front of her to unclip her shoes as she flopped backwards, arms flung over the edge like a drowned, tragic poet. her tiara tilted sideways.

“you looked pretty,” she murmured suddenly into the quiet. “still look pretty.”

you froze. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “…what?”

“in your uniform,” she mumbled, cheeks flushed from more than just the wine. her lashes fluttered. she wasn’t even aware she was saying this.

“made it hard to breathe, ‘cause you—” she made a vague gesture toward your body, eyes half-lidded as she watched you with softness. “just stood there with your jaw and your shoulders—and then you had to go and dance with someone who wasn’t me—”

you closed your eyes, took a slow, steady and calculated breath.

“i wasn’t thinking,” she continued, voice growing softer, more fragile around the edges, eroding like your walls around her. 

“and now i’m thinking too much and my head’s spinning and i hate that i care. i hate it. i hate it so much.”

you looked up at her.

and for a moment—just a moment—sophia laforteza didn’t look like a princess. she looked like a girl with a heart too full, slumped sideways in a chair that didn’t belong to her, whispering confessions she’d never dare say sober.

fuck.

“you need water,” you said finally, inhaling sharply.

“no. what i need,” she said, eyes fluttering closed again, “is for you to never dance with anyone else ever again.”

you blinked. your mouth opened. then closed.

“and, to kiss me.”

“what—”

too fast for how drunk she was, she grabbed  a fistful of your collar with ashaky, determined hand and pulled you down into her.

her lips crashed into yours—messy, heated, desperate. she kissed you like she was trying to memorise something with the urgency of someone afraid of forgetting. like she’d waited too long and couldn’t hold it in anymore. and for a second,

you kissed back. you actually kissed back.

because she was soft and flushed and trembling (scared you’ll push her off), and it was her. the girl who haunted your thoughts during drills. the girl who laughed like the world was hers, and somehow made you feel like it could be yours too.

that she could be yours.

but your hand caught her wrist gently, and you pulled away, breath uneven, your forehead resting against hers as she blinked in a daze.

she looked up at you then, hazy eyes widening, horror flickering across her expression like a crack in the sky. her lips parted, like she was about to say something—apologise, maybe, or backpedal into silence.

“hey,” you whispered, still close enough to feel the heat of her skin. “tell me who i am.”

she blinked, confused. “what?”

“tell me who i am, sophia. just…say it.”

she blinked once, then her brows furrowed with focus, her hand still twisted in your collar.

“y/n,” she said softly. “you’re… y/n. you’re my knight.”

“and your name is?”

she swallowed. “my name is princess sophia elizabeth guevara laforteza, 122th heir to the throne after my brother.”

and that was all you needed.

you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “okay,” you mumbled, almost to yourself, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. 

“okay… you understand. you’re not fully drunk yet.”

“yeah, no crap i am. what are you doing?” she asked breathlessly, voice low, still dazed.

you stepped back, gently but firmly, slipping her hand from your shirt and keeping your voice as steady as you could manage.

“we shouldn’t be doing this here,” you said. “someone could see.”

she didn’t argue. she didn’t tease. just nodded once, slow and sure, trusting you the same way she always had.

you led her out of the quiet room with a careful hand on her back, her weight leaning slightly against your side, every step quick and quiet as you took the back corridors—the ones only you and the guards knew—until you reached her bedchamber.

the door closed softly behind you. the room smelled like garden roses and her. 

you helped her out of her gown without a word, careful, respectful. she helped you out of your uniform, clumsy fingers and sleepy sighs. neither of you spoke of what it meant and what it stood for next.

she curled into your side not long after, head pressed against your shoulder, bare legs tangled under silk sheets, devotion silent in the night.

—-

basil approached you the next day. you knew what he was there for before he could ask you. like oreo, you and him had a different kind of understanding. quiet and aloof, but close acquaintances. 

he’d told you about his distaste for becoming the king, and how he’d pass the throne onto sophia the moment he’d been deemed worthy enough to lead his own royal guard. 

“sophia disappeared sometime yesterday night in the party. were you with her?” always quick to the point, basil was. he never liked a chase.

you respected that about him.

you nodded curtly. you knew better than to lie. you watched him take note of the faint, dark purple mark on your neck, tucked away beneath the collar of your tunic. the corner of his lips curled up a fraction.

“i was with her, yes.”

“in more ways than one, i presume.”

your lips pressed into a thin line, throat bobbing. he chuckles softly. “it’s fine, y/n. ease up. i’m glad it was you, and not one of those snobby lords.”

a scoff was pulled from your throat, though it was more of an amused sound. “your sister knows better than that. she’s a woman that knows what she wants.”

“what she wants and what she gets.” he commented, and you nodded.

a beat passed. neither of you spoke. you both watch the movements of the knights-in-training. watched a younger knight fumble his footwork while yunjin shouted at him, keeho cackling in the background.

you don’t feel guilty about being interrupted.

then basil shifted beside you, voice softer. “i trust you wouldn’t break her heart.”

your brows furrowed, the thought that he’d even think that was insulting and offensive to everything you stood for. for the kingdom.  for oath. for her. 

you shot him a glance that morphed into a glare. “if anything, it’d be her that’ll be breaking my heart. she hasn’t said a word to me since we woke up this morning.”

his gaze followed yours and caught sight of sophia.

she was approaching the training grounds, walking with purpose, blue day dress trailing slightly behind her, sunlight wrapping itself around her like she were a daughter of the sun, glowing, radiant.

she didn’t belong anywhere near the battlefield. if anything, she looked like she belonged to you.

basil gave a low whistle, already stepping back. “then i guess i’ll leave you to it.” he gave your shoulder a brief, meaningful squeeze. “good luck.”

you swallowed, throat tight, and turned just as she stepped in front of you, her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

you opened your mouth, not knowing what to say—only for her to speak first.

“can we talk?”

you nodded wordlessly, following her as she led you away from the noise, around the stone corridor that wrapped behind the courtyard, until it was just the two of you. 

quiet, save for the faint echo of swords meeting shields in the background.

she turned to you slowly, nervous, but determined nonetheless. “you thought i wouldn’t remember.”

to be frank, you hadn’t expected her to come. not after how quickly she’d disappeared that morning. not after she couldn’t even look at you when she slipped out of bed.

you looked away. “you were drunk.”

“not drunk enough,” she said. “i remember all of it. i remember everything.”

you stayed silent.

“you looked like you thought it was a mistake,” you finally said, voice low. “and it’s fine, sophia. it was a mistake. a lapse in my judgement, and i shouldn’t have let it happen or initiated anything.

her brows furrowed, eyes darkening. not with anger, but something deeper. hurt.

“it wasn’t,” she said. “not for me.”

your breath hitched. she stepped closer, her voice quieter now, the words meant for your ears only.

“i tried so hard to remember everything, y/n. not because i was scared i did something wrong. but because i wanted to remember it. all of it. i was scared of forgetting the feeling of your warmth against mine, scared to forget how it felt like i truly did belong somewhere with someone.”

her hand hovered, brushed your sleeve. she gulped, eyes looking up at you with silent begging, desperation. she needed to hear you reciprocate the feelings that had been gnawing at her since your first meeting.

“i love you, y/n.”

she can’t be the only one who felt it. and she was right.

“i love you more, sophia. ever since that night in the courtyard, where you fucked around teasing me about echolocation,” she laughed softly at the mention, “i’ve loved you ever since.”

your hand moved, 

she leaned into your touch like she’d been waiting for it all her life—like your palm on her cheek was a missing piece she hadn’t known she was missing until it fit just right.

“say it again,” she whispered, barely audible. her lashes fluttered, her eyes on your lips.

you didn’t hesitate. “i love you.”

sophia smiled. soft, genuine. the kind of smile that stripped her of title, crown, and duty. just sophia. just yours.

then she surged forward, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that felt like a promise kept. it was slower than last night. no desperation, no effects of wine. just certainty. it was clear and steady and warm, it was everything sophia is.

when she pulled away, your hand still holding her face like she might vanish, she exhaled shakily. “i thought you hated me this morning.”

“i thought you regretted it,” you said, your voice rough with emotion you barely understood how to carry.

“never,” she replied, and it was immediate. “i regret not doing it sooner.”

you let out a breath of disbelief, a soft laugh that cracked at the edges. “you’re a freak.”

“you love me for it.”

“unfortunately.”

she grinned and bumped your shoulder with hers, fingers drifting down to take your hand in hers, entwining them easily like it was something as natural as breathing.

you decide that honour and loyalty aren’t the reason to fight for the kingdom anymore. sophia is now everything you stood for.

—-

you were both twenty when the first declaration of war from a neighboring empire had been announced. it was everywhere. in the newspapers, down to the leaflets and the frantic whispers threading through the markets and corridors of the kingdom. the empire of eyekonia hath declared war.

it struck like lightning. swift, absolute, and deafening. the court held emergency councils. generals moved like shadows through the halls. flags were lowered, then raised again under tighter command. the world sophia knew shifted beneath her feet.

she didn’t care about strategy or supply lines or how many allies the crown could still call on.

all she could think about was you.

sophia had found you in the eastern wing, halfway through your patrol, and without a word, she grabbed the back of your tunic, dragging you quietly, urgently, through the stone halls, past startled servants and guards who knew better than to speak up. 

she didn’t stop until she found an unused meeting room, where the shutters were drawn and the heavy oak door groaned under the force she slammed it with. you stumbled inside after her, confused, the back of your shirt still wrinkled where her fingers had clutched it tight.

it had been a year since you both started seeing each other in secret. a year since that fated night that linked you together for an eternity, a year since she’d relished in the comfort of your presence. 

she didn’t say anything at first. just paced the room, fingers trembling ever so slightly, her breath coming in uneven bursts. and when she finally turned to look at you, her eyes burned—not with fury, but with something far worse: desperation.

“you’re not fighting the front lines, are you?”

you blinked. the question caught you off guard. truly. but then the weight of it crashed into you like a tidal wave. the news, the fear, the look in her eyes.

you stepped forward slowly, shaking your head. “no. my duty lies with protecting you.”

her body deflated in an instant, all the tension draining from her shoulders like a storm finally passing. she crossed the room in two quick strides, arms wrapping around your waist like she could shield you from the news of the war and the war itself.

she could stay like this forever.

“thank god,” she whispered into your chest. “i thought—”

“i know.” you murmured, pressing your lips against her hair.

you didn’t tell her how your father had been summoned to the war room before sunrise. how he’d returned with a rare look of relief in his eyes, saying that the king had other plans. that you, your father, and basil—who finally got his wish of his own royal knights and got the approval of the king to step down from becoming king—were to remain behind, at the palace.

“the frontline is no place for heirs or shields,” the king had said. “the royal family must be guarded. my blood must be protected. and sophia… she will need people she trusts.”

you had bowed. not for the kingdom. not even for the king. but because of her.

“i’m not going anywhere.” you’d whispered, feeling her arms tighten around you and nuzzling further into your neck like she’s trying to mold you both into one, warm breath fanning against your skin gently, grounding you. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“promise?”

“promise.”

—-

you were both twenty-two years of age—two years into the war with the empire of eyekonia, and the kingdom was bleeding. losing men like they were mere numbers on a scale, names carved into stone more often than into medals. they were dropping like flies on foreign soil, dying for oaths that no longer felt like promises, but debts too heavy to repay.

and you—ever composed, ever sharp—you were unraveling. slowly. quietly. like silk being pulled from the hem.

your restless nights didn’t go unnoticed. not to sophia.

she noticed the determination and focus in your eyes whenever you’d all meet up in the great hall to talk strategies for the way, the way your leg bounced up and down in an agitated tic,  barely perceptible beneath your uniform—too subtle for those who’d merely glance your way. but not sophia.

never sophia.

she’d prided herself with knowing you better than yourself. the rhythm of your breaths. the slight dip in your voice when you were trying to keep emotion at bay. 

the way you bit the inside of your cheek—not out of anxiety, but out of restraint—whenever someone proposed a strategy that would cost more lives than it should, before promptly leaning forward in your seat and shaking your head because the men aren’t just casualties that racked up numbers. 

and then you’d lean forward in your seat, voice calm but firm, always with that same line: "there has to be another way."

because to you, the men weren’t pawns.

they were names. faces. boys you’d trained with. soldiers who greeted you in the early hours, who held open doors and passed messages and laughed at keeho and yunjin’s bad jokes. men who had families, stories, dreams. they were men who you’d seen each day, given empowering speeches to and playfully cheering after. 

they were your men as much as they are hers and the kingdom’s.

and sophia—she would watch you from across the room, something tender and painful blooming in her chest. because she knew what it cost you to care this much. and she loved you all the more for it.

noticed the way you’d softened through the years, the way you’d let yourself feel and show more feelings, instead of casting them away in a bottle and hiding it under a chest you won’t ever open, leaving the lock for generations and generations to look for.

noticed the way you’d been treading carefully around the idea of joining the front lines, not wanting to sit back and watch as the kingdom fell apart around you that could potentially risk the royal family’s life. sophia’s life. 

noticed the way you steeled yourself whenever numbers of lives lost were brought back to you at the end of the way, and sophia could feel her resolve that hung by a thread shaking, because she just cannot afford to have you, the person she’d lost nights to, rolling in bed and giggling like a teenager in love. 

you, the person who used to be too scared to sleep in the same bed as her given the fact that you’d already slept together before, all unusually meek and unsure of your actions when you’d always been so sure of yourself. 

you, who she was sure she’d spend the rest of her life with, have a family, grow old together and die beside each other. you who she wanted to marry.

and you, who she cannot afford to be a mere statistic of the kingdom’s casualties in a war she didn’t want. a victim to her father’s ambitious plans.

she feels sick.

she cannot fathom the thought of you out there, all alone while you stood in foreign soil soaked with the kingdom’s blood, away from the castle walls where she could keep you safe, away from her, away from the promise of forever. of a life with her.

she knew you were trained for this. it was a huge factor as to how you’d reached the levels and earned your place in the kingdom—and more importantly, a seat in the great hall where the king and queen, their oldest son, close advisers and commanders, and her, the heir, all gathered. you got there not because your father is one of the king’s trusted advisor, but because you worked for it.

she couldn’t look at you properly that night. couldn’t even face you in the bed as you both laid next to each other, eyes wide open and sleep not planning on visiting your eyelids soon. a lump formed in her throat and her limbs moved before she knew it, propping herself up on her elbows to sit up on the bed, back flushed to the headboard. 

she watched you do the same. watched as you silently sat up next to her, adjusted the covers on top of her to make sure she’s hidden away from the cold. the action oddly spikes annoyance in her.

because how dare you. how dare you have thoughts of leaving the kingdom. leaving her behind to walk men to their demise because of her father’s foolish, ambitious plans that had dragged everyone into its whirlwind? how dare you have those thoughts and not tell her? how dare you ingrain the image of her waking up to an empty side of your bed, of leaving without telling her, just to hear word of your passing in her mind?

how dare you assume she doesn’t know you well enough not to notice.

“will you ever marry me?” 

the question lands flat. your lips parted in a moment of surprise, eyes widening slightly at how blunt she’d been. she looks tired of everything, and rightfully so. she’d been tired of the war, of the stench of male ego to strike up a treaty to stop the killing, and even so of the unnamed and unfinished promise of forever with you.

she doesn’t know how much longer she has you before you tell her you want to go to war.

her eyes tear up, hot tears rolling down her cheeks as you stayed silent, fingers twitching but not reaching out. just watching. just watching as the fabric of her nightgown dampened and grew darker in colour as tears fell. 

she hates how she leans in almost immediately at your touch on her cheek, pressing her face in your palm and god, she’d never been this vulnerable before. she gets why you hate it.

“of course i will.”

“but will you, though? because at this rate, i’m scared that i’ll keep waiting and waiting and waiting for you, and i will, because i love you—and i cherish you more than anything in this world—and that there’ll be a time that’ll come where you won’t—you won’t even be here, because i see it in your eyes. i see how much you want to fight the empire, even if right now, it seems like a lost cause. i see how much you look like you’re ready to choose the kingdom over me and i’m scared because i know that once you put your mind to it, that you will. and i’m scared because i know you have the capability to. and most of all, i’m scared that one day, i’ll wake up and you’re not even going to be here anymore. that you won’t be here to hug me when you know i need it without telling you to, to listen to me ramble on and on about something unnecessary, that you won’t be here when i need you the most. and i’m going to be stuck here, because god knows i cannot and will never find another to love. because you’d carved yourself into every. single. piece. of me. and i’ll never forget you. i don’t ever want to forget you.”

you don’t know when it started. sophia was too busy pouring her heart out to take notice, too, when you started pouring your eyes out. it hadn’t dawned on you, until now, that she’d always be waiting for you to come home, wherever you go, whatever you do. the realisation makes your heart weep.

you grasp her hands, tears streaming down your face just as much as the ones rolling down her flushed cheeks, hot to touch, and kiss her empty ring finger. 

“i promise to you, that when the war ends and we can breathe easily and freely again, that i will marry you. this is my oath to you, my heart, that i will make you my wife the moment i can, and we shall live the rest of our lives together. maybe build a family, even turn the garden much bigger as you wish. we’ll have the rest of our lives to figure out what we’ll do together.”

and sophia finally feels like she could breathe. 

—

you were both twenty-three when things had looked even more grim than before, and twenty-four when you decided that there was no better time than now to enter the battlefield, four years after the war had been declared. 

sophia sat stiffly. you both knew this day would come. it was just a matter of if or when, and you’d picked the day a week before your twenty-fifth birthday. sophia had wanted to spend time with you on your birthday, do as best she could while the kingdom slowly crumbled into shambles, try and focus on something else that wasn’t stained with blood.

but now here you are, dropping the decision on her lap like it wasn’t anything heavy. like you didn’t just tell her that you’ll be off to the thorny battlefield that swam with dead bodies. 

would she really ever have the chance to marry you? to slip the ring in your finger and for you to slip the ring in hers, branding you to have a lifetime of love ahead of you? would she ever see you grow old beside her, all wrinkles and gray hairs, and a tired yet content smile on your lips as you watched your grandchildren—if you somehow manage to have children—run around the garden, otherwise, you’ll be watching either basil or oreo’s grandchildren.

she doesn’t know what was worse, not spending a lifetime with you, or you wrapped in death’s embrace somewhere in a place she couldn’t reach.

she decides its both. because it doesn’t give her you, either way.

SOPHIA’S POV.

you tell me you’re leaving like it’s a simple thing, like the ground won’t open up beneath me the second you’re gone.

i don’t cry anymore. i just sit there, watching you, memorizing every detail—the slope of your shoulders, the way your fingers curl restlessly against your knee, like maybe some part of you is afraid too.

