#when held up against the others & having to scrap a lot of it

[leriexoxo]

Angel’s SKZ Birthday Bash 🎂

Dont Let Me Love You

Bestfriend! Hyunjin x Reader

Tags: Angst, best friends to lovers, unrequited love, stubbornness, smut, feelings realization, slow burn, drunken confession, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, lots of kissing, sexual tension.

Word count: 6.7k

Summary: You were never supposed to fall for him. Not your best friend, the boy who swore he didn’t believe in love anymore. But he touched you like he forgot, looked at you like he remembered, and held you like he wished he could stay. You told yourself it was nothing. That you’d imagined it. Until one night, the truth slipped past your lips, thick with wine and want. And suddenly, he wasn’t pretending anymore. He begged you not to love him. You did it anyway. Now, there’s no going back.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

🎊: Happy Birthday to an amazing writer @angel-writes-skz-here , I hope you have a good one 🤍

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You couldn’t name the exact moment it started.

Maybe it was the first time he pulled you into his hoodie on a rainy night, both of you soaked and breathless, laughing like fools under the yellow haze of a streetlight. Or maybe it was the way he always looked for you in a crowded room with that quiet glance, like the world only made sense if you were in it.

You’d been friends for years. That kind of closeness that lived in the small things — sharing earbuds in public, finishing each other’s snacks without asking, sleeping back-to-back during long movie marathons. No boundaries. No questions. It was never weird. Never talked about.

You told people you were best friends. They never believed you.

“Are you sure you’re not dating?”

“You two act like an old married couple.”

You’d laugh it off. So would he. Because it wasn’t like that. Not really.

Except, it kind of was. Wasn’t it?

You never flirted — not outright. But he’d rest his head in your lap when he was tired. You’d trace shapes into the fabric of his sleeve when you were bored. He’d call you at 2 a.m. just to ask what you thought happened to the dinosaurs. You’d pick up every time.

You didn’t think anything of it. Until one night, you did.

You were both lying on his floor, backs against the carpet, the ceiling spinning just a little from too much soda and too much sugar. He was telling you about his latest sketch — how he couldn’t get the shading right on this one figure, how the shoulders kept coming out wrong.

“I should just scrap the whole thing,” he murmured, one hand behind his head, the other gesturing vaguely. “Start over.”

You looked over at him. His hair was sticking out at different angles from him running his fingers through it repeatedly. His voice was low, softer than usual. You noticed the curve of his mouth when he was lost in thought.

And for some reason, your chest ached.

It came fast, like a breath you weren’t ready to take. Like something you’d been holding back for a long time without realizing.

You didn’t say anything. Just turned your head away and stared at the ceiling again, willing the feeling to pass. It didn’t.

That was the moment.

That was when everything shifted — quietly, almost cruelly. No fireworks. No drama. Just a slow, unbearable awareness that you wanted more than he was willing to give. That you’d fallen in love with the one person who would never love you back.

Because Hyunjin didn’t believe in love. Not anymore.

“Love’s a mess,” he’d told you once. “It makes people selfish. Desperate. I don’t want that again.”

You’d nodded. Agreed. Back then, it was easy. Back then, you believed him.

But now? Now you were lying awake at night, wondering if the way he held your wrist a little too long meant anything. If the way he leaned his head on your shoulder when he was tired was just a habit, or something more. If you were imagining it all.

Because the truth was, he still looked at you like you were his favorite person in the world. He just didn’t look at you like someone he could fall in love with.

And that hurt more than anything.

You told yourself it was still the same. That the late-night phone calls didn’t mean more. That the way he let his head fall against your shoulder when he was tired was just muscle memory. That the things he said, “No one gets me like you do”, “You’re the only person I can be like this with”, weren’t confessions. Just friendship.

You lied to yourself a lot these days. Because Hyunjin was still Hyunjin. Thoughtless in the way he touched, soft in the way he lingered. He didn’t think twice before pulling you into a hug that lasted too long. Didn’t hesitate to rest his chin on your shoulder while brushing his teeth beside you in the mirror. You were just his person. The one who knew his favorite ramen flavor, the only one he let read his notebooks when he got too deep in his head. The one he curled around like a cat on cold mornings, blanket tangled between your legs.