“don’t look at me like that,” you whispered.

but how else am i supposed to look at you? how else am i supposed to let you go?

when you’re gone, the earth will have you. it will hold you tighter than i ever could, wrap you up in its quiet, endless embrace. and i will be left here, hollow, staring at the ground beneath my feet and hating it for having what i lost.

if you must die, i'll envy even the earth that wraps your body.

—--

it had been a week since you’d left for the war. you’d already turned twenty-five.

 your father had struck up a deal with one of the advisors from the empire of eyekonia, and wished to send troops to seek if the empire will hold up their line of the bargain. and the king—after a lot of nagging and persistence on basil’s end—had begrudgingly allowed his eldest son to come with his troops on stand-by beside your own. 

keeho and yunjin looked uneasy and queasy on the way to the empire. the week had gone by quick, and thanks to your expertise and basil’s troops who had served as reinforcements, quickly wiped the enemy troops down, not a single knight sat on their horse unscathed or untouched by stains of blood. you yourself had suffered a deep gash wrapped tightly in bandage.

you stopped your horse just in front of the seemingly barren castle gates of the empire. it was daunting, the beheaded troops of your kingdom sat decomposing on pikes and up for display for everyone to see. you heard somebody retching behind you. basil rides his horse to stand beside yours.

“the sun is setting. we should set up camp near and leave this till the morning. i have a bad feeling about this.” you shook your head at his statement, wanting to get the whole thing done and over with, so you could go home to sophia and celebrate your twenty-fifth with her.

“no, stay here. i’ll go check it out.”

“absolutely not. i’ll come with you.” 

you stared at the eldest royal sibling with furrowed brows, and after coming into terms that he wouldn’t back down, you relented, sighing deeply and hopping off your horse, patting the animal and glancing at yunjin and keeho.

“keeho. come. basil, take four of your men. yunjin, i’ll leave you in charge of the rest, keep an eye out for anything and shout if something happens. we’ll go check what we’re dealing with.”

everything felt wrong. from the moment you, basil, keeho, and four of basil’s men stepped foot in the courtyard with the rest of the forces outside the wide open castle gates, everything felt damn still and wrong.

there were no guards who greeted you. no banners waved. the gates stood open like a mouth waiting to swallow. and the air—god, even the air was dead.

"stay close," you’d muttered, hand never straying from the hilt of your blade.

you didn’t like it. none of you did. but orders were orders. and your fathe had sworn the eyekonian emperor’s closest advisor was loyal to ending the four year long war. she had extended a rare, desperate olive branch: a treaty, drafted in secrecy and sealed with royal insignias.

she was supposed to meet you. and she did.

but when she appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the dining hall, something in your gut coiled. she was too poised. too calm. and her green, sharp eyes lingered on you just a little too long.

still, you followed her. you had no choice but to. for the kingdom and for sophia. through the dust-slick halls that seemed to have not had a single soul clean it since the start of time. through the grand entryway of the dining chamber where a feast had been laid but left untouched. like it was meant for someone else.

you could cut the tension in the air with your sword. basil’s fingers twitched. keeho’s jaw was locked. none of the other men spoke.

"the treaty?" she asked silkily, voice echoing around the stone chamber.

you reached into your coat, pulling the sealed scroll and stepping forward. “from king laforteza. a formal end to the war, by decree of both kingdoms.”

you extended it with care, but she didn’t reach for it.

instead, she smiled.

and in that smile, you saw everything unravel. too fast, too quick. 

too late.

a flash of sophia’s smile glinted behind your eyelids.

“poor child,” she said softly. “you should’ve stayed in your little castle with your little princess.”

before your sword could even clear its sheath, her hand shot forward, sharp and inhumanly fast—metal glinted under her sleeve—

and the blade plunged right through your chest plate.

you gasped as the steel cut through bone and heart and air, the force of it throwing you backwards as your knees buckled.

basil shouted. keeho moved.

the witch barely had time to twist the blade before basil was on her, fury igniting in his veins. he drove his sword through her neck, slicing with such force her body collapsed in a heap of blackened smoke. a whispered “long hail the eyekonian empire!” lingering in the air like a ghost.

you hit the floor hard, breath stuck in your throat, blood pooling beneath you, warmth draining fast from your limbs. you couldn’t breathe, the damage was far too severe for a quick movement, a rather large chasm where you heart laid and the surrounding areas.

coughing blood as it invaded your lungs, your blurry  eyes caught keeho hastily ripping the metal plate covering your chest while the other soldiers screamed for the troops outside to come in, feeling hands pressing to try and regulate the bleeding, even if it was a lost cause.

but the damage was too severe to resolve. blood dripped down your lips, splattering on basil’s chestplate and the kingdom's insignia. him and keeho had looked horrified, like it was hard to believe that you’re here, dying in front of their eyes when you were just fine a few moments earlier. that the years of your life spent in training had gone down the drain with a quick snap of a wrist.

sophia had appeared in your thoughts once more.

sophia, sophia, sophia.

sophia.

you wonder how she’ll react to your foolish decision of rushing things to get home to her. the lapse in your judgement and eagerness to leave costing you your life. she’d have scolded you if you’d lived. mumbling something along the lines of “almost losing my future wife.”

you wonder how she’ll cope. nights spent in utter silence, when usually you’d be there to fill it with soft murmurs of something dumb keeho or yunjin had done while training. you wonder if she could even stomach seeing your empty side of the bed that awaited your return, of the fact that you’d practically broken your promise of marrying her when the war ends. you wonder if she’ll even be able to forgive you.

you’ve broken her heart, her trust, your promise.

you wonder if she’ll marry. you know she won’t, but you wonder if she’ll even consider it. she won’t. you hope she won't.

you feel someone lift you up, eyes droopier by the second. you don’t know how long you’ll last, hanging on by a thread in hopes to have at least the littlest consciousness by the time you arrive at the kingdom. the ride home is at least four days, and you’ve been stabbed through the heart.

sophia, sophia, sophia.

the girl who you’d swore to protect, to stand by her side till the end of time. and in by doing so, you’ve protected her and the kingdom. but at what cost?

she was right. it’ll always be duty that you’ll pick.

—--

the troops arrived a few days later, just before the sun set.

the people gathered in hushed clusters near the gates, whispers trailing behind the guards who bore the burden of grief on their shoulders, despite the victory of the empire and the end of the five year war.

at the very front, a body lay still atop a wooden cart, draped in the laforteza colors—deep navy and silver, lined with the kingdom’s sigil. the cloth covered everything, but it did nothing to hide the shape beneath it. nothing to dull the cold finality of it.

sophia stood at the castle steps, hands clenched at her sides. she didn’t need anyone to speak. didn’t need the confirmation of names or reports or letters from the front.

she knew.

she knew the slope of those shoulders beneath the fabric. knew the way the blade of your nose had always cut sharp and proud, even in rest. she knew the stillness wasn’t sleep—it was silence. finality.

“no,” she whispered, barely audible.

“no.”

no one dared stop her when she stepped down the stairs. not even the guards dared look her in the eye.

she stopped at the cart, breath trembling, heart thudding violently against her ribs as if it could somehow drum you back to life.

“please,” she murmured, to no one and nothing. “please don’t do this.”

her hands lifted, shaking as she reached for the cloth.

and when she peeled it back—

her knees buckled.

a choked sound tore out of her throat. her hand flew to her mouth, as if she could stuff the scream back inside. you were pale. still. lips tinged blue. your armor had been cleaned, but the dent at your chest plate was still there. and your sword—your favorite—rested by your side like it belonged with you in death, too.

sophia dropped to her knees beside the cart, clutching the edge like it could hold her upright. she could hear basil somewhere behind her, voice low and broken as he tried to explain. but she wasn’t listening.

she was supposed to marry you.

you had promised.

and now, the war had taken what even time dared not touch. basil wrapped his arms around her from behind, trying to hold her upright as wails so painful and gut wrenching pierced through the air, your father freezing in place at the sight.

he’d unknowingly lead you to your demise.

you were newly twenty-five when you’d died, and sophia never married. never planned to if it wasn’t you, anyway. she kept sleeping on your side of the bed no matter how painful it was, kept the blood-stained letter found in your pocket framed on the bedside table as a remembrance. kept your sword as a remembrance. kept everything you had as a remembrance.

because she was starting to forget you as time passed. was starting to forget how you felt, how you smiled, how you moved, how you looked at her like she was worth dying for and did. she was starting to forget.

and she wanted to remember.

she wanted to remember everything, down till the last pulses of her heart weakly pumped blood and basil and oreo’s children had gathered around her bed to say goodbye, a privilege you never got to have. she wanted to remember everything down to her last breath, how warm your skin felt beneath her fingertips, memorising and mapping your skin like it was the last thing she’ll ever do.

she never married. until death, she waited for you. waited for ninety years, if it meant coming home to you. she ruled with the strength you left her, carried the weight of the crown like your blood hadn’t been spilled across the kingdom’s soil to make peace possible. 

she turned her pain into purpose, rebuilt a world you could’ve lived in—should’ve lived in—and still, every night, she slept facing your empty side of the bed. made it possible for the end and the start of something new. she died on your side of the bed, your letter addressed to her clutched to her heart. creased, worn, and faded.

“the queen walks beside her knight again.”

a/n. finished in time for beautiful chaos release🙂‍↕️ did not mean to write this long but oh well yall have to deal w this now. will fix thr layout of the pairing nd shit in the morning. this was NAWT proofread ts was long asl im highk not bothered to look for spelling mistakes nd shi💔🥀🥀🥀🥀 ts also took THREE gruelling months to finish🥀🥀🥀 its the reason why the mamma mia updates hv been locked in the basement

masterlist. 1k follower event.

[cookiekat-blogz]

this is going to live rent free in my head forever

We go forward.

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[lieslab]

I've never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: You finally bring up the biggest fear you've been trying to hide from your boyfriend.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.7K

A/N: Someone has been waiting for this for quite a while now. Romantic relationships can be terrifying when they always seem to fall apart, but I like to think that maybe there really is a chosen one and life leads us to them. Requestee, I hope you find that someone that's forever special. Anyway, happy reading <3

_ _ _

“I love you. Every part of you. I don’t think you understand how I feel about you. You ignite something that has never been set ablaze before. I feel like I finally understand what my father meant when he said when I found the one for me, it’d just click. It happened with him and my mom.” 

“You think we click?” You asked. 

“I think we do so much more than click. You know how people say they think the stars align for different reasons? I think the stars aligned and burned brighter. I think the smog couldn’t hide them and the light pollution seemed non-existent.” 

You remained quietly perched on the edge of the roof. It wasn’t the safest place to be. Your legs dangled over the edge and your shoes hung over the window that the two of you climbed out of. Above you, most stars remained hidden in the night sky. 

You and Chan had been dating for a while now. It wasn’t the first time the two of you snuck out of his dorm and it wouldn’t be the last time, either. Maybe it was childish, but you adored it. He always let you go first and he kept his hands stuck out the window, ready to catch you if you ever fell. You hadn’t and you planned to keep it that way. 

The two of you took turns slipping cheddar goldfish crackers out of the bag between the two of you. Chan gushed about you and as much as you wanted to believe his words, you never could. Your past romantic relationships always blew up in your face. They blew up and there was nothing you could do to make it better. 

You fell head over heels, they all said the right things, and then they left. Too immature. Not ready for commitment. They fell out of love. You became boring. You never understood it and you didn’t know why it occurred. What part of you was boring? 

On the first date with Chan, you built up a glass wall between the two of you. You tried to pretend everything was fine, but deep down, you always had doubts. They sprouted when the relationship started, they kept growing as you progressed. 

You wanted to be happy. You wanted to believe him. You wanted everything to turn out right, let the stars remain perfectly aligned, but you never believed his words. He gushed about you now with hand gestures and light in his eyes, but what about a month from now? Three months? Six months? Certainly, by then, you’d bore him, too. 

Maybe some people aren’t meant to be loved. Perhaps, they go through their lives being the side-kick. The one to cheer people up and make them happy, but to never experience the longevity of love. People come and go, stories change, and responsibilities switch. 

You loved Chan in a way you’d never loved someone before. You appreciated the tender touches, the way he always looked out for you. When you walked outside after it rained, he kept his hand placed along the small of your back. Before you could open your car door, he’d jerk around you with a meek smile and open your car door for you. 

When you woke up groggy and tired, he’d kiss your forehead before bending down and tightly lacing your shoes. That’s the type of guy Chan was. He didn’t complain and each small task he helped you with, it was never a problem. He wanted to be there and help you. It’d never feel like a problem. 

Being with you was as easy as breathing. Even when the two of you were quite a distance up in the air, it still felt right. He didn’t fear falling and neither did you. Swaddled in your gaze with the warmth of your thigh against his, his worries melted away. Love squelched from the pores in his heart. How is it possible for a single person to make another feel this way? 

Time stopped with you. He hoped it remained like this forever. Time wasted away to quiet conversations and secrets that only the moon could hear. You didn’t complain when he tucked the bag of goldfish between his legs. He leaned over and let his head lean against your shoulder. “You’re quiet tonight.” 

“You noticed?” 

“I think I can always notice when something is wrong with you. Wanna talk about it?” 

You glanced over at the bag of goldfish crackers in his lap. “Did you know the goldfish cracker was invented by a man that loved his wife? She was a Pisces and he made them for her as a birthday present.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. That’s why they’re in the shape of a fish. He loved her to the point of invention. He made more, the word spread, and eventually, goldfish crackers were born.” 

“I think that’s beautiful.” 

“Goldfish crackers are fragile.” You leaned over, grabbed one out of the bag, and held it up. “Just like hearts, if you move the right way–” Your fingers squeezed and the flaky orange cracker crumbled into bits. It fell between your fingers and fell to the ground below. “You’re left with bits and pieces that can’t go back together.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Have you ever had a romantic relationship that you’ve yet to fully recover from?” 

His eyebrows furrowed and he pulled away from you. “Yeah, maybe at one point, but not now. I’m with you and when I’m with you, you’re all I’m thinking about. It’s never anyone else. Are you–” 

“It’s not like that, Chan. It’s not like I’m still in love with someone, god, no.” Your head shook rapidly and you ran a hand through your hair. You glanced up, staring at the pale underbelly of the moon. “I don’t love my exes anymore, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid that one day you’ll end up as one of my exes.”

He studied you, trying to understand. You refused to look at him. “When I fell in love with each of my exes, I finally thought I found the one. Marriage, a family, and whatever else. Each time, they left. They said they weren’t ready. The one called me boring and he said he wasn’t in love with me anymore.” 

You finally moved your head, looking down at him. “What if that happens to us? I really love you, Chan. I’m terrified that what we have now will be a faded memory one day. I try to be brave and pretend like I’m okay, but I’m terrified. I’m not brave and I know I shouldn’t think like that. I shouldn’t be selfish and if you ever decide to leave one day, I have to be okay with that.” 

“It’s not selfish to want love. Not ever. It’s not selfish to want to be with someone that lights up the sky and brightens your darkest day. That’s not selfish, it’s basic human desire.” He reached forward, gently taking your chin. 

“You have nothing to apologize for. Some people are so brutal and even if they don’t mean to, their actions and words leave scars.” He reached up with a thumb, gently brushing against one of your cheek bones. “Admitting this isn’t foolish, it’s bravery.” 

“I’m here with you because I want to be. I might be busy and I have a career, but I’m here because I want you. I’m not interested in breaking your heart and walking away, I want to love you for a long time.” A faint smile quipped up on the side of his mouth. “Forever, if you’ll let me.” 

“I really want to believe you,” you whispered. 

“You don’t have to believe me right now, but I’ll do whatever I can do to prove it to you.” He slung an arm over your shoulder and you let your head fall against his shoulder. 

“I know it’s a bit uncalled for, but maybe I’m a little glad they gave you up. I’ll treat you like a flower and keep you captive. I’ll make sure you stay hydrated with water and nurture you with kisses.” 

You couldn’t respond. He pressed his lips to the side of your temple and you blushed. “It feels really nice to get that out of my system.” 

“I bet it does. Screw them, you’re mine now. If they want to come back, they’re going to have to get lost. You snooze, you lose, or whatever they say. I can’t believe they gave up on this. Goldfish crackers on the roof and the stars.” 

“To be fair, the one was afraid of heights and the other lived in a place where the roof wasn’t accessible.” 

“Are you saying–”He leaned closer and his warm breath brushed against your ear. “I’m your first bad boy.” 

“Bad boy?” You laughed. “Chan, you’re like a giant teddy bear.” 

“Teddy bears don’t encourage their significant others to climb roofs. Just admit it, I’m the first bad boy that stole your heart.” 

“You're such a goofball.” 

“A bad boy goofball. I can’t wait to unlock your phone when you sleep and change my contact name.” 

“Huh?” 

He briefly glanced over and shrugged. “Well, it’s gotta get done somehow.” 

You chuckled and leaned back against his shoulder. You sucked in a deep breath and glanced up at the sky. “We should probably go inside.” 

“Or we could stay out here until this bag of goldfish is empty.” He grabbed another one and held it up to you. Your lips parted, he gently slipped it between them, and you consumed it. 

“Can we?” 

“You don’t have to ask twice.” 

The two of you remained perched on the edge of the roof. Your legs dangled and you entertained the moon with stories. At one point you laughed so hard while chewing crackers, a piece came out your nose, causing Chan to accidentally drop the bag down below. You shared a wide-eyed look before the two of you burst into another fit of laughter. Surrounded by stars, head-over-heels in love, you didn’t want it to end. 

Whether it lasted for a brief moment, or a lifetime, you had no doubt you’d come back to this moment and laugh at the memory all over again.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike @bokkiesluv @phinnyphinnegan @zayn-210

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Ko-fi

[celli-ohs]

i'll wait here tomorrow (teaser)

pairing: choi soobin x reader

genre: collegeau!, parenthoodau!, angst, nsfw, fluff

previous: and then i'll leave without a trace

synopsis: from the moment you two made eye contact he hasn't been the same. it's like you've got him completely under your spell, not that he was complaining. when he wants to be more than a stranger in your bed you push him further away. choi soobin has what it takes to be your lover and more, he's sure of it. but after all he's done for you, was it worth all the pain and frustration?

warnings: mentions of drinking alcohol, intoxication, foul language, stds and other sexual diseases, depression, postpartum depression, parenting struggles, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, sex while inebriated, sex while pregnant, oral sex (m&f receiving), and breeding kink

note: omg here's the long awaited teaser for part 2!! this is for me to create a taglist, so please comment/reply to be added when the full length gets released! happy reading!

comment/reply for taglist!! ✗♡✗♡

There’s something that makes Soobin’s stomach flip as he watches you make yourself comfortable in his childhood room. 

You’re fresh from the shower, drying your hair with your towel as you wear an old large pair of sweats and a long sleeve. Both of them were his. 

“You might want to hurry if you want hot water,” You warn him, standing in front of his mirror. “The water was getting a little cold as I finished.”

Soobin hates cold showers with a passion, but he doesn’t mind suffering from them if it means he gets to see you like this.

So instead of hurrying to the bathroom, he pats the empty space beside him on his old bed for you to sit. You don’t hesitate to plop down next to him, letting him take the towel from your hands as Soobin begins to gently dry your hair for you. 

With your back to him, he thinks your eyes are closed, enjoying the quiet serene moment. That is until you speak up.

“So,” You hum. “When were you going to tell me you have a furry fetish?”

Soobin drops the towel. “What?!”

You raise your hand and point across the room. On his wall was a hung poster of his favorite girl group Kara, the members all posing as each one of them is wearing a variant of animal ears and fuzzy matching gloves.

Soobin physically spins you around to face him, you give him a teasing grin. “I don’t- It’s a poster! I got it for free when I was a kid, leave me alone!” He complains as you begin to laugh. 

As he pouts, you stand to hang your wet towel on his old desk chair. “I’m just joking with you, I know,” You chuckle and stand between sulky Soobin’s legs to pull him into a hug. He gratefully does so, resting his head atop your tummy. You run a hand through his hair, the other one rubs small circles into his back.

Soobin closes his eyes and sighs. He loved being close with you like this, a fantasy he wishes he could live in forever.

“Your nephew’s really cute,” You say, but it’s so quiet it’s practically a whisper.

Soobin hums in agreement, eyes still closed as he listens intently to the sounds of your womb and growing son. “He’s funny too, kept poking my belly earlier.” You giggle. He feels the baby kick as you laugh. 

There’s a new unique sense of comfort and familiarity as you cradle him. 

Soobin cracks his eyes open, taking in the scene: the room he grew up in, lit by the dull yellowing light of his lamp. The quiet hum of the A/C unit blowing warm air throughout the house. Your soft skin and the gentle smell of your santal body wash. It all seems too good to be true.

Your right hand moves from his hand down to cup his chin. You gently guide him to face you, peering up at you like a curious puppy. And to him you’re an angel heaven sent.

“Come on, go shower so we can go to bed.” You say delicately, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes.

Soobin frowns, but stands up anyways. He often forgets how much taller he is compared to you. He doesn’t exactly keep a record of it. But he towers over you, your head tilted up to look at him curiously.

His hand comes up to caress your cheek and he leans down to kiss you.

It’s unlike any other kiss you two have shared, where sex is usually involved and made of raw lust. This kiss was innocent, full of endearment and vulnerability. A simple kiss to convey his true feelings.

You kiss him back with the same vehemence and Soobin feels hopeful.

[iwtv-theories]

The names of IWTV characters and their symbolic significance (analysis)

1. Claudia (and her nicknames):

-Claudia is a beautiful name that roughly translates to the offensive term : “cr*ppled.” Something Lestat calls claudia: “14 forever , she’d be a cr*pple.” The coven also tells Claudia , “children” & "the cr*ppled" are not allowed to be turned.Many fans have already mentioned Claudia’s arc being a metaphor for disability & abelism.

As unlike other vampires , she can not turn anyone on her own (due to her size), and is often infantilized and demeaned by others due to her body. We also have the coven cause lulu to develop a limp in the play, this furthers the disability allegory (as claudia derives from the name Claudius meaning 'to limp'). In addition to this , Claudia is based off of AR’s daughter who passed away due to a physical illness.

-Lestat calls Claudia “milk weed “ and a “belladonic beauty.” Both milk weeds and belladonna are poisonous plants . And this foreshadows Claudia poisoning the blood that Lestat drinks at the end of season 1.

- puce (flea): flea is obviously a metaphor for vampirism . “fleas are blood-sucking parasites that use their sharp mouthparts to pierce the skin of their hosts “. But what’s interesting is , in France, calling someone “puce “ is considered a term of endearment . ‘Ma puce’ literally translates to "my flea" but is roughly equivalent to calling someone : “honey," “pumpkin”, “sweetie pie “, or "sweetie”. “In French , it’s most often used as a term of endearment for CHILDREN, especially young girls.” Which not only greatly changes the context of the coven calling her this, but it certainly foreshadows the infantilization that the coven does later on (via the play). Before the reveal, Santiago calls Claudia "puce" & a "moppet." moppet is british slang for a "child/young girl'. They were all infantilizing her long before the play (but due to language/regional differences it went over the audience's, and perhaps Claudia's head).

- Lulu: Lulu has various meanings such as 'famous warrior' & 'light'. Before dying via light she states she will kill all responsible and sings the baby lulu song (showing her warrior-esque nature even in the end). It also signifies how Madeleine perceived Claudia as her "light". Claudia states if she gets scared during her turning, 'to look at the light and listen to (her) voice.' Why we see Madeleine perceive Claudia in an 'impossible afternoon light' (overlayed with the headlight Claudia previously told Madeleine to look at if she got scared).

-Lulu is also the feminine version of the name Louis : perhaps this illustrates that similar to Armand forcing Claudia into this infantilizing baby-lulu role. 'Daddy Lu' was inadvertently similar because (by convincing Lestat to turn her) he forced Claudia to be infantilized for all eternity! Like Claudia said the Lulu-costume is just “a REMINDER of every night of (her) existence… being trapped in the body of a little girl.” She can never truly take off the costume and be free . She will always be in an infantilized body - "she lives in it, breathes in it, feeds in it, hunts in it-off stage".

-Also,the names Louis, Lulu, and Armand all roughly translate to “warrior or soldier “ perhaps hinting at how all 3 were constantly butting heads with one another .

2. Armand (and his many names):

-Arun roughly translates to “the first ray of sunlight”, "sunrise", or “dawn” - a reference to his ability to go out into the sun even as a vampire.Arun (in Hinduism was affiliated with the Hindu sun/fire god) . “Arun's role was to manage and mitigate the sun's intensity, making it bearable for the world.”

The story of Arun/Aruna also had a subplot of placing a family member into slavery for “500 years of servitude”. Similar to (show) Armand's background.

-Amadeo (is an Italian name meaning “lover of god”- aka as a human he loved Marius like he would love a god. And, he was also the LITERAL “lover” to said ‘god’). Saint Amadeo of Italy was “renowned for his ardent love of god “. He founded the catholic ‘servite order’ . Servite is latin for servant . Servites make solemn vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience (*pretty much his time in the ‘children of Satan‘ where they served god via satan). Marius not only renamed him Amadeo, but referred to him as a “saint”. “Saint-Amadeo died in Italy, and in Catholic art, saint Amadeo, is often portrayed holding a FLAMING heart (cough more fire symbolism). “

-Armand (is the French saint of “hospitality and food/alcohol”). Armand to Daniel : “it was rude, you’re a guest in our home.” Orchestrates a 7 course meal for him with wine . And even Daniel admits Armand can make an amazing drink. Armand also was shown feeding a human hostage at the theatre , and he chose a target to kill because they profited off starving Parisians. And Saint-Armand was also a saint to boys: so if the show has him save 12y old Benji (also pretty apt) .

It’s certainly not a coincidence that in the books : when Armand was a child many priests thought he was a “saint”, then Marius often compared him to a “fallen saint”, and later the children of darkness also called him a “saint.”

-Rashid : Remember how Lestat said vampires are “gods”? Ar-Rashid is one of the 99 names for Allah, and Daniel even asked Armand how many names there were for Allah… so it was 100% intentional by the writers). In Islam, the 99 names of Allah describe the 99 different attributes about him. Similar to all of Armand’s aliases /names representing a part of him. “Ar- Rashid “ represents Allah being a “teacher” : Armand teaching Louis the fire gift, Armand telling Lestat he can “teach” him about vampirism, Armand telling Louis they can be “teachers to one another” , and Armand demanding Daniel “teach him how to be fascinating” . Maitre is also a common title for a “teacher" , in France. Ar-Rashid can also translate to "director" ("he didn't witness the play he directed the play!").

Rashid is also often used as a personal name with the prefix "Abd" (meaning ‘servant of’). Armand (as Rashid) pretended to be a servant to a vampiric god , instead of Allah: “I serve a god.It’s my honor to serve .” It’s probably symbolical that despite Armand’s god like powers (because of his background) he still has some subservient tendencies . Or sadly , when he pretends to be a human he jumps to what was normalized to him by Marius: serving an unholy vampiric god with slavish devotion, doing sexual things in front of house guests, and being used as a blood bag… because that’s what he was taught to do. What’s interesting is Ar-Malik is also one of the 99 names of Allah. And Armand kills Malik . Malik is a title meaning “lord” , “master”, or “owner “👀 ( if in the future he wants to kill his “god/master” Marius I won’t be opposed ).

3. Madeleine

In German Madeline can translate to “ young girl” (possibly alluding to her connection with Claudia , and within the show universe it could illustrate their dynamic as equals).

We also see they’re equals in the fact that Eparvier (her surname) means “sparrowhawk “ (a type of bird ). She’s similar to Claudia , who is also compared to a bird on many occasions . In the play, baby lulu dies as she mimics a bird flying . In s1, Lestat says to Claudia that European vamps will kill her because she’s built “like a bird”. Claudia in s1 lays in a coffin called the “bird’s nest.” Madeline before her turning even tells Claudia : “I love this song, ‘my heart is an island bird.” The 2 being compared to birds , sadly foreshadows the coven killing them. But it also signifies Madeleine's 'love' for Claudia (the 'bird'). The song Madeleine loves & quotes is sung by an American-Creole singer who became famous in Paris (similar to Claudia at the theatre).

3. Louis

Lestat: " Your name is Louis, of course it's Louis... I had planned to make a new life for myself in Saint Louis (the city). That was to be my destiny. And now I know I was right! Only it turns out the Saint is not a city, but a handsome man ."

This is one of the reasons Lestat calls Louis the pet name "saint Louis" (to show his devotion towards him, and to illustrate Lestat’s belief Louis is his “destiny”).

-Louis (whose Creole family comes from wealth) was nicknamed the “prince of the quarter" & his businesses are described as an "empire" . “Louis was a common name among French royalty and was often used as the name of first born heirs(such as Ldpdl)”.

-Louis translates to “famous warrior" or "renowned in battle". We see Louis initially catch lestat’s eye due to this quality. And although Louis probably would prefer to just chill out and read a book. He is indeed good in battle : taking out the French coven by himself , and in the s2 finale essentially saying to the entire vampire community that he’ll fight all of them if they attack him first.

-Similar to the names of Louis’ siblings : Paul and Grace (his name also has catholic roots as well) . Lestat calls him “Saint Louis” . “saint louis implemented reforms in France aimed at establishing a more just and fair legal system, and outlawing outdated and unjust practices. “ Which, ironically , our Louis … didn’t get the benefit of for his trial in Paris.

4. Daniel

The name Daniel has its origins in the Bible. The biblical-Daniel had frightening dreams and visions that unveiled hidden truths (hmm...that sounds familiar).

Daniel 7:15 , “As for me, Daniel, my spirit was distressed within me, and the visions in my mind kept alarming me. “ If past d.m did happen he'll most likely continue to have visions & dreams that alarm him (and that reveal hidden truths). Also, if the rumors are true that Daniel relapses in s3- the dreams/visions may be harder to interpret and trippy (similar to the trippy/abstract biblical visions Daniel saw) .

-The biblical Daniel also famously survived the night being thrown into a lion’s den (which I mean …being trapped in a room full of mentally ill vampires is probably similar to that) . lets' see how Daniel deals with being trapped in the den of Mr. LION-court in s3😆.

-“The name Daniel also symbolizes the belief in divine justice, wisdom, courage, and steadfastness in the face of adversity.” (Pretty much our Daniel: no matter the obstacle he’s always steadfast and courageous when it comes to exposing a story).

-The prefix of the name Daniel, aka Dan also means “judge”. It’s certainly interesting that the fake-judges at the trial cause so much of Louis' trauma . And Daniel (the judge) helps Louis to a certain degree move on from the trial.

5. Lestat

According to the writer his name was supposed to be Lestan (as a reference to her husband Stan). And in the books Lestat was an anagram : and each letter of his name was the first letter of one of his brothers. In the books, Lestat says his name is “meaningless “. Lestat is possibly derived from the Old French word "estat," meaning "state" or "status”. Lestat in the books is called a “prince” and was a human nobleman . But, his noble status was infact “meaningless “ because he grew up in poverty. Lestat is of both French and Italian descent . L'estate" is the Italian word for "summer" or "summertime" , and is associated with “warmth.” Show Lestat gets emotional thinking about the “warmth of summer”, and it’s going be revealed he can also go out in the sun and be able to tolerate its heat (most likely in s3) .

[c0tt0ncandi]

💜 A Sunday Kinda Love.💜

Hey y'all!! So Sinners has temporarily pulled me out of retirement. Forgive my writing I'm a little rusty.

Parings: Stack x OC feat. Smoke x Annie.

Word count: A Lot. 😭

Warning: Just a 🤏🏽 Mary shade, protective Smoke, and Annie being perfect per usual. Pretty fluffy. It's a pretty long one shot so I'd grab a blanket and something to snack on.

A/N: I wrote and edited this on my phone so PLEASE forgive any mistakes or weird spacing. Please don't steal my picture or story. I worked really hard on this and I hope you guys love it. 🫶🏽 I'm really sensitive y'all so be kind. Please?! 🙏🏽😭

Summary: Stack is looking for love, but can he find what his brother has? The women he's interested in just aren't cutting it and he's not sure if "sweet" is quite what he's looking for yet. Or is it?

Lena walked home from the market in her yellow dress and two braids laid against her scalp on a breezey April day. Spring was her favorite time of year. She loved being outside and leaving her windows open while she read her favorite books or napped. Others called her crazy for leaving her windows opened, but the breeze flowing in between her curtains was relaxing and kept her cool. Besides Lena's place was protected by her friend Annie's magic. She sometimes traded her pastries for protection. That's all Lena really wanted. No money spells and no love spells. Nothing more than protection and safety for her and her home.

It was just Lena so it wasn't that smart to leave the windows opened, but as of now she was safe living alone with nobody, but her, Annie's protection, and her baseball bat.

Lena took a seat at an empty park bench in front of a pond and put her bags down next to her. She had two chapters left in the book and she just had to finish it. The walk home was probably seven minutes away from the park and twenty from the market, but she didn't mind taking a quick reading break today.

"Aye one of these days someone is going to rock your shit and I can't help you. Stack your mouth is going to get you in trouble and so is fucking married women!" Smoke hollard at his brother as he furiously drove to his and Annie's house. His brother was definitely a ladies man, but he took it too far. A good woman was hard to find so taking one from a man that went in front of the congregation and said I do is a death sentence in his eyes. If anyone even stepped to Annie or attempted to talk to his wife he had no qualms of shooting him right then and there. He's done it before and he'll do it again.

Stack sucked his teeth as he brushed his brother off. "Ain't no nigga steppin' to me about shit. Especially not about his bitch."

His brother shot a look at him before focusing back on the road. "Keep calling them bitches especially field bitches and imma knock yo ass out myself. Our mama was a black woman in the field too so you disrespect them you disrespecting her. Another thing if they bitches why you keep fucking them and riskin' your life for some already owned pussy?"

"You preachin' this bullshit to me while you got someone to lay in bed with. Spend your nights and mornins with, cook for you, suck your dick, and live happily ever after with! What do I got, huh?!"

"Nigga I should bust you upside yo' head. You look for sex not a relationship! You look for temporary not forever. You look for those loose girls that want what you want and get mad when they get you before you can get them! I'm surprised yo dick ain't burning right now."

"Well my bad brother. Not everyone can find their forever at 15." Stack sucked his teeth as he looked at his surroundings passing by.

"Every fuckin' excuse in the mother fuckin' book."

Silence rang louder than the engine on their way home.

"I want you to find your own Annie. Not that white skinned broad either. Fucking with her will get yo black ass lynched. They don't give a fuck that she's got that one drop of nigger. She looks like them and she lives like them."

Stack shook his head. "She don't know the word no. Plus her ass can't cook. She turned her nose up to collard greens and measured her sugar for sweet tea."

They both broke the tension with a shared laugh.

Lena had finished her book and it was the perfect ending. The guy got the girl and they lived a happy life after. It was everything she wanted and more. Lena walked home with a smile and a new tune playing in her heart. She couldn't wait to get home and put some music on while she soaked in the bathtub.

As she was walking home a red Model T came zooming past her. Now Lena was a sturdy girl, but they almost knocked her over with the speed they were going. Lena collected her balance and continued walking home.

Stack's head flew back to the thick brown skinned woman in yellow walking by. He wanted Smoke to stop the car, but his brother had just lectured him about woman so he kept his mouth shut. Hopefully he would run into her when he was by himself. She was mighty fine and plenty thick and he didn't want Smoke to blow it for him.

Lena woke up to the sound of birds chirping, her fan slowly blowing, and car horns going off miles away. She stretched out her arms and sat up as she expressed her gratitude for waking up today. Hopeful for a good day Lena got up and headed to the restroom to start her day.

Stack rolled his eye and squeezed the pillow over his ears. No breakfast, no talking, no good morning just Annie's moans and a squeaky headboard. He was happy for his brother, but damn. Every morning? He wanted his own Annie. She was his brother's world. It would sometimes dawn on him that she was his other half. Sure sometimes it made him jealous because as a twin that should've his role, but that was the point of finding your soulmate and partner, right?

He got himself ready for the morning. As he was leaving the bathroom a glowing Annie walked out in a robe with his brother following behind her. He on the other hand looked like she gave him the ride of his life. Tank top was slightly ripped, lips swollen, and a bit of a limp.

Stack wanted to be jealous and mad about it, but he couldn't do anything but laugh. "She to' yo ass up!" His head dropped back with laughter as Annie tucked her head away into Elijah's neck.

Elijah wrapped his arms around his wife and shrugged with a small smile. "Worked me up an appetite. I'm starvin." He groaned into her ear before placing a slap to her ass.

Stack walked into the kitchen and shook his head. "Y'all real annoyin'."

Lena had her hair out. She noticed the aftermath of taking the braids out caused cute chunky curls to frame her face. She slipped her earrings in and put on her white sneakers. She had thrifted a cute red and white polka dotted dress that stopped above her ankles, an anklet that she made with old earrings and cute trinkets sat on her ankle. She threw on a little lipstick and rubbed her body down with some butters that she made herself. Lena grabbed her satchel, keys, and a new book that she started on last night and she headed out the door.

Lena needed to grab a few things from Grace and to return a book today to the library. Just a walk a few minutes shy of twenty minutes.

"Hey Lena!" The older gentleman a few minutes from her house greeted as he took his hat off to address the young woman. "I have some extra apples from my tree. Do you mind cooking me up a pie? I got whatever ingredients you needen to make it."

"No problem, Mr. Willie. When do you need it?" She asked never stopping her stride.

"No rush! Sunday morning after church would be perfect though."

"Throw in a few squash and a head of cabbage and I'll make you two pies. That sound good?"