It was never meant to be anything else.

Except now, every time his fingers brushed your skin, it felt like a match struck against your nerves.

You’d flinch — not outwardly, but inside, something always jumped. And he never noticed. Never looked twice.

You got good at pretending. That was your new talent. Smiling through the heat that bloomed in your chest. Holding your breath when he leaned in too close. Laughing like you weren’t falling in love with every little thing he didn’t realize he was doing.

Like now.

You were in the passenger seat of his car, driving home from some late-night errand getting snacks and candles and that moisturizer he liked but could never find. The sky outside was ink-black, the city glowing in fragments through the windshield. Music played low, something dreamy, ambient. A D4VD song you didn’t know the name of.

He was humming under his breath, his voice soft, almost boyish in the quiet.

You had your legs crossed loosely, skirt riding a little high on your thighs, but you didn’t think much of it. Not until Hyunjin’s hand left the gear shift, moved lazily to rest on your leg — light, like it always was. Familiar. Careless.

Except this time, it was your bare thigh.

Warm skin against warm skin. His fingertips just resting there, unconscious and unbothered. A touch he’d done a hundred times before.

But never like this.

You froze.

Not visibly. You kept your face turned toward the window, your mouth pulling into a soft smile at something he said, something you didn’t even hear.

The movement of the car made it worse. Every bump in the road sent a subtle shift through your body, the light drag of his hand against your skin, knuckles grazing higher, then settling again. Not intentionally. He wasn’t even aware.

But it lit something low in your stomach. That terrible, quiet ache.

You stared out the window like it was the most fascinating view in the world. Said nothing. Didn’t breathe too deeply.

Because the moment you acknowledged it, you knew the spell would break. Or worse — you’d say something you couldn’t take back.

And Hyunjin? He just kept driving, humming softly. Like his touch didn’t burn you alive.

He didn’t move his hand from your thigh until his phone buzzed in the console.

He shifted just enough to check it, eyes flicking down, the glow of the screen lighting up his face in the dark. His hand left your skin. You exhaled silently.

“Jisung’s throwing a party tomorrow night,” he said, like nothing strange had happened. “Wants us to come.”

You blinked, still trying to breathe like a normal person. “Yeah,” you said quickly. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

But it stayed with you long after you went home. Long after you’d changed into pajamas and buried yourself beneath your sheets and stared up at the ceiling, your skin still tingling where his hand had been. You tried not to read into it. Failed spectacularly.

Because no matter how many times you told yourself it was meaningless — just Hyunjin being Hyunjin — it never felt that way to you.

—

The next night, you dressed slowly.

You didn’t mean to try so hard. You didn’t. But your hands lingered over the soft hem of your dress, your eyes scanning your reflection for anything he might notice. Anything that might make him look twice. Foolish, you told yourself. You knew better. But the hope was a quiet thing, and it didn’t ask permission to bloom.

Hyunjin picked you up just past nine. Same lazy smile. “You look nice,” he said, like it was routine.

You tried not to die inside.

Jisung’s place was already full when you arrived, warm lights, loud music, the living room packed with bodies and laughter. Familiar faces from old parties, new people you didn’t care to know. You stuck close to Hyunjin at first, the way you always did. It wasn’t even a choice anymore, he was your orbit.

There were games going on. Stupid things. Seven minutes in heaven, truth or dare, couples kissing in the middle of dares they barely flinched at. It was messy and loud and full of things you tried not to want.

Hyunjin settled next to you on the couch, thigh pressed to yours. His arm draped along the back, fingers grazing your shoulder every now and then. He smelled like cedarwood and clean laundry. You tried not to lean in.

“Couples are so annoying,” Jisung said from across the room, groaning theatrically as two people fawned all over each other. “Get a room, Jesus.”

Hyunjin snorted beside you. “Seriously. They look insane.”

The words stabbed a little harder than they should’ve.