"Sounds good to me. I'll drive them to your house later on today."

"I'll be back. Heading into town. Probably gonna stop by Chow's. Y'all need anything?" Stack asked as he fixed his hair and adjusted his cuff links.

"What you want for dinner tonight?" Annie asked as she handed Smoke his plate.

"Don't really matter to me long as it's meat and potatoes."

Annie shook her head with a smile. "Pot roast it is."

"With Sweet tea?"

"Anything for you Elias."

"Love you, sis!" He shouted before he headed out the door.

Lena left the library and was headed to Chow's to grab some material from Grace. Grace wanted her to make a skirt for her and Lisa this week. Lena loved working for them because they always paid well and brought her customers. The flowers in their store were from her garden. She brought some by every week. If they needed help she was usually the first person they called. If not her then it was Annie.

Lena didn't have a 9-5, but she worked just about every day. If she wasn't doing it for money it was for food or items. If someone needed help delivering a baby they called her. If someone was hurt or injured they'd usually come to her. Alterations? Flowers? Baked goods? She was the go to girl. That was also the reason many people didn't mess with her. You never bite the hand that feeds you.

"Hey, girl!" Grace greeted as she finished up with a customer.

"Hey, Lisa." Lena greeted the young girl with a smile after hugging Grace. Lisa didn't smile much, but she always smiled at and gave Lena a hug.

"Did you bring me somethin'?" She asked quietly so her mother couldn't hear.

"You already know I did." The sweet woman whispered and snuck the little girl two big chocolate chip cookies wrapped in brown parchment paper.

"Thank you!" She squealed. Her head turned towards the window and her lips perched at the sight of a tall man in red walking into her dad's shop.

"Lisa," Grace called and nudged her head towards the register. Grace walked from behind the counter and took Lena to the back.

As Stack was talking to Bo his head turned at the site of a woman with a fitted mini skirt walk in.

Bo hit his friend's shoulder and shook his head. "That's MRS. Suzette. Married to THE "one punch" Theodore."

Stack sucked his teeth. "What you do talk to Smoke? I'm just lookin'."

"That man that LOOKED at Annie got shot in the knee. These men are serious about their wives."

"You'd shoot for Grace?"

"If you even have to ask I'm not showing her enough love." Bo replied. "You need to talk to Grace's friend. She's real sweet and is a great cook."

"Ion know if I'm ready for sweet." He replied as he adjusted his collar and looked around.

It was Bo's turn to suck his teeth. "That's your problem. You keep finding someone to wet your whistle and that's it. There's more to a partner than sex. Find someone that builds you up and is there through thick and thin. Doesn't get tired of seeing your face everyday. The person you run to for comfort and vice versa. Someone you trust with your entire life. That's what Sweet gets you."

"You point her in my direction and I'll dip my tongue in it."

"Toe! The expression is toe, fool!" He playfully shoved his friend's shoulder.

Stack laughed as he placed his toothpick in his mouth.

"I'll bring these back to you by Saturday. Bye Grace. Bye Lisa."

The little girl waved as she got ready to cash out a customer.

Lena walked home with material in her bag and a few chocolates in hand. She strutted home with a tune in her head and a pep in her step.

"This girl you talking about. What she look like?" Stack asked as he picked at a few grapes that were on ice.

"She's a stacked one. Hourglass, brown eyes, and she always smells real good. She lives like 20 minutes away. She might be with Lisa now. Peak ya head in and see if she in there. She's supposed to be making them some dresses or something!" Bo shouted as Stack headed out of the door.

Stack headed across the street on a mission to see if said woman was still there. He was always allowed into the Chow's establishment, but her shop was mostly white people and it was usually frowned upon to have a black man shop with them. Stack really ain't give a damn.

"Grace, your thick friend still here?"

Grace rolled her eyes. "Who Lena?" Her eyes widened at the realization. "Hell no. You leave her alone. She's way too good for you. She's got her head on straight. She's not one of your whores." Grace put on a smile as one of her customers asked her a question. "Ten cents." She turned her head back to Stack and started pushing him out of her store. "She already left. If you see her leave her alone. Bye Stack."

Stack snatched an apple from her stand before heading back to his car.

As he was driving he took his knife out and tried to cut his apple. He looked up last minute and swerved to avoid hitting a large rock in the road causing him to cut his hand open. "Shit!" As he looked over he saw the same girl from yesterday walking in a red dress today. "Ooohwee it must be my lucky day!" He looked at his hand " Almost lucky. This can wait" and immediately stopped his car for her

Lena was almost at her house probably less than ten minutes away when she saw that same red Model T car zooming past her only this time it swerved and abruptly stopped ahead. It started to back up and she saw a man turn to her. He was very handsome. Hair was neat, had a beautiful smile, nice brown eyes, and a fancy suit. His arms filled out the jacket very nicely too. He wasn't anyone she'd ever seen before, but he was a good looking man.

"Good evenin'." Stack greeted with a nod.

"Evenin'." Lena greeted sweetly.

"Where you headed? This is the second day I've seen you walking. You must live close by, no?"

Her head cocked to the side as she tried to read him. "I might. This your second time seein' me? You ain't say nothin' to me the first time so why now? I wasn't good enough to stop for yesterday?" She teased.

He nervously chuckled his hand still bleeding. "No. My brother was actually driving and refused to stop." He reached over to open the door for her to get in.

Wary, she stepped back with hesitation. Although he was good looking she didn't know him. As soon as Lena was going to decline she noticed his hand was bleeding. "Your hand. That's a lot of blood. You need to put some pressure on it before you bleed out."

"Oh this?" He said as he lifted his hand "Naw it ain't that bad."

She hopped in and ripped an extra piece of fabric off that she had in her purse and wrapped it around his hand. "Put some pressure on it and move over." Lena hovered her body over his to get in the driver's seat as he moved underneath her.

He bit his lip and dropped his head back at the feeling of her ass brushing up against him. She was too focused on getting him bandaged up that she didn't even notice.

Lena hadn't driven in over a year, but she remembered how to do it. For the most part. "I'm takin you to my house to fix your cut. Is that okay?"

"Yeah." He was feeling a little faint. "Got anything to drink? Anything to eat?"

"You feelin weak?" She quickly handed him her purse. "I have some chocolates. We're almost home. Just snack on that until I can get you some water."

After a few more minutes they reached her house. She stopped the car and turned it off before getting out. She grabbed her bags and headed to the door with Stack following behind.

They headed in the house and she immediately grabbed some water, an apple turnover, and her first-aid kit. "Here have a seat. Eat this first."

He quickly took a bite and was taken by surprise. "These real good." He complimented as she pulled a chair up to him and took his hand in hers. "You got some soft hands and smell good, too. Sweet."

"Thanks I made them this morning." She ignored the other two compliments. She was here to help not sweet talk with him.

"They're good. Did you hear what I said about,"

"You ought to be mo' careful. Why was your knife out while you were drivin anyways?" Lena interrupted.

"Ummm I was eating my apple."

"Eatin' and drivin'? Sounds awful dangerous especially with how fast you drive."

"I wasn't going that, OUCH!" Stack flinched and pulled back.

"Don't be a baby. A big strong man like ya self squealin over some alcohol?" She lowered her head to his hand that sat on his lap and gently blew on his cut. Lena gazed up at him as he looked down at her.

His eyes dark and focused on her.

"Better?" She asked above a whisper.

"Y- yeah." His eyes watched as she efficiently and delicately stitched him up.

She hummed a soft lullaby as she grabbed a bandage and a pair of scissors. Lena clipped at the extra stitching and followed up with a secure bandage. "There. You all stitched up." She finished with a satisfied smile. Her eyes big and soft. Safe.

"Thanks." His hand still in hers.

Stack felt something but didn't know what he was feeling. He was happy. He was in awe. He was calm, but turned on, but not like usual. He wanted to get to know her. To be around her. She had him mesmerized.

He looked around the house and although it was small and filled with a lot personality it was neat. "Looks like you're a jack of all trade. Mind me askin what you do?"

Lena wiped her hands off and closed the kit. "If you askin what my title is I don't have one. I just do a little bit of everything for everyone. Little Lisa? I helped deliver her. Those flowers you always seein' at Bo's stores? They from my garden'. I do just about everything, but fix cars." She confessed with a giggle as she crossed her legs in front of him.

"Don't worry about that. I'm mighty handy when it comes to some wheels. I didn't see a car when we pulled up tho."

"I don't own one. Ain't no point. I don't go no further than the market." She poured two glasses of sweet tea and brought it to him.

"Thank you." He took a sip and he couldn't help but shake his head.

Lena's eyes widened at his reaction. She had the best tea on this side of town and she never heard anyone complain.

He pulled the tea back to examine it as a big smile spread across his face. "Probably the best damn tea I've ever had, but don't tell my sister Annie that."

Lena cocked her head to the side and stopped making the sandwiches to look up at him. "Annie? Moore?"

He chuckled and stood to his feet to walk over to her. "Married my brother 8 years ago. Been in our lives for 12. How you know her?"

She closed the bread to the sandwich and cut it in half. "I buy protection from her."

"You believe in it?" He asked as she handed him a plate.

"I believe in Annie. I believe she don't put her name on anything crazy. Her work been keepin' me out harms way."

Stack couldn't argue with that. She kept him and his brother protected while away at war. Hell kept him safe from some of these jealous husbands too.

He took a bit of the sandwich and stood in front of her shorter thick frame. "I should probably ask, do you have a husband?"

Lena leaned back against her table and took a bite. She shook her head. "Don't need one."

Stack chuckled, but stopped when he noticed her raise a brow.

"What's funny?"

He shook his head and wiped his mouth. "Nothin'. Just thinkin' what if someone break in? Havin' a man will protect you."

"Annie protects my home every month and the good Lord protects me everyday." She crossed her arms and looked up at him.

He smiled. "Okay. What if somethin' break?"

"My daddy taught me how to fix things. If I can't fix it Mr. Willie up the street has no problem helpin' me."

"Can't reach somethin'?"

"It's my home. I ain't puttin' somethin' somewhere I can't reach." She quipped with a small smile.

"Somethin' heavy? I'm pretty sure when you go out you need someone to help carry heavy things for you."

"I've always made a way." Lena replied.

"What about sex?" He inquired as he finished his sandwich and stepped closer.

"Sex ain't that important to me. I can handle some of that on my own." Lena replied with a raised brow. "Everything you sayin' I can find a way. Is that all you think you good fo'?" She asked. It was her turn to step closer to him. "Sex and heavy lifting?"

"And protection." He said slightly embarrassed by his answer.

"Baby, if I get a man. A husband" she said as a matter of fact. "I want him to know his worth in this world. Yes my husband can fix, lift, and lick things for me, but is he going to be there for me when I'm ill? Rub my feet when I'm pregnant? Will he support my temporary hobbies that I randomly pick up from time to time? If I'm too tired to cook is he going to make a big fuss about it or is he going to get straight to it in the kitchen? What if I'm having a bad day and don't want to talk? Are you going to be mad at me for my emotions? Will my husband speak as highly of me when I'm not around like I would do for him? Will my husband make love to more than just my body, but my mind and my soul? If I don't feel like having sex are you going to be mad and seek it out else where? I want to come home to peace and so should my husband. A healthy form of communication and respect on both ends is very important to me. I just want to make sure that if I'm going to spend the rest of my life with someone I need to know he's going to be there with me every step of the way without wavering."

"I can be that." Stack answered. "I love when my woman cooks for me, but I can also throw down in the kitchen. When our baby is cryin' and you spend all day nursing I'll be the one to wake up and change em'. You want to randomly ski in this 90 degree weather I'll be the first one in line at the ski store. Hell I'll build you some myself. I can oil your scalp when you too tired to do so and I can run your bath water after a rough day. If you don't want to talk I'll sit here with you in silence until you're ready. However I'd hope you'd never get so down to where I can't hear that pretty ass voice of yours. Be a damn shame." He teased.

He closed the little bit of space between them and rested his hands on either side of her.

Lena watched his eyes scan her face. From her brown almond eyes, round cheeks, to her plump lips. He focused on her lips longer than she needed him to. Lena was no stranger to eye contact so he wasn't intimidating. She had strong will and knew no amount of flirting and flashing of his dimpled smile was going to make her fold.

His head dipped down for a kiss, but Lena moved her head to avoid his tempting lips.

He couldn't help but laugh. He'd never had someone reject his kiss before.

Lena smiled at him and took his face in her hands. "You should head home now and get some rest. It's starting to get late. Annie and your brother might be trying to figure out why you're not home yet." Her fingers played in his beard before placing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Goodnight Stack."

"Can I see you tomorrow?" He asked. Borderline begged.

"I've got a pretty busy schedule tomorrow."

"I don't have to do nothin. I can just sit around and wait until you finished. I just want to see you."

She tried to hide her smile, but failed. "I'll be wrapping my day up around 4."

He flashed his grin. "See you tomorrow at 3:30. Goodnight Ms. Lena." He tilted his hat before placing it back on his head and walking out the door.

"Nigga you said you went to Chow's bout 7 hours ago." Smoke pointed out as he finished his second plate. He got up and brought it to the sink to wash and dry.

"Damn. Was I gone that long? My bad." Stack removed his jacket and took a seat. "Where's Annie?"

"Freshin' up for bed." Smoke looked at his brother's hand. "Hell happened to you? You ain't get yo ass in no shit you can't fix, right?"

Stack had a smile on his face.

Annie walks in with her robe on comfortable and ready for bed. "Oh lawd. That boy happier than a tick on a dog. Which young lady did you pay a visit to today?" She handed him a glass of sweet tea and a plate from the stove.

"Thank you. I went to go visit the Chow's, but as I was leaving I got distracted. Ended up cutting my hand on my knife while I was driving and ran into a beautiful lady named Lena."

Annie stood straight up and scanned her brother in law. "What you doin around Lena? She a good girl that mind her business."

"If she a good girl then he ain't want nothin to do with her. Unless you sweet talked her out of her skirt like usual." Smoke assumed.

"Naw, she don't play that. She focused. Sweet girl with a lot of hobbies." Annie looked at his hand. "She stitched you up?"

Stack nodded with a smile. "Fixed me a sandwich and some tea too. We ain't do nothin but talk. That's all I wanted to do. She real nice and a little feisty. Think she'd be interested?"

Smoke scoffed, but Annie nudged his shoulder.

"Your mission to just sleep with her?" Annie asked. She took a plate of pie from Elijah and thanked him with a kiss.

Stack shook his head as he enjoyed his food. "I ain't want that once I started talkin' to her. Ion know how to explain it, but I just liked bein' 'round her. She got a good spirit I guess." He shrugged as he filled his mouth with food.

Elijah fed Annie a bit of the shared dessert. He circled the fork around in the air before asking his question. "What she look like? Must not be your type if you didn't want to have sex."

"She not my usual type, but she real pretty. Brown skin, full hair, round lips, hips, a little healthier than my usual, but that really don't bother me none. She fit it so well." He whistled. "Voice is like butter. She smell good too and got the softest pair of hands"

Annie chuckled. "That girl don't play about her perfumes and butters." She confirmed. "When you gon' see her again?"

"Tomorrow at 3:30. Said she should be done with everything around then."

"What y'all plan on doin?" Smoke asked as his brother got up for a second helping.

"Nothin." He said happily with a shrug. "I'm just goin to talk. Might see if she'll let me fix a few things around the house or somethin?"

Annie chuckled at her brother in law. He was bit by the love bug. It was no surprise though. Lena was a warm and welcoming spirit who minded her business and helped others along her way. She didn't want much just a simple and happy life. Her love hit hard so if Stack wasn't on his best behavior she would have no problem leaving him with a broken heart. Annie knew of her ex that didn't do right by her and she got rid of him. That man been in a miserable marriage with a woman he don't really want. Hadn't truly found love since she left him.

"Just be careful. She might be a good girl, but she ain't no pushover. If you screw up she'll send you on your marry way and not think twice about it." Annie confessed.

"Imma be on my best behavior." He kissed his sister in law's cheek and sat down to finish his food.

"Stack you don't have to fix that it's fine." She advised as he unscrewed the bolts in the fan. It worked the blades just happened to have one speed and that speed was slow. It was too hot and moving too slow for Stack's liking.

"Naw. It's fine. I can fix this. The motor ain't blown just probably got a little dust in the shaft that's all."

Lena sat next to him on the couch and watched as he struggled with one of the screws. She covered her giggle with her hand causing him to lose his focus and look over at her.

"This funny to you?" He put the fan down and turned to tickle her side now causing Lena to double over in laughter.

"You sweatin' on me!" She laughed as she grabbed his arms to leave some distance between them.

He sat up and sighed. "Baby, it's hot in here! I'm tryna fix this fan and you laughin'. I'm strong it's just stuck!" He said in his defense.

Lena gave a sarcastic nod. "Very strong. Need help with that last screw?"

"I'll screw you!" He mimicked under his breath.

He was just joking seeing how he was playing off of her words, but she was turned on by that. She shook it off and just cleared her throat.

He took his button up off leaving him in a tank top and a leather vest holster. His gun was strapped in and his knife at his side. Lena's eyes wondered towards him as his arms flexed once he finally got the screw loose after a few twists and turns.

"Ha!" He turned to her and noticed her direct her eyes from his arms to his face. He smirked and looked her in her eyes. "I got it out."

"I see." She replied softly. Lena moved closer to him on the couch closing in the space between them. "So what's the next step?" She asked looking up at him with those big brown eyes of hers.

Stack cleared his throat. "I umm" he looked away. "I'm just gonna clear this shaft off and put it back in." His eyes widened and his head snapped back towards her. "Back on! I meant back on!" He corrected.

Lena couldn't help but giggle at him being nervous.

He put his focus back on the task at hand and did just that while she got up to grab something to drink. The wind blew through the window causing her dress to fly up a little catching Stack's attention. "Shit." He said to himself.

"You say somethin'?" Lena asked as she headed back over to him. Hips swaying side to side and a soft smile on her face.

He shook his head. "Nothin' just that I fixed it." He put the last screw in and turned it on.

"Awww yes!" Lena cheered on as she sat down next to him. The fan was blowing faster and stronger. "Ugh that feels so good. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Told you I'm good with my hands." He grinned.

"I see." Lena playfully teased. "I know you introduced yourself to me as Stack, but what is your real name?" She asked as she leaned her elbows on her lap to look up at him.

He smiled at her beauty. "Born Elias raised as Stack."

"Elias." His name sung beautifully on her tongue. Very southern, sweet, thick, and sexy. He wouldn't get tired of it.

His eyes scanned her plump lips. He swallowed hard and adverted his eyes to his glass of tea. "Yes ma'am."

"Did you want dinner or is Annie making something for y'all back home? I don't wanna ruin ya appetite. Mrs. Annie a good cook."

"Great cook. She's making pork chops, but I can still eat here if you had planned on cooking. I don't turn no plates down." He laughed.

"I'm just making a salad with salmon croquettes for dinner. Ain't nothin too fancy."

"You say croquettes? They're one of my favorites. I can make room for both."

Weeks had gone by and Elias had been over her house almost everyday. Showing up in the morning and leaving late at night. Smoke would either pick and drop him off or he'd take the car himself. It didn't really matter how he got to her Stack was going to see her either way. Time was spent doing things Stack was never used to doing before. She enjoyed his company and same for him. He'd drive her into town even if she insisted on walking or taking her bike. They even went on a picnic by the lake a few times. Unfortunately the two of them couldn't hang out the following Saturday because she had to finish a new set of dresses for Lisa and Grace, but Lena had planned to see him the Sunday after bright and early.

"Lisa it fits? How bout you Grace?" Lena asked as she sat at their shop past closing. The two ladies came out from the back room and spun around. Smiles were shared by each lady because of how everything turned out. Lisa had a beautiful pink and gold embroidered dress that came past her ankles and Grace had a beautiful blue and gold dress that stopped a little under her knee.

"They're perfect as usual, Lena. Eight for her and ten for me, right?" She clarified as she handed Lena cash plus a small tip.

"Y'all gonna be the talk of the town. The colors fit y'all so well too." The proud craftswomen said in awe. "Lisa how you wearing your hair?" She asked. Grace always wore a low and tucked bun for formal outings, but because Lisa was younger Grace liked to do something a little more age appropriate and fun for her.

The little girl walked over to her to describe what style she and her mother were thinking about. Lena remembered that she had a few ribbons in her bag and pulled one out that matched. "How about a bow?"

Lisa's face lit up and Grace smiled. "Mama look!"

"You tell Miss. Lena thank you. She's gotta head home. You want Bo to give you a ride? He won't mind." Grace asked as she hugged Lisa tightly.

"I'm good. Thank y'all tho. It ain't a far walk. Y'all have a good night tho."

"You sure?" Grace asked again as Lena headed towards the door.

"I'm good Grace. Y'all have a good night!"

Lena walked home in the dark but she had protection on her. Her goal was never to walk home so late, however she got to Grace's later than anticipated. A little bit of the sun was still up before she left the shop so she thought it was fine however the sun set faster than Lena could walk. Purse at her side and shoes hitting the dirt road Lena heard some people talking off into the distance, but less than a minute later a male voice approach her.

"P-pardon ma'am. Where you headed looking so good this time of night?" He said a little too drunk and a little too close.

"I'm headed home thank you. Seems like your company needs you back over there, no?" She quipped as she tried to keep calm.

He threw a lazy arm towards his company. "They be alright. I'm tryna come home with you pretty lady." He stumbled backwards. "Why you diggin in that bag?" He asked stumbling again.

"Just tryna find my lipstick that all." Lena pulled out some protection powder and blew it at him causing him to scream out and fall to the ground.

She continued to walk home, but this time at a faster pace. She had to remember to tell Annie thank you for her protection powder and get some more from her because thinking about how much she blew out she definitely used more than needed. It wasn't her fault though. She panicked plus she never had to use it before, but she was glad she carried it with her.

Not even two minutes later she heard a car pulling up by her. She prayed it was Elias.

"Lena, come on and get in." Annie instructed as she sat in the passenger seat.

"Annie what are you doin on my side of town?" She asked. She looked in the driver's seat slightly startled. She saw a man looking exactly like Stack driving except he wore blue and wasn't talking.

"We had stopped by the Chow's to drop something off and Grace said you had walked home. Ion know why you insist on walking by yourself. You know people crazy."

"I had your powder on me. Wasn't nobody gon hurt me." Her smile was big and bright. Proud.

Annie chuckled. "You a stubborn girl."

Smoke pulled up to her house and stopped. He turned towards Lena and greeted her with a nod. "My brother Stack had some business to handle. He'll be up here in no time to stay with you overnight. Just for safety purposes."

"And don't say you don't need it. I blessed your house, but we can't be too safe."

"I understand."

Turning around by a sound behind her Lena saw Stack jogging in the distance. She hopped out of the car and examined his clothes from afar. His jacket in hand and shirt untucked. She was sure he had done some damage to the guy that approached her. Lena wasn't sure what he did or how bad he handled him, but she was turned on by his disheveled look.

She walked over to Stack and took his face in her hands. She scanned his face and ran her hands down his arm to find any sign of harm.

"I'm okay. That nigga ain't, but he's no longer my problem. Let's head inside." He turned towards his brother and Annie and waved them off. "I'll see y'all tomorrow round noon."

"Thank you again. Bye Annie."

"I'll bring more protection by tomorrow." She waved as Smoke drove off.

The two of them headed up the stairs with his arm around her waist. As soon as they walked in he shut and locked the door and dropped the curtains down. He sat down at the kitchen table as she headed to grab a cold wet rag. Lena kneeled down in front of him, in between his legs, and gently pressed the rag against his skin. "Did he get you?" She asked as she sat back.

He shook his head. "He didn't get a hit in. Come here."

She rarely ever hear him speak like this. Her eyes soften at his tone. Lena sat on his lap as he wrapped his arms around her thick waist. His head rested on her chest and he just took in her heartbeat.

Sounds of crickets, her blowing fan, and the howling dogs were silenced by the matching heartbeats shared between the two of them. A rhythm Stack had loved and gotten used to since being around her. He never stuck around someone long enough to notice if his heartbeat matched there's. He was grateful for experiencing a first with her. It may not mean much to her or anyone else, but to him it felt real. Felt normal. It felt like home.

Lena could tell his mind was racing and he was trying to calm his nerves. She allowed her hand to gently caress his neck. "You wanna get ready for bed?" She asked.

Her eyes scanned his face.

"Yeah." He lifted her up with ease.

"I'm not trying to hurt you."

"You ain't hurtin me, baby." He replied as he headed to the bedroom. Stack gently laid her down before taking his gun off, removing his knife and holster. He placed it at the nightstand next to the bed as he kicked his shoes off.

Without breaking eye contact Lena removed her dress revealing a short lilac colored slip.

Stack removed his shirt and pants leaving him in his boxers.

Lena bit her lip at his muscular frame.

Stack couldn't help but chuckle.

"Why you laughin' at me?" She asked. She made her way to him on all fours to sit in front of him on the bed. Her head tilted to the side as she looked up at him waiting for an answer.

"Cause you're cute. You also try to play innocent, but I catch you lookin' at me. Bitin' your lip and everything."

Lena couldn't help but laugh at him trying to imitate her. She gently nudged him as he laughed.

"I'm just sayin. Hey, I don't mind."

"I'm looking because I like what I see." She confessed.

"I'm surprised you ain't said nothin about me. I'm always looking." He laughed.

"I don't mind." She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up at him and his brown eyes. "Imma kiss you now, okay?"

"You don't ever have to ask." He whispered seconds before he greeted his lips with her plump set. He moaned at the touch of her lips and the taste of her tongue. Stack lifted Lena up making sure his hands were secured under her ass.

She moaned in his mouth as he gave her a firm yet gentle squeeze.

His lips moved to her neck as he took a seat on the bed. His grip not loosening up as he sat down with her body on top of his. The weight of her on top of him was something he could definitely get used to.

Lena's fingers gently played at his nape as soft moans escaped her lips which caused his breathing to speedup.

He pulled back from her soft skin. Not because he wanted to, but because she was doing everything right. Her gentle caresses and fingernails always made his heart skip a beat and his goosebumps raise. He rested his forehead against hers and took in the gentle gestures. Lena hummed a soft tune as they took in each other's presence.

"Am I getting too heavy?" She asked. This was the first time she was in his lap for this long and wasn't sure if he was comfortable.

"Naw. You just right."

Not wanting to let the softness of her body go just yet Stack stood to his feet with her in hand and pulled the ceiling fan chord to turn the light off. He gently laid her down and settled his body down next to her.

Lena turned towards his body and nuzzled up next to him. "Thank you again Elias. You didn't have to beat that creep up just for me. I was able to hold my own."

He released a sleepy chuckle. "If I didn't he'd think it was okay to try that shit again." Elias hand rubbed up and down her now exposed hip as she stroked his beard. "I don't play about my girl." He poked one eye open to see her reaction.

Lena sat up on her elbow and looked down at him. "Your girl?" She asked gently.

"I've been meaning to make it official. Lena if you don't mind having me will you be my girl? My partner? My person?" His nerves getting the best of him now causing him to ramble. "I don't usually do this. I've actually never done this so I'm not sure if I'm,"

She stopped him with a kiss. Tasting his tongue yet again was becoming a favorite of hers. His hands gripping her ass as Lena's hands gently ran down his stomach. Stopping at his waistband. She pulled away to catch her breath. Her breast rose as she caught her breath. Her brown eyes scanned his face with a smile. "My answer is yes."

"Yes?" He grinned ear to ear. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips again before pulling back to look at her. He had never done this before. He wanted to put his best foot forward. Be on his best behavior. He wanted to build his own world with her the way his twin brother built his with Annie.

Stack took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Baby I'm tryna to be good right now and your hand is umm,"

Realization kicked in and she lifted her hand from the band of his boxers with a giggle. "Awww I'm sorry!" She cooed. "I appreciate you being patient with me, but baby we don't have to be innocent everyday." She confessed with peppered kisses in between.

"Wait now don't tempt me!" He threw his body over hers and immediately rammed his face in between Lena's neck causing her laugh to fill up the room.

"You think that boy was on his best behavior last night?" Smoke asked Annie as he watched her get dressed.

Annie chuckled. "He ain't walk home last night so I think he did alright." Annie turned to her husband and tilted her head to the side with a smile. "What's wrong, Elijah? Why you so worried about your brother and Lena, hmm?" She asked as she stood in front of him. Her hands gently laid on his firm shoulders as she awaited his answer.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and shook his head. "I just worry about him gettin' in trouble. Messin' with his future. I'm scared he ain't gon find love and he just gone be by himself forever. I can't be with him every step of the way. I want him to find his other half."

"Elijah you already know everyone has a different walk of life. His ain't gone be the same as yours or mine. Lena might be who he needs in his life. He's hardly here with us anymore and I'm sure he would've bragged about getting himself some from her, but he hasn't. She got him baking cookies from scratch, goin' on picnics, readin' books by the lake. She's good for him and I think he knows that. You gotta trust your brother to find his way his own way." She kissed her husband's lips and rubbed his arms. "Come on let's head over and pick him up. That was his first time staying over so he probably don't wanna come home tonight." She teased.

Lena was taking a nice bath and reading her book when Elias asked to join her. He sat across from her on the floor and took her book and began reading it to her letting her get lost in the fairytale. She had raised her leg and enjoyed the bubbles that sat on top of the warm water cover her leg only to slowly pop with the warm winds blowing through her windows.

Elias put her book down and watched as her thick thigh lifted up and he had every thought imaginable run through his mind. Her eyes focused deadset on him as her smooth brown skin was exposed with every gust of wind. He was doing a damn good job the last few months, but temptation was getting to him every second of the day.

He stood closer to Lena and placed his hands on both sides of her on the porcelain tub. "Keep teasing me with that leg and imma jump in here with you."

She smiled at his threat and was hoping he made it a promise. "What's stopping you?"

He took his shirt off and stepped in one foot at a time with his pants on.

"Elias!" Lena screamed with laughter as he got in halfway dressed just to join her.

Stack hovered over her completely wet and just smiled. He looked her in the eyes and leaned in for a soft kiss. Nothing too long or harsh. Just soft enough to make her heart flutter and lips want more. "You probably the best thing to ever happen to me, ya know? I ain't been this happy in a while and I want to thank you." He confessed.

She gently took his face in her hands and saw the honesty in his eyes. She wasn't looking for a partner or a man. She just so happened to go with her gut with him and she was happy she did. He had brought nothing but peace and happiness into her already peaceful and happy life. He wasn't trying to change it or her just enhance it and he did that times ten. She was forever grateful for him.

"I'm so glad I got in your car to stitch you up two months ago." She confessed with a smile.

"You and that smile healed me up that day."

Lena's eyes started tearing up.

"That ass kept me around though."

She couldn't help but fall into a fit of laughter. Leave it to Elias to make her capture so many emotions all at once. "I can't with you."

He shrugged and kissed her nose. He stood to his feet, leaned over to grab the towel and helped her up. He wrapped her up in a towel and helped her out of the tub.

As they were drying off she got a knock at her door. Elias gently guided her behind him as they headed towards her door. "Who is it?"

"It's Jim Crow nigga open up."

"Elijah!" Annie shouted as she tugged his arm.

Stack opened the door and Lena welcomed them in.

The look of confusion read on Smoke and Annie's face as they saw a wet Stack and a towel clad Lena.

"Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to make myself presentable. Elias see if they want some of that pound cake." She said before disappearing into her room.

"Y'all want some? I helped her bake it the other day."

"It's edible?" Smoke asked as he received a plate from his brother.

"Elijah be nice in other folks home." Annie scolded.

"Why would I offer you somethin' that ain't edible, fool? My baby helped me make it." He said with pride.

Lena walked out and handed Elias a pair of slacks that she made for him a while back. He thanked her with a kiss before heading to the bathroom to change. Lena sat on her couch and smiled. "Thank y'all again for last night. I do appreciate it. Elias helped make that pound cake. He was so proud of himself once it slipped right on out the pan." She confessed with a giggle.

"It's good. Elias should be proud of himself." Annie confessed.

"My brother ain't been crossing the line with you has he? He been respectful?" Elijah asked as he put his empty plate down.

"Oh yes, sir. Always respectful with me. He's always so thoughtful, too. Very kind and a great listener. He lets me ramble on and on about nothing sometimes just so he can hear my voice." She nervously giggled.

Smoke gave her a content nod.

Annie smiled. She pulled a bag out of her pouch and handed it to Lena. "Here's some more protection powder and a mojo bag. Keep this on you at all times. You don't gotta wear it around your neck everyday just keep it on you any way you can, okay?"

"My baby made me and my crazy brother one. We was skeptical about it at first, but it's proven many of times to keep us out harms way. I suggest you keep it close to you when you heading to the market by yourself." Smoke informed.

Annie shared a proud smile at him and took his hand in hers. He gave her a gentle squeeze in return. He wasn't always a believer, but time proved itself over and over again that what she was doing was the truth. The proof was in the pudding. Ain't no way around it.

"Elias you plan on heading back home with us now? We ain't trying to take up her whole Sunday." Smoke asked.

"Oh I don't mind. If y'all want we can have a little cookout today? Elias and I went to the market a few days ago so I have plenty of food to share and cook. I can make a fresh batch of tea, too. Mr. Willie up the street brought me some extra vegetables from his garden. If I don't use it up it'll go to waste and I would hate to trash good vegetables."

"Yeah stay and celebrate." Stack added.

"Celebrate what?" Smoke quizzed. His eyes went back and forth between the two sitting in front of him. They were practically sitting on top of each other and their fingers were locked.

"I asked her to be my girl last night. She said yes. I know it ain't marriage yet," he clarified "but it's the first step. Hopefully she says yes to that too when I ask her in the near future."

Annie looked so proud of her brother in law. He seemed like an enhanced man. Not necessarily change because he was always gonna be Stack, but it seemed like Lena made him want to be a better man. She prayed it all worked out for them because he deserved that happiness that he was always searching for.

Smoke's features softened at his brother's new found happiness. He always wondered if he'd ever find someone and although he only knew about Lena from Annie and Stack she seemed like the best person for him. His brother always spoke so highly of her. He was never vulgar when it came to her or crude. Always respectful and that's all he could ask for.

"Well my schedule is free, baby?" Smoke asked as he looked at Annie.

She smiled and gave her a nod. "Sounds good to me. Thank you and congratulations. I'm proud of you Elias."

Stack smiled wide as he gripped Lena's hand.

"Alright I'll start getting some water boiling. Excuse me." She stood to her feet, gave Elias a kiss, and headed into the kitchen to start cooking.

Annie got up to help leaving the brothers to talk amongst themselves.

"I'm proud of you. Seems like you got yourself a good one."

"Yeah. She real sweet. Got a heart of gold."

Stack continued to tell Smoke all about his plans. He was going to get a car and probably move in with her before getting married. He wasn't in a rush, he wasn't going anywhere and neither was she, but he wanted to make sure everything was set up to give her a perfect life that she deserved.

Stack watched as his girl and his sister in law laughed together about whatever conversation they were having. This was the life he wanted to live. He was glad that he stopped when he did that warm spring day.

[cece693]

more alec lightwood fics pls. 🤤🤤 there are barely fics about him 😐

STAKING HIS CLAIM

pairing: alec lightwood x male reader synopsis: You and Alec had been together for three years, and while you understood his fear of coming out, you still felt like a dirty little secret. Overhearing Maryse making plans of arranging a marriage between Alec and Lydia Branwell, you had enough. It was time to see if Alec would claim you, and what better way than to incite jealousy.

The Institute was always cold.

Not physically—though the stone corridors didn’t exactly invite barefoot strolls—but in the way secrets were kept pressed under polished boots and behind tight-lipped smiles. You had been Alec Lightwood’s secret for three years now.

Three years of stolen glances in the training room. Three years of his hands in your hair under the shadow of library archways. Three years of sneaking back into your own quarters before the morning patrol began, your lips still tingling from goodbye kisses he never acknowledged in daylight.

At first, you understood. The Lightwood name was a pillar of Nephilim society. Alec carried its weight like an iron pauldron. You’d been proud of him for it.

But pride doesn't keep a heart warm forever.

You weren’t even meant to hear it. You were only coming back from a short demon patrol, blood crusted beneath your nails, when you passed the drawing room and heard Maryse’s voice—clipped and pleased. “Lydia Branwell is strong, respectable, and already a high-ranking Clave member. If you agree to it, I’ll begin arranging your courtship before the year ends.”

A pause.

No objection from Alec. Just silence.

Like you were nothing.

Like you hadn’t spent the night before tangled with him in a tangle of whispered I miss you's and promises he never seemed ready to keep in public.

That evening, you found yourself at Magnus' door, shoulders heavy with things you hadn’t said aloud. “Darling,” Magnus said with his usual flourish, but stopped short at your expression. “Tell me which person to smite.”

You managed a weak smile. “Do you have a few minutes?”

Magnus, despite the glitter and sarcasm, could be serious when needed. He listened. Patiently. A glass of something spiced and golden placed in your hand while you spoke—about years of hiding, about overheard conversations, about Alec always almost choosing you but never really doing it.

When you finished, Magnus studied you for a beat, swirling his glass in one hand. “He hasn’t even mentioned you to them?”

You shook your head.

“Darling, I’m offended for you.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t care,” you said quickly. “He does. I know he does. I just…I feel like a ghost. Like I only exist when the lights are off and his parents are far away.”