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Your chest felt tight. Maybe it was the noise, or the room, or just him — sitting there beside you like he wasn’t everything you wanted. Like he hadn’t just reminded you, again, that you’d never be it for him.

Because Hyunjin didn’t do love. He didn’t want it. Not from anyone.

And especially not from you.

You looked away. Reached for a cup you hadn’t planned on drinking from.

The first shot burned your throat.

The second made you laugh too loud at something that wasn’t funny.

The third — well, you didn’t remember pouring it.

By the time the music blurred into static and the room tipped slightly when you stood, your head was full of him. His hand on your leg. His voice saying “They look insane.” The way he smiled like nothing between you had ever been dangerous.

You drank because it was easier than feeling.

Hyunjin had stopped drinking long ago. You saw him watching you. Concern flickered in his eyes every time you reached for another glass. You ignored him. You were good at that, too.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he said finally, coming over and gently prying the cup from your fingers. “Let’s go home.”

You blinked up at him, a little dazed. “What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

His hand slipped around your wrist firmly. His touch was always gentle when it came to you. It hurt more that way.

You didn’t protest when he guided you out, his hand never leaving yours. Not until you stepped into the night and the air bit at your skin and your head started to clear just enough to feel everything again.

The ache. The longing. The quiet devastation of wanting someone who would never want you back.

—

You sat slumped against the passenger window, forehead pressed to the cool glass, trying not to think about the way his hand brushed yours when he helped you into the car. How it had lingered — warm, steady, a little too close to deliberate. Like he’d meant to pull you in and then remembered who you were.

Almost.

Outside, the city passed in slow, sleepy streaks. Warm golds. Faded greys. The world felt quieter than it should’ve, your heartbeat too loud against the hush of his playlist humming in the background. Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t trust your voice not to crack if you did.

When he pulled up outside your building, the engine ticked into silence, and for a beat too long, neither of you moved.

You shifted. “You don’t have to walk me up.”

“I know.” But he came anyway.

The elevator was a closed box of silence. Your floor blinked past in soft dings, but you barely registered them. You were too aware of him, the heat of his body beside you, the clean scent of his cologne, the way his hand brushed the small of your back when you stepped out, so light you almost convinced yourself you imagined it.

Your fingers fumbled with the keys. Wine still in your blood. Nerves screaming under your skin. The key missed the lock once — twice — before Hyunjin reached forward, curling his hand around your wrist.

“Hey,” he murmured. “I got it.”

It wasn’t the touch that undid you. It was how long he held it. How gentle. How it felt like he wanted to stay close.

Like maybe he didn’t hate how your skin felt, even if he didn’t want to need it.

The door clicked open. You stepped inside. He followed without asking. Like always.

And maybe it was the way the light fell soft against his jaw, or the fact that your mouth still tasted like longing, or the weight of his hand still echoing against your wrist — but suddenly you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Do you really think love is a mistake?”

He turned toward you. Brow faintly drawn. “What?”

You swallowed. Closed the door behind you. “At the party. When Jisung was making fun of couples. You said they looked stupid. You meant it, didn’t you?”

He stared at you for a long moment. Long enough to make the air feel heavy.

Then he crossed the room, leaned against your kitchen counter, arms folding across his chest like armor. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I meant it.”

You waited. He didn’t elaborate.

“Why?” you asked.

His jaw tightened. He rubbed the back of his neck — a nervous habit — like he was trying to chase something out of his own skin. “Because love ruins things,” he said, low and bitter. “Because people say forever and leave the second it gets hard. Because I’ve already been that idiot once and it fucking broke me.”

The words were sharp. Not at you but still, they cut.

“I’m not people, Hyunjin.”

That made him pause.

His gaze lifted. Locked on yours. And for the first time that night, he looked at you. Not past you. Not through you. At you — like he was seeing something he hadn’t let himself see before.

His voice came out rough. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing where you make it sound like you could be different.”

“Maybe I could be.”

His shoulders tensed. You took a step closer.

“I’ve been here,” you said softly. “Every time. No matter what mood you’re in. No matter how much you push.”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

“I know.” Your voice cracked a little. “But still, you let me in. You always do.”