Magnus’s cat-eyes soften. “I’ve seen many Nephilim go through that path: choosing convenience over someone they love. It starts with silence. Then comes the excuses. And before you know it, you’re a footnote in their glory.” His eyes sparkled—not with magic, but something sharper. “You are no one’s footnote.”

You looked down at your drink, the amber liquid catching lamplight like it might hold an answer. “I kept waiting for the moment he’d say something. Anything. I don't need fireworks or a dramatic reveal—I just want to exist in his world the way he lives in mine.”

Magnus rose gracefully and crossed to you, placing one bejeweled hand over yours. “You’re asking for dignity, not decoration. That’s not too much.” He tilted his head, lips curving into the beginnings of an idea. “What you need,” he murmured, “is a touch of theatre.”

You blinked. “Magnus—”

“No, no—hear me out. Alexander is terrified of losing control, but jealousy? That, my dear, is instinct. It bypasses pride. Bypasses fear.” He grinned with dazzling charm. “Let’s remind him how many others see your worth.”

You eyed him warily. “So what, you’re going to pretend to seduce me?”

“Oh, I won’t pretend, darling. I’ll simply act as if I see you the way he should. Head over heels. Devoted. Hands-on.” He paused. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer I summon a minor chaos demon to break his door instead.”

You snorted into your drink. “This sounds petty.”

“It is petty,” Magnus agreed cheerfully. “It’s also effective.”

You hesitated, thinking of Alec’s tense smiles, his glance over his shoulder before touching your hand in the shadows. You thought of Lydia Branwell arriving soon. A marriage alliance. A clean, bloodline-approved future.

And then you thought of how you hadn’t been invited to that conversation.

You set your glass down. “Fine. But I’m not throwing myself at you.”

Magnus smirked. “Perish the thought. You’ll be a vision of effortless charm. I’ll do the throwing.”

True to form, Magnus went big.

When the Institute had a welcoming party for Lydia Branwell, you invited Magnus as your plus one—a last-minute addition to the guest list that had Maryse raising a finely plucked brow and muttering something about protocol. But by the time Magnus stepped through the main doors in a coat of enchanted obsidian that shimmered like liquid night, no one dared question his presence.

He was breathtaking.

You barely had time to blink before Magnus’s arm slid around your waist, his rings cool through the fabric of your suit. “Smile, darling,” he whispered, voice honey-slick and wicked. The ballroom was carved from old stone and older expectations. Nephilim mingled in polished armor, Lydia stood tall near the head table, all sharp poise and golden runes, and Alec—he stood beside her, form stiff as his eyes watched you and Magnus across the room.

“I could spin you around the dance floor,” Magnus murmured, fingers brushing your collarbone in mock affection, “or I could just keep you right here and murmur scandal into your ear. Which do you prefer?”

“That depends,” you replied, voice low. “How much do you want to make him sweat?”

Magnus grinned like the cat who swallowed the canary—and then wore the feathers as a brooch. He leaned in close, lips nearly brushing your ear. “You’re positively devilish when you’re heartbroken.”

A few more steps. Alec’s gaze burned now, pinned to where Magnus’s hand traced lazy, lingering shapes at your hip. Isabelle had caught on, her eyes darting between you and her brother and Jace’s brows lifted, as if he'd just realized the plot twist of the evening.

You and Magnus stopped near the drinks table, and he, ever the dramatist, conjured two flutes of champagne with a snap of his fingers. The magic cracked softly in the air—harmless, elegant, noticed.

Alec moved.

Fast.

He all but stormed across the room, his face a sculpted mask of calm only someone who knew him could see right through. Magnus saw it too—his smile widened just enough to expose the trap Alec was marching into. “A word.”

“Of course,” Magnus replied, offering him an exaggerated bow. “Though you’ll have to be specific. Who do you want a word with?”

Alec’s eyes flicked to you, jaw tense. “Him.”

Magnus glanced your way, then to Alec, then back again. “Oh dear. Have I made a mess?” he asked lightly, before pressing a swift, not-quite-innocent kiss to your cheek. “Be gentle with him, Alexander. He’s rather fond of you.”

Alec didn’t even respond. His hand closed gently—but firmly—around your wrist, guiding you toward the archway that led to a quieter hall. You followed.

As if you had a choice.

The moment you were out of sight, Alec rounded on you, tension brimming in every line of his body. “What the hell are you doing?” he snapped, voice low but furious.

You didn’t flinch. “Enjoying the party. Magnus makes excellent company when I can't bring my secret boyfriend as my plus one,” you replied, arms folding. “Especially when their mother’s matchmaking them with Lydia Branwell.”

His expression twisted. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“No,” you said quietly. “But you didn’t stop it either.”

Alec looked away. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” you shot back. “Either I’m someone you’re proud to stand next to or I’m someone you kiss in the dark and hope your parents never find out about. And I’m done pretending one is enough.”

Silence stretched. Alec opened his mouth, then shut it, and for the first time, he looked afraid. Not of you—but of what this meant.

“I saw you,” he said suddenly. “The way he looked at you. Touched you. And all I could think was—he knows what he has. He gets to show it.” Alec’s voice cracked, raw and unguarded. “I want that too. I want that with you.”

You inhaled slowly, heart thrumming. “Then take it.”

Alec stepped forward and, in a rare moment of impulsive honesty, cupped your face with both hands and kissed you. Hard. Fierce. Desperate. As if he could rewrite the years of silence with just this one act. And when you pulled back, the door creaked—Isabelle stood there, arms crossed, lips twitching upward.

“Took you long enough,” she said, then tossed a wink your way. “Also, Magnus won the pool. I owe him fifty bucks.”

From somewhere down the hall, Magnus’s laughter echoed faintly like bells in velvet dusk. And this time, when you stepped out into the ballroom, Alec Lightwood’s hand was in yours. In front of everyone.

[writersblockiskillingme]

Revenge | Seong Gi-hun

Pairing: Seong Gi-hun x fem!reader (winner!reader)

Summary: After the rebellion and the sorrowful realization that they are still alive even tho everyone else who was with them in the rebellion is dead, two past winners want their revenge.

Warning/s: SPOILERS FOR THE FIRST EPISODE OF SQUID GAME SEASON 3!!! I have not yet finished this season so please NO SPOILERS (thank you), guns, wounds, blood, Gi-hun and the reader are sort of dead inside, they are both hating on Dae-ho, death of the players from the rebellion, knives, thirst for revenge, the reader and Gi-hun are handcuffed to the beds, cursing, longish fic, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I am finally back!! I'm also soooo excited for this new season that I couldn't wait to post this. I hope you enjoy and have a great day/night! 🫰

Darkness.

All I saw was darkness. Pure darkness. It was all-consuming, it was surprisingly peaceful like being held, finally at ease.

Maybe I wanted this all along. Maybe I was yearning for it all this time, ever since Gi-hun and I won the games three years ago. The endless search for the salesman drained us as much as it possibly could. Not that I thought it could drain us as much as the games did. As much as watching our friends did. All of this led us to even more desperation.

The fact that the two of us made it out the first time, when it should've been only one winner is on its own a fucking miracle. A piece of both of us was left on that island and I'm certain that it will forever stay there. Unable to return to us as long as we live. If it can even be said that we're living. More like surviving. Yes. Surviving was definitely a better word to the describe the state that we found ourselves in. Surviving out of spite. Out of hope that we can change the faith of innocent people who will die in the games. Out of hope that we can actually change the world.

Both of us knew that it was gonna be hard. However, that didn't stop us. We fought with a burning desire to stop the man behind the games. The thirst that both of us held in our hearts, the thirst for change was so strong that it drove us to our deaths. That it drove our closest childhood friend to his death. Along with a fateful friend we met along the way. Along with everyone else who was brave enough to stand up and fight.

We almost had the access to the control room when it happened. Gi-hun, Jung-bae and I were out of ammo. Young-il was taking care of it with other players. Soon enough, he was dead. The Frotman was the next surprise, but what happened next will haunt us every second that Gi-hun and I will spend breathing. Jung-bae died. In front of our very eyes. Frotman shot him.

Gi-hun and I... we watched helplessly as the guards pushed us on the ground, limiting out movements. All of a sudden, that darkness overcame us.

Maybe we both deserved it. I honestly blame myself and I'm sure that he does, too. But now. Now, it's finally over. I've finally met my end. I'm sure he did, too.

Maybe I truly, deep down, wanted this to happen to me. Maybe I wanted to die. To finally find my peace. With him. I'm sure that in a few moments, I will meet him. Because even in death I can't live without him. Which drove both of us to almost kill ourselves before there were two winners of the games three years ago.

Maybe finally I will find my peace with him without having to fight for it anymore.

Without the constant voices that continously rang in my head.

"Let's attack them first."

"That doesn't mean we should kill each other."

"That's exactly what they want us to do."

"A small sacrifice for the greater good?"

"Even if it takes a sacrifice, we must put an end to this game now."

"Fight with us so we can go home together."

"Anyone who wishes to join us, please step forward."

"Why did you bring me instead of Young-il?"

"Because you're our friend."

My head was starting to hurt. It was so strange. How is it possible to feel pain in your death?

I could feel my body. My eyes twitching. I opened them and was met with the sight of the room where the player's slept. Was this my own personal hell? Will I truly not escape this sorrowful reality even in my death?

"Sir? Ma'am?" the voice of the old lady spoke. I slowly looked around, taking in the sight of Hyun-ju, Jun-hee, Geum-ja and Yong-sik. Before I could say or do anything the elderly lady spoke again.

"Oh, gosh! You're both alive. Thank God you're alive." she exclaimed, her voice filled with relief. I couldn't understand it.

"Are you all right?" her son asked us, leaning over the bed, closer. The girls never took their looks away.

I turned my head slowly, meeting Gi-hun's gaze. He was laying right next to me, our hands brushing against each other's.

For a while we didn't say anything. Our expressions completely unreadable. We were just staring into each other before we grabbed the hold of each other's hand, slowly trying to sit up. Geum-ja and Hyun-ju quickly coming to our aid. We sat at the corner of the bad, looking around. A crushing realization overcoming both of us.

"What about the others?" Gi-hun voiced as we both looked at Hyun-ju with wide eyes.

She didn't say anything, just shaking her head after a few seconds. She didn't need to say anything. We already knew even before asking her.

Why?

"And Jung-bae?" It was our turn to keep quiet. Frozen. To be completely honest, I still couldn't believe that he was gone. Gi-hun couldn't either. We just couldn't bring ourselves to say it, but Gi-hun's pouty expression and my glossy eyes were enough to answer the question we couldn't bring ourselves to answer out loud.

"Look closely at the consequences of your little hero game."

The grief. The disappointment. The hatred was too great.

The alarm sounded and the pink guards walked in. They showed how much more money was collected before the square spoke.

"A total of 35 players were eliminated last night, and 60 players remain in the game. The prize money accumulated up to this point is 39.6 billion won, and each person's share is 660 million won. You will not take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not."

He suddenly had to stop speaking because Gi-hun and I started to walk towards them. Everything was quiet. Nobody moved a muscle as they watched us confront them.

"Why did you keep us alive?" Gi-hun asked, moving towards them, closer, closer and closer.

"Why didn't you kill us?" I spoke, my voice shaking with anger as I suddenly screamed, "You killed all of them! Why not us?!"

"Answer us! Tell us why!"

We were yelling, screaming. Five triangle guards armed with guns ran over trying to stop us. It felt like shouting at deaf people. Like they didn't hear what we were saying. They just stood there. Unmoving. Unbothered. I felt like ripping my hair out.

"Shoot! Fucking shoot me, you motherfucker!!" I screamed, pointing the end of the guard gun at my chest, tears were streaming down my face.

Why did you keep me alive? Why?

"Yes! Shoot me too, you bastards! Kill me too!" Gi-hun was yelling, pointing the gun at his forehead.

Suddenly we were both dragged down on the ground. Kicking, crying, screaming at them that they won. They finally won. We couldn't make it, we failed every single person in this room. We failed our friends. We amused our enemies. I felt like I failed him, too.

"Why didn't you kill us?! Why did you let us live?! Why?!"

"Kill me! Kill me too!"

"Just let me die!!"

Before we could do or say more, we were both lifted from the ground. Soon enough both of us were handcuffed to the bed. Both of us on either side of the bedpost. Our hands that were not bound by the handcuffs were holding each other's. Desperately seeking comfort amidst the death wish. The voting began, Gi-hun and I didn't vote. Not like our votes could change anything. Too many people wanted to continue the games.

The voting finished. Gi-hun and I didn't utter a single word.

I felt so empty. So lost, and above all, so tired and done with everything. Even though I didn't actually die, I still felt like I was dead. Gi-hun was on the same boat. We haven't moved at all except for the occasions when we squeezed each other's hand. Just to make sure that even though everything was lost, we still had each other's hand to hold. And frankly, that was the only thing keeping me sane especially after the voting when player 100 turned to us and started mocking us.

"Hey, 456, 455." he spoke, we didn't even blink, pur gaze still stating right at the floor like it held all the answers.

"Tell me. Was this all just part of your plan? You two staged a rebellion to lure people out and had them all killed at once, didn't you?"

"They were all like, "Kill me!" Was that just for show?"

"Man, they both creep me out."

"That's right. Instead of killing them like the others, they brought them back here. There's definitely something going on."

"Anyway, thanks to you taking out the reds and getting them all killed, the money went up, and we won the vote by a landslide. Everyone let's thank them with a big round of applause."

They all started clapping and cheering.

"Thank you very much!"

"I see you were with us all along."

We did not utter a word. We didn't need too. Soon that crazy lady player 044 stood in front of us with her followers behind her.

"You fools." she proclaimed, "What did I tell you? You're not here of your own free will. Those vengeful souls hovering over your heads brought you here. Do you hear them? Your friends screaming right in your ears. You can cover them all you want, but it won't help. Those screams will only get louder. Both of you will be hearing their screams until the moment you die."

She started to laugh. She laughed right in our faces. For a moment, I felt as if all of the numbness evaporated, and as quickly as it had disappeared, pure rage appeared in its place. Gi-hun and I slowly looked up at her. Watching her. Watching her laugh. Her dark eyes that appeared to be even darker than they actually are because of her makeup, they were filled with satisfaction that was making itself known through her laugh. Her evil laugh.

I don't know what overcame him. What overcame me. Because, before I could even realize what was happening, our bodies seemed to move on their own and before we could stop and think for even a moment, Gi-hun's hand wrapped it's tightly around her throat as my legs kicked her right in her stomach.

"Stop!" one of her followers screamed as Gi-hun's grip started to become tighter and tighter.

As they tried to pull her away from him, which they soon succeeded in sadly, Gi-hun tried launching himself at her but was soon stopped by the handcuffs as I kicked my legs trying to hit her right in her bitchy little face.

"Are you all right, ma'am?"

She sadly is.

She placed her hand on her throat, glaring at us as she tried to catch her breath. She shook off her followers' hands off of her before she gasped, turned around and walked away, her followers hot on her heels.

Gi-hun and I were panting as we watched her walk away with frowns. We were both exhausted as we fell back against the bedpost. My head falling against his shoulder, his head falling on top of mine. I could feel his breath against my forehead as we tried to breathe steadily again.

It's all our fault.

They are all dead because of us. We failed them.

Everything that we did in our games was for nothing. All the sacrifices that we made, all the time we wasted on finding the salesman, all of our efforts to save everyone, all the risks we took to stop the games... it was all for nothing.

Our friends... innocent strangers... they are now all dead. Because of us and yet we are the two people they decided to keep alive.

Geum-ja, Hyun-ju, Jun-hee, and Yong-sik didn't approach us until after the food and water were handed out. Not like the two of us could even say anything to them. For a moment, Hyun-ju just stood in front of us and watched us. Her eyes filled with pity, pity that I couldn't stand right now. Geum-ja and Yong-sik crunched down in front of us with food and water.

"Sir. Ma'am." Geum-ja's soft motherly voice spoke to us, but we kept avoiding her gaze. "You should eat, even if it's just a little."

We didn't respond at all. We didn't even move a muscle. We just kept staring at that floor, not uttering a word or giving any sign that we were listening even though they knew that we were.

"Look, I know." Geum-ja tried again, "I know that you were trying to save us all. You were trying to punish the bad guys and put an end to all this."

"I'm sorry." Hyun-ju spoke, "I should've found a way to bring back the ammos."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Hyun-ju." Yong-sik reassured her. "It's all Dae-ho's fault."

At first I was confused, then I wanted answers to the unspoken question as soon as possible, yet I made no move to ask. Neither did Gi-hun.

"I saw it, my mom saw it, and everyone else saw it." Yong-sik continued, "Dae-ho came to pick up the ammo, but when he was about to leave, he just sank to the floor. When Hyun-ju came to get them, the masked men barged in. If my mom hadn't stopped her, she would've died too. Isn't that right, Hyun-ju?"

I heard enough and by the squeeze that Gi-hun gave to my hand, I knew that he did too. Dae-ho... the brave marine... he didn't bring the ammo. The ammo that could have stopped Jung-bae's death, Young-il's death and the death of all those other players that stood up and tried to help. We could've made it if we had the ammo, but we didn't. Because Dae-ho didn't bring it. All of a sudden, I saw red once again. All of a sudden, I wanted to hurt him. Badly. I wanted him to feel the pain that Gi-hun and I feel. I wanted to kill him myself.

"This won't bring anyone back." Geum-ja's voice brought me back for a split second, "Those of us who are still alive have to keep going, don't you think? Make sure you both eat, okay? Don't choke. Drink some water with it too." her comforting voice told us before she and her son left some food for us, along with a bottle of water before they both stood up and they all walked away.

We were glaring at the floor harder than ever. We still heard Geum-ja's voice along with Yong-sik and Hyun-ju.

"Gosh, they're completely out of it." Hyun-ju spoke.

"It's like their souls left their bodies." Geum-ja softly told them.

Dae-ho... We slowly looked up at each other. Determined. Enraged. My gaze snapped away from his after a while as I turned my head to look at Dae-ho. Gi-hun followed. And sure enough. There he was. Eating his food. Completely unbothered. It made me want to rip his head off.

Soon it was time for sleep. There were at least four guards positioned in the middle of the room, armed, just in case a fight broke out between us. After all, who would play the games if there was not a winner, huh?

Gi-hun and I didn't even touch the food or the water that Geum-ja and Yong-sik left us. Ever since we first looked at Dae-ho, we didn't take our eyes away from him the whole night.

The lights turned back on and the voice from the speakers sounded out once more as we watched Dae-ho wake up, "The fourth game will begin momentarily."

I'm sure that we were staring at him so hard that we both scared him because all of a sudden he looked away from both of us as he started to get up. Our eyes trailing after him as three guards approached us to free us from the handcuffs. All three of them armed.

We were walking hand in hand up the same steps on which the rebellion took place. We were looking around as before we stumbled upon a truly terrifying sight.

All of the players that were helping us in the rebellion now hung dead from the ceiling.

"You are witnessing the fate of those who refused the democratic process of voting and instead attempted to stop the game using violent means. We will not tolerate any irrational behavior which attempts to destroy the fair rules of this game, and such actions will be punished in accordance with our strict standards. We thank you again for your cooperation."

Our eyes were carefully watching Dae-ho as the took the sight of our dead friends in. He turned to look at our glaring eyes before he quickly turned away. We started to walk again.

We entered the room through a knife shaped door. In front of us was a gumball machine which contained red and blue balls.

"Welcome to your fourth game." the female voice from the speakers said, "This game will be played in two teams. Before we start the game, you will divide into teams. Please take turns drawing a ball from the gumball machine in front of you."

The players were taking turns, pulling the balls from the machine, but neither Gi-hun nor I have really paid any attention until every single person in the room turned towards us.

Reluctantly, I stepped forward.

There were only two balls left in the gumball machine. Red. Two red ones. Gi-hun and I will meet on the same team. After I took my red ball, Gi-hun stepped forward and took his.

Dae-ho had a blue one.

We were on the opposite teams.

Both of us went to stand next to each other amongst the red team as the square guard explained the game which we will play along with it's rules.

"The game you will be playing is Hide-and-seek. The Blue Team must either find the exit and escape within 30 minutes or stay hidden from the Red Team until the time is up. The Red Team, the taggers, must find members of the Blue Team and kill them within 30 minutes."

Murmures broke out almost immediately.

"The Red Team must find the Blue Team and kill them. If you fail to kill any opposing players you will be eliminated."

Gi-hun and I shared a look. We didn't say everything. We didn't need to. We already had a target.

The players on the Blue Team had been given a key with which they can open the door to escape while the Red Team had been given a knife.

Before the game began, we had time to switch teams if we wanted to. No switching teams will be allowed during the game, but that didn't matter. Both Gi-hun and I were perfectly happy with the team we were in so we just sat down at the corner next to each other, waiting for the game to start.

"Excuse me," the voice of player 100 sounded out, smiling, "Would one of you like to switch with-" he immediately stopped both taking and smiling once he saw Gi-hun and I look up at him, glaring, the grip on our knives getting tighter and tighter so much so that our knuckles turned pure white.

He got scared, turned around, and immediately walked away.

Our eyes were following him for a moment before they shifted towards the sound of Dae-ho's voice.

"Listen to me," he spoke to one of the women on the Red Team, "If you switch teams with me, I'll stay with you and protect you until the end, okay?"

"But you'd have to kill someone too." the woman spoke up, her voice trembling with fear and uneasiness.

"Will you just-!" he yelled before stopping himself, taking a deep breath as he continued with a voice filled with fake calm, "Just leave that to me. I can still stay with you. Please trust me. I'll keep my promise. Okay? Okay?"

His voice started to tremble too. The woman shook her head before pushing him away, the box in which the knife was placed she held tightly to her chest, trembling with fear.

He reluctantly stood up once he realized that he won't get through to her. He looked around anxiously before his eyes met Gi-hun's and mine. He froze. We were glaring at him.

He was such a fucking coward.

All of a sudden, his expression hardened. He started to walk towards us. Determined. Angry. Cursing all the way over to us.

"What?" he demanded once he stood right in front of us, his eyes blazing as Gi-hun and I stared right back, "What's your problem with me? Why do you keep looking at me like that? Want to blame me for everything? What did I do so wrong? We wouldn't have won. We wouldn't have won anyway."

Maybe.

Maybe we wouldn't have won.

But maybe, at least all of our efforts, all the risks we took, all the pain we have to endure would have been for nothing. Maybe at least Jung-bae and Young-il would still be alive if he just brought the ammo.

The storm was raging inside us yet we spoke non of it. Dae-ho broke.

"Fuck, stop looking at me like that!" he pushed Gi-hun's back against the wall in front of which the two of us were sitting. "It's not my fault! If we had fought the other damn side instead, we would have won. We could have won the fight and then the vote!" he was trembling with rage, his grip on Gi-hun's shoulders tight.

"It's your fault," he said, "Both of you are the ones to blame. They all died because of your ridiculous plan! It's you two! You're the ones who fucking killed them!"

The grip on my knife was unbelievably tight yet I made no move to do anything as I saw one of the guards armed with a gun approaching us. In a matter of seconds, the guard pushed the end of the gun against Dae-ho's back, stopping him from hurting us.

Neither Gi-hun nor I reacted in any way. We just kept glaring at him as he slowly lifted his arms up. The voice from the speakers sounded out.

"The game will begin momentarily. Blue Team please get ready to enter the arena. Let me repeat."

Gi-hun and I didn't listen anymore. We were glaring at Dae-ho the whole time until it was finally our turn to get up and enter the arena.

"Red Team, please enter the arena."

Everyone stared to walk through the door shaped like a key as soon as it was announced that we are allowed to enter.

It's your fault.

Gi-hun and I slowly sood up.

It's your fault.

We were the only ones left aside from the guards who were standing by the door. Gi-hun and I looked at each other, the grip on the knives ever so tight.

"No, Dae-ho..."

"It's your fault."

We getting closer to the door, only ones thing on our minds. One thing was for sure, neither of us is gonna lose this round.

We already had our eyes on the target.

The pure desire for revenge was heavy on our tongues.

Karma is coming for him and it's holding two knives.

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@shadow-tumbler

[starryhyuck]

pencil skirts. (m) — PATREON EXCLUSIVE

pairing: ceo!jeno x afab!assistant!reader

words: 5.5k+

summary: you’ve never entertained the idea of sleeping with your boss until jeno walked into your life.

genre: smut

warnings: bigdick!jeno, sex in front of a mirror, degradation, sir kink, choking, fingering, nipple play, pussy slapping, gagging, possessive!jeno, spanking, hair pulling, crying, squirting, spitting, breeding kink, pregnancy

this fic is exclusive to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here! below is a tumblr preview

Jeno hates hiring new employees.

To be fair, he never has to deal with lower level management and is only realistically involved in conversations surrounding new chief officers. But Soeun has been part of his family for decades, and he never imagined a world where he would have to replace her.

She’s old and gray now, preferring to care for her grandchildren instead of taking Jeno’s calls every hour, which he completely understands.

Nonetheless, he’s more than hesitant when you walk into his office for your second interview. You come with stellar recommendations, and although your former CEO is currently living off his wealth somewhere in the Cayman Islands, he vehemently attested to your loyalty and rapt attention to detail.

Soeun even told him you refused to divulge into the misconduct regarding the CEO, which intrigues him. If anything, Jeno values privacy, especially in his line of business. Having an assistant willing to keep their mouth sealed shut about his personal life is crucial to his decision.

When he first catches a glimpse of you, he’s floored by how pretty you are. He supposes he’s not used to having an assistant closer to his age, considering Soeun’s been the one changing his diapers since he was young. But you’re stunning, way too beautiful to be taking orders from someone like him.

“Hi, sir,” you greet him politely, approaching his desk and sticking out your hand bravely. “Thank you for taking time out of your day to meet with me.”

He tears his gaze away from your delicate features, shaking your hand and nodding gruffly. He gestures for you to take a seat.

“Not a problem,” he replies, resting in his own chair as he twirls a pen through his fingers. His cock twitches in his trousers, begging for attention, but he ignores his arousal by clearing his throat. “I hear you’re very familiar with what is required from an assistant.”

“I was his protégé since I graduated university,” you say, referring to your previous employer. “He taught me everything needed from an executive assistant. Privacy is the most important, along with getting tasks done without question.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear you already understand the specifics of the job. Soeun has been my family’s assistant since forever, so you’ll be filling in some pretty big shoes.”

“Of course,” you say. “I’ve spoken with her already and I’m prepared to shadow her until she feels confident enough for me to take over.”

His eyes trail from your face to the dip in your sheer blouse. He unabashedly scans over the swell of your breasts before quickly darting his eyes back up, catching your knowing stare. You raise an eyebrow and his cheeks bloom red.

“W-Well, if Soeun trusts you then so do I. I’ll see you first thing Monday morning.”

You thank him again for the opportunity before leaving and he hangs his head in his hands.

Fuck. You’re going to become a problem for him.

want to read the rest? access the $5 tier on my patreon here!

[auvra]

My babies 🥺🥀

Their story is bittersweet caused by the lack of communication, lack of time, and misunderstandings weaved from their individual disillusioned thinking.

In those seven years of navigating through his new beginning, I wanna know how Till lived from day to day.

I wanna know how he feels, what he thinks, and what he does now that he's free from the stage and free from the people he once knew.

Does he count the days, weeks, months, years that go by? Like a reminder of the widening gap between the present and the past where Ivan is forever frozen at 22. Does he have days where he's reminiscent of his time at Anakt Garden and cringe at his past actions and mistake? Does he think about his friends? Does he think about Ivan and think hard and long about the past situation he was in and see the various signs he should've seen?

Is his tongue ever present with the melancholic taste of regret at the thought of fumbling such a pivotal situation that could've changed the trajectory of his life —both of their lives? That he should've listened and continued to hold the hand of the man who loved him. And that in every sight he passes by, would it have been the same one with Ivan by his side if they successfully escaped the first time around?

Does he instinctively turn his head to the side and expect Ivan to be there like he always would have—only to find empty space. Subconsciously reaching out for a hand that always seems to be a few feet away but now nowhere to be found. Looking up at the night sky and trying to remember what it felt like to hold the hand that held his so dearly.

I wanna knowwww I wanna knowww Till you still have so much more to tell

[writingdevil]

Can't Help Falling in Love with You (STP Burned Bridges Fic)

(This is both a gift and a snipe for @pink-november, who wrote some amazing fics for one of my AU's, so I decided to write some burned bridges for them, in the hopes of making them smile and or cry. Enjoy!)

"Oh, my dear! This is so exciting!"

Cold smiled softly at Smitten's infectious happiness, at how he was practically skipping along as Cold guided them further into the forest.

Smitten swung their intertwined hands up and down, humming a merry tune that bounced around the trees and flowers around them, and Cold could practically feel Smitten's voice spinning around in his head. He would be content if his voice stayed there forever.

Cold was used to doing things with a calm mind, not being weighed down with emotional attachments or sentiments. He believed that was the best way to live.

But Smitten changed his mind. Smitten was all fire and passion, and couldn't go two steps without fawning over something that caught his eye.

Cold thought Smitten was interesting, but illogical. Smitten flat out hated him at times, but other times would try to get him to feel something, which would often end in arguments, either way.

That was their dance, for a while. Until Cold started to get bored, and Smitten started to feel guilty of his anger at him. Cold expected to move on from Smitten and to ignore his silly emotions for the rest of his life, but then something shocked Cold- Smitten wouldn't leave his mind.

Even when Cold assumed that he had gotten all his entertainment from the bird, Cold's thoughts kept going back to Smitten, even during the mundane moments when there would be no logical reason to think about him.

Whenever he would do anything, Smitten's voice would constantly be ringing in his head, and Cold would wonder how Smitten would react to some things. He just- wanted to have Smitten by his side, no matter what.

The fact that Smitten had wriggled his way into Cold's supposedly numb core, was something that took a long time to come to terms with. But then when Smitten would come up and talk to him, Cold noticed that his voice got softer, and the usual frustration in his eyes was replaced with a gentle twinkle that made some awful, ugly, fluttering feeling in Cold's chest.

For all of his talk of love, Smitten never cared to mention how torturous it felt.

It was so torturous that Cold couldn't help but let himself be swept along in Smitten's embrace, and the next thing he knew, they were together.

That had been a year ago, and now, Cold wanted to do something special for Smitten.

Cold slowed his pace, until Smitten was forced to stop and look over his shoulder, giving him a quizzical look. "Is everything alright, love?"

Cold nodded, and let go of Smitten's hand, coming up behind him as he said, "Yes, but this is where the surprise starts, so-" and then Cold put his hands over Smitten's eyes, leaning in close to whisper, "- you're going to have have trust me."

Cold felt Smitten's feathers fluff up behind him, and then Smitten took ahold of one of Cold's wrist to kiss it and lovingly say, "Always, my love."

Cold started slowly walking Smitten down a certain path, feeling Smitten's body tense up and shake in excitement, and Cold couldn't help the amused smile from forming on his face, glad that Smitten couldn't see him right now.

Once Cold caught sight of the first part of the surprise, he stopped, leaning in close to whisper, "Are you ready, my dear?"

Smitten squealed and jumped up and down in excitement, and Cold chuckled and lowered his hands, which Smitten instantly grabbed, and Cold squeezed it once before guiding Smitten forward.

"So," Smitten said as they walked forward, "where is the surprise?"

"Look up."

Smitten gave him a look of confusion, before lifting his head up, and gasping with a hand over his mouth.

Cold couldn't help feeling smug, as Smitten's eyes twinkled in amazement.

Cold looked up as well, just to admire his handiwork. It had taken hours to collect all the cherry blossom flowers he needed, and tied them against branches that were long enough to lean across the other side of trees on the path, of which Cold had to also try and position right.

That had been the most annoying part, and he was very close to just forgetting about the whole thing, thinking that he didn't need to put that much effort into it. But now, getting to watch Smitten's reaction to the cherry blossom archways he had created, Cold was glad he decided to push through.

"Oh my goodness," Smitten whispered, gazing up at the archways, swivelling his head to keep them in his sights as they walked through them. "This is beautiful, Cold. Did you do all this for me?"

"Yes, and I hadn't known branches could cut you in so many different ways," Cold casually said, and Smitten's head whipped to him with a wary look on his face.

Cold smirked at him, before lifting his palm up for Smitten to inspect. Smitten instantly grabbed his hand, his thumb grazing over his palm and the various cuts that he was now paying attention to, humming in disapproval.

Smitten glanced up to give Cold a frustrated look, before leaning down and peppering soft and light kisses all over Cold's fingers and palm. Although Cold's face didn't change at the affection, it still sent pleasant warmth through his feathers.

Once Smitten was finished, he held Cold's hand close to his chest and said, "I am honoured that you would go through all this effort for me, but you must tell me when you hurt yourself so that I can help you."

"By kissing it better?"

Smitten chuckled, bringing his hand up to press a final, loving kiss against Cold's palm, and this time, Cold could clearly feel a heat in his cheeks.

Smitten released his hand with a smirk, as if he knew the effect he had on Cold. "You always feel better when I take care of you."

Cold quickly grabbed Smitten's hand, avoiding eye contact as he said, "Think whatever you want, but let's keep walking at least."

Smitten giggled, but complied, and soon enough, he was back to gazing up at the pink archways with his jaw hanging open, and Cold found that he cared far more about Smitten's reactions and the tiniest facial changes, rather than part of the surprise that he had worked so long on.

Smitten was just more mesmerising to Cold.

One petal fell loose, and it drifted down towards Smitten, who made them both stop, and he lifted a hand up to catch the falling petal. Cold tilted his head to the side in curiosity, and a soft smile pulled at his face as he watched the fond look Smitten gave the tint petal, before closing his eyes and blowing it away, and they watched as the wind carried it far away.

"Well?" Cold blinked in surprise, coming back to reality to find Smitten looking at him playfully, a brow arched and a knowing smile on his face- and then Cold realised that he had been staring at Smitten. "Aren't we going to keep walking?"

Usually Cold was unabashed by his behaviour and his habit of staring at others, even if he got caught. But for some reason, because it was Smitten, it made him want to fly off and never return. How strange. If anything, that just proved that Cold was more than right in going through with this surprise.

They walked on, and Cold didn't bother with covering Smitten's eyes for this next part.

Eventually, they passed the archways, leaving the forest to go back to the dark greens and browns, which now looked so much duller compared to the bright cherry blossom that seemed to grab all the attention of the forest.

Instead, Cold saw a twinkling in the distance, just around the corner, and he silently nodded towards it to Smitten, who's face burst into a wide and excited smile, already anticipating the next part of the surprise, and then he sprinted forward, dragging Cold with him.

Cold didn't mind much. In fact, it was highly amusing to see how quickly Smitten's emotions could change- from excitement at the surprise, to concern at Cold's hands, then to gentle fondness at a single petal. Smitten had so much to feel over so many different things, that it was fascinating to watch.

Like now, for example.

Smitten had rushed forward, but abruptly stopped with a gasp as he saw the second part of the surprise. Thankfully, Cold didn't crash into him, and he placed his hands on Smitten's shoulders from behind, leaning forward to playfully ask, "Do you like it?"

In the middle of a clearing in the woods, were six silver lanterns hanging from branches, all lit and lighting up the dark forest like a beacon drawing them in. The lanterns had been arranged in a circular shape, so that their glow created a perfect circle on the forest floor- a spotlight for them to stand under.

"Oh, my love," Smitten whispered, taking a few steps forward. "This is beautiful."

"I would've made food as well, but I'm still banned from the kitchen, and Hunted won't even let me near it."

Smitten giggled, then looked back and gave Cold such a starry and amazed look, that it made Cold gulp and ball his hands into fists to control himself.

Smitten smiled warmly at him and said, "I would love anything you do for me," and then he held out his hand for Cold to take, which he gladly did.

Cold led them forward, until they were standing directly under the spotlight of the lanterns, gazing into each other's eyes and holding hands.

Smitten smirked and playfully said, "I didn't think you would be such a romantic. I thought you said big displays of affection weren't your thing?"

"It's not," Cold replied truthfully, "but you like them, and I wanted to do this for you."

Smitten squeezed his hands, then leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "Well, thank you for all this trouble you've gone through just for me. I love it."

At that moment, Cold felt a rare rush of nerves overtake him, and he ducked his head. Getting nervous now was pointless, not after all the work he's put in to get to this point tonight.

He shoved his jitters down, and made himself look Smitten in the eye as he said, "I did all of this for a reason."

"Did you now?" Smitten asked in an enamoured voice, as if the mere thought of anyone doing a romantic gesture for Smitten was enough to make him swoon.

"Yes," Cold said. "I wanted to do all of this for you because you've caught my eye the longest. You make me feel the most, by doing as little as smiling sometimes."

Smitten giggled, and Cold allowed himself to smile in fondness at the other, before it dropped again as he spoke.

"You've done a lot for me, even when I know you didn't particularly like me. You made me-"

"Prove you have feelings?" Smitten teased, almost leaning against Cold now, and Cold lips twitched upwards, but he remained focused on his task.

"I suppose you could say that," Cold quietly murmured, squeezing their intertwined hands for comfort, which Smitten happily provided.

"So I wanted to do all of this for you, to make everything perfect, just as you'd like it, so that I could tell you that I-I-"

Cold could immediately feel that warmth and nerves turn to ash and rot in his mouth, and he coughed, hoping to not lose control at the last moment.