He didn’t speak.

You took another step.

“You touch me like it means something,” you whispered. “And maybe it doesn’t. Maybe I’m just reading into things I shouldn’t. But I wish—”

You stopped. Bit back the words.

“I wish you didn’t make it so easy to love you.”

That hit.

You saw it. The way his eyes flickered. The way his lips parted like he was about to say something he’d regret.

The space between you throbbed.

He stepped toward you — slow, hesitant — until he was close enough to reach. Close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath. His gaze dropped, lingered on your mouth.

He didn’t kiss you. But he didn’t walk away either.

Your name left his lips, soft and broken. A whisper edged in something dangerous.

You blinked, swallowed hard, then stepped back. Too fast.

“Forget it,” you murmured. “I’m tired.”

“Wait—”

But you were already turning, already walking toward your bedroom, away from the crash you almost let happen.

And Hyunjin stood in your kitchen hands clenched, jaw tight, chest heaving like he’d just realized something he wasn’t ready to admit. Still he didn’t follow.

—

You woke up with the taste of regret clinging to your tongue.

Your head pounded, the dull throb blooming behind your eyes as sunlight bled through your curtains too brightly. Your throat was dry, your limbs a little heavy, like your body was punishing you for last night’s stupidity.

And then it hit you.

Not the headache. Not the dehydration.

The memory.

Your breath stalled. You shot upright, the sheets tangling around your legs like they were trying to drag you back under. You’d said it. You actually said it. Out loud. To him. In your kitchen. With your hair a mess and wine swimming in your veins.

“I wish you didn’t make it so easy to love you.”

You groaned — loud and pathetic — and shoved your face into your hands. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Your chest tightened. Your stomach churned. You pulled at your hair like it might jolt the moment out of your skull, erase the words, roll back the clock. But they were still there, echoing through your skull like a song you couldn’t shut off.

You checked your phone. Nothing from him. Not a single text. No call. Not even a stupid meme, which he always sent after parties, something about how hard he’d regretted leaving the house, or how gross drunk people were.

But this time? Radio silence.

You paced. You spiraled. You considered deleting your entire existence and moving to another continent. Maybe start a new life with a new name. Somewhere snowy. Somewhere far from boys with lazy grins and hands that rest too casually on your thigh.

God, his hand.

You let out a strangled sound, turned on your heel, and marched toward the kitchen. You needed water. Or coffee. Or a time machine.

You rounded the corner—and screamed.

Hyunjin was standing by your counter.

Barefoot. Hair a mess. Same hoodie from last night slouched off one shoulder, like he’d never left.

Because he hadn’t.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He didn’t flinch. “I couldn’t leave.”

You blinked. Words stuttering behind your lips. “You—? What?”

“I tried. I got as far as the door.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, jaw tight. “But I couldn’t go.”

You stared at him, throat closing around a dozen questions you were too afraid to ask.

His voice was quieter now. “We need to talk.”

And just like that, the hangover didn’t matter anymore.

You swallowed. The air between you shifted, dense and sharp like a wire pulled too tight. “Right. Um. Okay.”

You backed toward the fridge like the moment might forget you existed if you just kept moving. Pulled open the door. Grabbed the water bottle. Avoided his eyes.

He didn’t speak. Just watched you — heavy, unmoving, arms folded across his chest like a barricade.

You unscrewed the cap. Took a long drink. Cleared your throat. “About last night…”

His gaze didn’t waver.

You smiled shaky and rehearsed. “I was so drunk. I barely remember anything.”

A beat passed.

He blinked once. Slowly. “You don’t remember.”

“Not really, no.”

“Nothing at all?”

You gave a small, helpless laugh. “I mean, bits and pieces. I was clearly talking nonsense—”

“Right,” he cut in. “Nonsense.”

He turned his head then, jaw flexing. Something sharp flashed through his expression, not hurt or disbelief but something closer to anger.

Your stomach dipped and you shifted on your feet. “I just didn’t want to make things weird between us.”

“Well, too late for that,” he said, voice tight.

You blinked. “Hyunjin—”

He took a step toward you.

Your breath caught.

He tilted his head slightly, dark eyes narrowing. “So let me get this straight. You weren’t confessing anything. You didn’t mean any of it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you said you don’t remember.” He moved again. Another step. “You’re saying I made it up?”

“That’s not—”

“You’re saying I imagined the way your voice shook when you said you loved me?”

You froze.

He kept going. Low. Dangerous. Closer.

“You’re saying my touch doesn’t affect you?”

You flinched.

“Doesn’t make you forget what you’re saying, what you’re doing, who you’re trying so hard to be?”

His hand lifted slowly and deliberately brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Just the pads of his fingers, soft and reverent, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to touch you or punish you with it.

You didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe.

His voice was barely a whisper now. “Tell me I made it up.”

You couldn’t. Because you didn’t.

And he knew that. Every inch of him — from the tight line of his shoulders to the way his mouth hovered just shy of yours — was daring you to keep lying.

And you couldn’t do it. Not when your whole body was already leaning into the gravity of him.

Not when every second of silence stretched the ache between you like a fuse begging to be lit.

You didn’t mean to touch him. Your hand just moved on its own — curled gently over his chest like it could quiet the tremble beneath your skin. He was so close now, heat radiating off him like a fever, like fire, and you were drowning in it.

And then he pulled you in.

A sharp inhale caught in your throat as his hands slid around your waist. His grip wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t soft either, it was firm. Steady. Like he wasn’t letting go, even if he should.

He stared down at you, the weight of his gaze unbearable. Like he could read every word you hadn’t said. Like your silence was loud.

You didn’t know what to do with the way he looked at you.

You didn’t know what to do with the way your body ached to close the last inch.

His mouth was right there, full and parted, breath fanning across your cheek like a dare. You felt the heat blooming in your chest, your stomach, the place between your thighs. You weren’t breathing. Couldn’t.

“Are you ready to talk now?” he asked, voice thick, jaw tight.

The spell shattered like glass between you.

You pulled back. Just barely. Not enough to escape, only to feel the sudden absence of the moment you were about to break into.

Your throat burned. “Do we have to?”

He didn’t smile. “Yes.”

You stepped back, just enough for air, for distance, even if it felt like a wound. He let you go. Slowly. Like it hurt him too.

You moved to the couch, legs folding under you like your bones forgot how to hold your weight. Hyunjin stayed standing for a moment, then sat beside you but far enough to be polite and close enough to make your chest ache.

He spoke first.

“I don’t do love,” he said, low and flat. “Not anymore.”

You stared at your hands. “I know.”

“I’m not built for it. I ruin people. I ruin things that matter.”

“You don’t ruin—”

He cut you off. “I can’t lose you.”

Your breath caught.

He looked at you then — really looked. Like he was begging you to understand the truth behind the cruelty. “If we cross that line and it goes wrong, we don’t come back from it. And I’d rather die than lose what we have.”

You swallowed hard. “Hyunjin—”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you’re serious.” Your voice cracked. “That’s the problem.”

He went quiet.

You stared at the floor, eyes glassy, throat burning. “Do you think I wanted this?”

He flinched.

“I didn’t plan to fall for you. I wasn’t sitting around plotting the day I’d mess up our friendship and destroy every ounce of peace I have with you.”

He looked at you then, expression unreadable.

“If I hadn’t been drunk last night, you would’ve never even known. I would’ve buried it like I’ve been doing for months. I would’ve pretended I was fine.”

He said nothing.

“And now I wish I had. I wish I could take it back. Not the feelings—” your voice broke, “but the part where you know.”

Silence pressed down like a weight.

You thought maybe, maybe he’d soften now. Maybe he’d say it was okay, that he understood.

But his jaw clenched. His fists tightened.

“Right,” he said, voice sharp. “So the part you regret is that I know. That’s what’s unbearable.”

You blinked. “That’s not what I meant—”

He stood suddenly, pacing now. Anger clinging to every movement. “You think I wanted to know that last night? You think I haven’t spent months trying to unsee the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?”