He made himself look into Smitten's shining eyes, feeling his body and his heart against his so firmly. This was all for Smitten. He needed to do this for Smitten, because he's worked on himself so much for Cold. Smitten deserved to have the favour returned.

"I wanted to say that I- that I-"

But everytime Cold got close to saying it, his mind would shut it down and he couldn't get the words out.

His fear was stopping him.

Why should Cold be afraid, though? What did it matter? Either he said the words or he didn't. Nothing major would change in his life because of three simple words, and even if they did, Cold shouldn't care about that.

But then Cold looked into Smitten's eyes or heard his warm voice, and it made him care.

Cold lowered his head, feeling a hint of shame, as the words refused to be said aloud. "I-I-"

"Sshh." But then Smitten held a finger up to his lips, nothing but genuine adoration in his eyes as he softly said, "I love you too, my darling."

Cold blinked, his mind shutting down for a split second, until all he could think to say was, "You didn't let me say it."

"I knew what you were trying to say, and it seemed like you were struggling."

Cold sighed, frustration shaking in his voice no matter how much he tried to suppress it. "I-I should be able to say it for myself."

"It's alright if you can't, sweet thing."

"No," Cold quietly mumbled, lowering his head, no longer squeezing Smitten's hands anymore. "It shouldn't be a problem to me. I shouldn't care this much about measly words. I need to do this."

"Why?" Smitten softly asked, and Cold hated how he heard zero judgement in his voice.

"Because if I can't say it, then I can't let you know how I feel about you."

"But I do know how you feel."

Cold let a bitter laugh out. "How?"

He felt Smitten lift his chin up to look at him, and felt himself getting lost in the warmth that Smitten kept radiating, all for Cold to soak up.

Smitten's eyes shone brightly as he said, "You've just told me you loved me."

"No, I didn't," Cold protested, and Smitten chuckled, then twisted them slightly to face the path they came from, and boldly declared, "My beloved, you've been telling me you love me all day- with your actions."

Cold didn't understand, and Smitten gestured up towards the lanterns and explained, "Every detail that you thought up, every second that you spent preparing this- that was all you saying I love you."

Was that- true? He supposed actions did speak louder than words in some cases. But Cold had always assumed, at least for him, that nobody would ever understand him unless he said it plainly. He didn't anyone to read between the lines- everyone except Smitten, apparently.

He turned back to face Smitten hesitantly. "You can really-feel that? You can tell what I'm trying to say?"

Smitten wrapped his arms around Cold's waist. "Of course I can, my love."

Cold's hands found their way to Smitten's shoulders, and he found himself pressing closer to Smitten, with one last question tugging at his mind.

"It doesn't bother you that I can't say the words yet?" he asked, trying to sound neutral, but judging from the way Smitten rubbed his back in comfort, it didn't come off that way. "Not when you throw them around all the time?"

"As I said, beautiful, you tell me you love me in so many different ways. I don't need to hear you say it to know it to be true."

A smile tugged at Cold's lips. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Smitten said confidently, before suddenly dipping Cold, a move he did quite often, to the point where Cold was almost expecting the move, because he knew what came after it.

"I'll wait however long it takes for you to be able to declare your love to me, and if that day never comes, then it doesn't matter. It won't change how I feel about you."

Smitten leaned in close, and Cold tugged him forward impatiently, his breath hitching as Smitten voice lowered and he said, "I'll still love you regardless."

Then their lips met in a sweet kiss, and Cold could feel their love for each other within it.

[dcdreamblog]

Plenty of superhero romances tend to go sour because of the dangers of that kind of life, from death to blackmail to SA to the 90s Green Lantern’s ever infamous fridge incident. Are there any superhero love stories that you know of off the top of your head that didn’t have any kind of tragedy? What do you think made them successful?

I mean there's never going to be such thing as a romance with NO tragedy in it, is there?

To put it in the most minimized possible way "into every life a little rain must fall" no? HUMAN lives are full to bursting with tragedy, heartache, sickness, death and misery. That's part of why love exists. It's one of the things that gets a human being out of bed in the morning. Drives us a little bit further up the mountain when the boulder is pounding on our shoulders. It's a light that beats back the darkness.

I have a perfect example of love, and tragedy, and light. And it's the kind of thing a lot of people in the HERE AND NOW would have trouble accepting.

(A comical illustration from Alan Scott and Molly Mayne's wedding invitations, given out only to their superheroic comrades)

Alan Scott and Molly Mayne met in 1947 when Molly made her 'debut' as the criminal Harlequin. It was a spur of the moment decision brought on by Mayne's then long time infatuation with Scott in his Green Lantern guise. Hoping to attract his attention and become a bewitching femme fatale. They sparred, physically and verbally and all in good fun off and on for many years but that spark just never developed between them. There was a reason.

Alan Scott is a gay man. And always has been.

When forced into retirement by the passage of the Keene Act in 1950, Alan did marry another woman named Rose Canton secretly another supervillainess by the name of Thorn. When the resurgence of her mental illness caused her to disappear from Alan's life he was left distraught. Having reconnected through mutual friends the pair hit it off and they too, were married. A marriage that continues to this day.

Didn't I just say Scott was a gay man? I did.

Scott had known he was a homosexual since his railroad engineer days in the early 1940s, having conducting various affairs with men he knew along the way. He'd been blackmailed, blackballed, even undergoing failed conversion therapy at the infamous Arkham Asylum. By the 1950s Scott had buried his homosexuality intellectually if not emotionally in an attempt to simply survive the society in which he lived but it could never last forever.

After a long period of repression that nearly drove Scott and his son Todd (the superhero Obsidian) apart, it eventually bubbled to the surface and Scott was forced to accept himself...and his wife accepted him just as readily.

See, it turns out that Molly had known all along. Their marriage of nearly as century had never been consummated and through conversation with Scott's comrades and friends it eventually became clear to her why. Scott's buried repression and abuse, two lost children that came crashing back into his life with various degrees of anger, an ex-wife whose murderous alternative personality came seeking revenge on the Scott family, a lifetime of supervillains, criminal conspiracy and violent trauma.

And it didn't matter to her. To either of them in the end.

Alan Scott, a gay man. And Molly Mayne, a straight woman, are married to this day. And DEEPLY in love despite it. Mayne has become the clearest mother figure to Scott's two children, the heroes Jade and Obsidian. She has also become a perennial figure in the superhero history space (I've casually met her once or twice, due to something involving the demon lord Neron she currently resembles a woman in her late 60s despite being over 100).

There are many illicit and definitional questions summoned up by the duo. Sex, labels, the arrangement of beds. But you know what?

It doesn't matter and its none of my goddamn business. Scott and Mayne recently, despite it all, celebrated their 70th anniversary and on this Pride Month, a time all about tossing out old labels to discover and defend the things that make us happy above all. What other way to define and cherish love could POSSIBLY matter than these quotes"

"To my lift, my light, my constant smile. To she who makes every tear a temporary one" - Tweet by Scott upon their anniversary

"A blazing fire. A verdant bloom of life. Stronger than any darkness has ever been." - Tweet by Mayne upon their anniversary

[burreauxsss]

wrong jersey (filler)

background: the boy of every girl's dreams, joe burrow who was in a long lasting relationship with a model, ended due to infidelity, what happens when he runs into someone new at the met gala?

all pics from pinterest, all rights reserved)

synopsis: another filler of him being jealous of you wearing the wrong jersey!

word count: 985

notes: another day, another filler.

warning: this is a au aka alternative universe series. possessive joe? HEAVY smut warning. also grammarly is a pain to use but i use it as a autocorrect on google docs, so ignore any mistakes.

📍Cincinnati, OH That weekend

Your suitcase hit the floor with a soft thud the second you stepped inside Joe’s house.

He was standing in the foyer, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy from running his hand through it about a thousand times while waiting for you to text “landed safely.”

You didn’t even get a full hello out before his arms were around you pulling you flush against him like he could trap you here forever.

“Hi,” you murmured into his neck, inhaling the faint cologne and laundry detergent that always clung to him.

“Hi,” he mumbled back, nose brushing your ear. “Missed you.”

You broke apart just enough to unzip your duffel, tugging out a neatly folded black and purple jersey.

Joe froze.

“Is that-”

“Mhm,” you said sweetly. “Thought I’d sleep in it tonight. To remind you who I really root for.”

He stepped back, eyes narrowing like a cat ready to pounce. “You’re real bold for someone in my house right now.”

You shrugged, batting your lashes. “You gonna stop me?”

Joe’s jaw flexed. That quiet danger in his grin flickered to life. “Give it to me.”

You pressed the jersey to your chest like a fake damsel in distress. “Nope.”

“Y/N…”

You turned on your heel, giggling, backing down the hall as he stomped after you. “What’s wrong, QB1? Scared of a little competition?”

He cornered you in the living room. One hand braced on the wall beside your head, the other palm out.

“Hand. It. Over.”

“Make me.”

He cocked a brow, and then snatched it so fast you squealed, the soft fabric slipping through your fingers.

“Hey!” you protested. “Be careful!"

Joe didn’t say a word. He just stared you down while he crossed to the fireplace, the one you loved to curl up next to last winter.

You watched him flip the switch. The flame growing by the second.

Your eyes went wide. “Joe. Joseph. Joseph Lee Burrow, do not-”

But it was too late.

He held the jersey over the flame, lips twitching at your horrified squeal.

“You wanna wear purple and black in my city? In my house?” His voice dipped. “Nah. Not on my watch.”

He let go. The fabric caught instantly and crumbled to ash while you slapped his arm uselessly.

“Joe! Are you insane?!”

“Little bit,” he said, not looking away from the flames. “Only for you, though.”

You stood there, mouth open, watching your plan fall apart in real time.

“You’re a psychopath,” you breathed.

He finally turned, grabbing your waist, pressing you into the mantle. “And you’re mine. Now you don’t need that shit anymore.”

It was soft. Way too soft for something so dangerous.

From the hall, he grabbed a small box you hadn’t noticed on the side table, when you opened it you notice a cropped Bengals jersey with his number on the back.

“Wear this instead,” he murmured, slipping it into your hands. “Nothing underneath."

You swallowed, heat flooding your cheeks, your chest, your thighs pressed tight together. “You’re serious.”

Joe grinned, “Dead serious.”

You looked down at the ashes, then at the new jersey in your hands, then back up at him, his face so close, his fingers drumming idly against your hip like he was resisting the urge to just ruin you right there.

“Fine,” you whispered. “But you’re gonna pay for that one.”

Joe’s grin turned feral. “Oh, I plan on it.”

You stood in front of his bedroom mirror, bare thighs brushing the edge of the dresser, tugging the hem of the fresh white BURROW jersey down over your ribcage.

It barely reached.

Your reflection glowed in the low light. Hair is still a little messy. Gloss worn off your bottom lip from where you last reapplied it.

Joe leaned against the doorframe, one shoulder propped up like he owned the house, the night, you. Arms crossed over his chest, veins on his forearms catching the dim lamp glow. His mouth parted just slightly when you turned to face him, the hem riding higher with the smallest twist of your hips.

“You done burning my entire closet yet?” you teased, voice a little too breathless to sound cocky.

Joe didn’t smile. He just pushed off the frame and walked toward you, that cocky stride that you knew that he was up to something.

He stopped inches away. Looked down at you like you were something to eat.

“That’s better,” he rasped, thumb hooking the hem and flicking it up just enough to see your bare skin underneath. “Now you look like mine.”

You swallowed, throat tight, when his fingers skimmed your hip. “I’ve been yours.”

He smirked. “Yeah. But now you remember it.”

His hand slid under the jersey, hot palm dragging up your waist, fingertips pressing possessive little bruises into your side. He tugged it just enough to expose the curve of your ass in the mirror.

“You know what’s crazy?” he murmured, leaning down so his breath ghosted your ear. “I’m gonna ruin you in this. And tomorrow? You’re gonna wear it again."

You gasped, hips bucking into him as his teeth grazed your neck. “Joe-”

He chuckled, that dangerous drawl that only came out when he was done pretending.

“Turn around, baby.”

You obeyed, watching him stare at his name stretched across your shoulder blades while his hands dragged the jersey up inch by inch.

“Keep it on,” he ordered, voice gone. “Wanna watch my name bounce while you scream it.”

You whined, so soft and desperate, he laughed against your shoulder. “Pretty sound,” he teased. “You gonna give me more?”

You met his eyes in the mirror, his pupils blown so wide you could drown in them.

“Y-yeah,” you breathed.

His grin turned feral. “Good girl.”

And when his hand slid between your thighs and you gasped his name, and the only thing you'd be wearing was his last name for now on.

[cupidstrace]

Two Days Before Goodbye

Summary; Two days isn't a second chance. It's not enough to fix the fact that he left, chasing the stage, the spotlight, a world far away from your own. But he's home for the weekend, and for a little while, it feels like you never had to say goodbye in the first place. Pairing; Geto Suguru x Reader

You ring the doorbell and wait, tapping your wrist like it might make time move faster. It doesn’t. That’s not how things work.

The door swings open without warning, and before you can react, two girls barrel you to the ground. They throw themselves at you, laughter spilling like the sunrise through a crack in the curtain.

One of them wraps her arms around your waist and buries her face in your stomach. The other rests her cheek on top of your head, giggling like this is routine. It is. You have a bad habit of being unable to reject their parent’s requests. “Are you babysitting tonight?”

You nod, a hand smoothing down her hair, letting yourself laugh. “I am, Mimi. Is your mom inside?”

She grabs your hand without waiting for a response and tugs you into the house. “Mommy and Daddy are getting ready. They’re going to the movies–”

Nanako cuts in, voice scandalized. “Without us!”

You bend down and scoop her into your arms, smiling when she squeals.

“You can’t watch those movies before bed,” you tease. “You’ll dream of ghosts and monsters.”

You pause, then grin. “Boo.”

She shrieks and buries her face in your neck.

Nanako and Mimiko are your family friend’s kids. You’ve been watching them since their older brother left home chasing something brighter. As if the world would give it to him if he just reached far enough.

You remember long nights on the rooftop, whispered dreams between mouthfuls of soda and sky. You said you’d stay nearby. Find a stable job, live a comfortable life. He said he’d change the world.

He was always an idealist in that sense.

Their parents leave with gentle smiles and the kind of kiss that says this is enough. You watch them from the doorway, heart tugging just slightly at the smallness of it all. Small house. Small town. Small, quiet happiness that doesn’t ask for more than what it has.

You settle the girls on the couch and flick through channels until a familiar voice crackles through the screen.

Suguru.

He’s in all black, hair slicked back, if only to look professional for the camera. His signature smile is on, and you wonder, briefly, if he rehearsed it in the mirror like he used to back then.

He’s smiling at a reporter, talking about duty and expectation and changing the world, just like he always does. “I write my songs for what I believe in. It’s a message that I’m unafraid to share, with or without a back track.”

Nanako has fallen asleep in the corner of the couch, a throw pillow cuddled to her face. Mimiko sits on a beanbag, eyelids drooping.

You smile gently and reach over to brush a bit of hair from Nanako’s cheek, lowering the volume to a gentle hum. On screen, Suguru continues. Calm. Self-assured. So different from the awkward boy who used to make up dumb songs on the ukulele just to make you laugh.

“He’s so cool,” Mimiko mumbles, rubbing her eyes with a small fist. “Everyone at school says he’s gonna be famous forever.”

“He already is,” you reply.

It’s strange, seeing him like this. Part of you still thinks of him as the boy who used to sneak out the window just to meet you at the gas station for slushies at 12 am. Not the man giving interviews in tailored jackets, not the voice playing on the radio every other hour.

The door opens.

Softly. Without announcement. Like something returning instead of arriving.

You turn, heart stalling in your chest.

Suguru stands in the entryway, suitcase in hand, jacket slung over his shoulder. His eyes scan the room, Nanako sleeping on the couch, Mimiko dozing off on the floor, and then land on you.

For a moment, neither of you says a thing. You feel like you’re drowning.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” he says finally, setting down his bag.

You cross your arms a little too tightly, bracing for a hurt you already know. “Didn’t know you were coming home.”

He shrugs like his return doesn’t mean everything. “Figured I’d surprise them. Didn’t expect to surprise you too.”

You watch as he walks over and drops a kiss to the top of Mimiko’s head. She stirs, half-asleep. Then lights up. “Suguru!”

He grins back. Softer now. Not the smile he wears on billboards. “Hey, monkey.”

You should get up. Say goodbye. Maybe offer to stay the night and let him rest after his flight. 

But you don’t.

Instead, you let the silence settle again, thick and full of things neither of you have the courage to name.

“Still working at the bookstore?”

You blink. “You remembered that?”

He smiles, almost sheepish. Like he doesn't notice your heart is pounding and melting and aching all at once. “Hard to forget the way you talked about books.”

You laugh once. Quiet. “Yeah, still there. Stable job.”

He nods. “I always admired that about you. You knew what you wanted.”

“And you didn’t?”

“I did,” he murmurs. “Just didn’t think I’d have to give up everything else to get it.”

The weight of that settles between you. Nanako shifts in her sleep.

You want to ask if “everything else” means you. But you’re not seventeen anymore, and this isn’t the roof of your parents’ house. So instead, you say, “They’re good girls.”

He nods. “They love you.”

“Do you?”

The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and once it’s out, it sits between you like something fragile and splintering and crumbling into little pieces in your gut.

His eyes widen. Then he looks down.

“Of course.”

You don’t say anything.

Then, finally, you sigh. “You’re only here for the weekend, right?”

He hums in affirmation. “Sunday night flight.”

Two days. Forty-eight hours. You could measure it in sunrises or spoons in the sink or seconds spent too long looking at each other, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

You nod, standing slowly. “Then we’ve got two days.”

“Two days for what?”

You reach for a blanket to drape over Nanako’s shoulders. “To catch up. There’s leftovers in the fridge.”

Suguru doesn’t speak. Just watches you like he never stopped. Like he’s not someone famous, like he’s still the boy who loved the taste of gas station slushies and the sound of cicadas and laughter on summer nights.

Then he grins, the same crooked grin from years ago, when his lips were sticky with red syrup and his teeth were blue from brain freeze. “Lead the way.”

You head to the kitchen, flicking the light on as he follows behind. He starts humming some tune you recognize from the radio, softer than it sounds in your car.

Mimiko shifts on the beanbag, murmuring something about unicorns in her sleep, and you share an amused look.

For a moment, it feels like nothing’s changed at all. Like you’re seventeen again, like he’s still your best friend and not someone the whole world knows by name.

You open the fridge.

Behind you, he says, almost too casually, “I still remember your favorite.”

You glance back at him, a smile tugging at your lips. "Then you can help me plate it."

He hums in response. Familiar. Like he used to under the stars, back when time felt slower and the future wasn’t so far away.

And, if only for tonight, the world feels small again. Small enough to hold in your hands.

Two days won’t change anything. Not really.

But they might be enough to remember what it felt like before everything did.