You went still.

He continued, voice low, rough with something too bitter to name. “Do you think I haven’t wanted you?”

Silence. Heavy. Deadly.

“Because I have,” he whispered. “And it scared the shit out of me.”

Hyunjin didn’t look at you when he had started talking. He stood in the center of your living room, hands restless at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. Like if he looked at you, really looked, the whole damn thing would collapse.

“I didn’t want it to get this far,” he said quietly. “Not because I didn’t feel it. God, that’s the problem. I did.”

You froze.

“I thought I could control it,” he went on, still not meeting your eyes. “That if I ignored it long enough, if I kept the lines blurry but just on the edge, I could trick myself out of wanting more.”

You couldn’t breathe.

“I used to tell myself you didn’t feel it back. That it was just me being stupid. Needy. Fucking reckless.” He exhaled like the words had been clawing at his throat. “But it was easier when I could lie to myself. When I thought you didn’t want me.”

Your heart cracked open.

“I’ve ruined things before,” he said. “I’ve crossed lines and lost people and ended up with nothing but memories I can’t even look at without feeling sick. And this—” His voice caught. “You’re not just anyone. You’re you. If I lose you—”

He broke off. Finally looked at you.

“And now I know you feel it too,” he said, softer this time. “And that makes it worse. Because now I don’t have an excuse. Now it’s not just me risking everything, it’s you, and if this goes sideways, I don’t know if I can survive it.”

You didn’t speak. You just watched him, the slope of his shoulders, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes gave him away even when his mouth tried to bury the truth.

He still thought he was protecting you.

But it was too late for that. You were already in it, knee-deep in the ache of wanting him, the mess of loving him when you weren’t supposed to. And now you knew he’d been there too, quietly drowning beside you.

You stepped toward him.

His breath hitched.

Another step.

He went quiet, eyes tracking your every move like he couldn’t believe it was happening.

“I just—” he started, but the words faltered. His gaze dropped to your mouth. “I’m trying to explain—”

You didn’t let him. You reached for him, hands slipping up his chest and then, without giving him time to overthink it, you leaned in and pressed your mouth to his.

Softly.

His whole body went still.

Then, slowly, like gravity was always going to win, his hands found your waist and pulled you in.

The moment your lips touched his again, something broke. Not like a door creaking open — no, it splintered, cracked wide with the force of everything you both had kept buried. All the pretending. All the tension. All the times his hand lingered too long or his eyes dropped to your lips before he looked away. All of it, gone.

Hyunjin kissed you back like he’d been starving for it. His hands gripped your waist like they didn’t trust you to stay. His mouth slanted over yours, greedy, all tongue and heat and breath. He backed you into the wall without thinking, your spine pressing into it as he kissed you harder, deeper, like you were something he’d gone too long without and wasn’t sure he’d ever get again.

You moaned into his mouth and felt him shudder.

It wasn’t gentle. Nothing about it was. His hands moved — down, around, up again — like he couldn’t figure out where he needed to touch you first. Like he wanted to touch all of you at once. And when you tugged at his shirt, he gasped against your lips, forehead dropping to yours for just a second before he dragged you right back in.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispered, the words barely making it out between kisses. “Fuck— I shouldn’t be doing this.”

But his mouth didn’t stop. Neither did yours.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugged — and he groaned, low and wrecked, and kissed you like the world was ending. Like this was the last chance he’d ever get and he had to make it count. Your thigh brushed his hip, and his hand dropped low, pulling you closer, flush against him. You felt all of it. The tension, the heat, the way his body trembled like he was about to fall apart.

And maybe he was.

Because this wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t safe or careful or quiet.

This was everything.

You didn’t care. You didn’t want safe. You wanted him. Wanted every part of him he tried to hide, every buried glance and stolen moment and terrified truth. And now that you had it — had him — there was no pretending anymore.

He kissed you like he finally understood that. And still, it wasn’t enough

His lips dragged down your jaw, bruising kisses pressed beneath your ear, and you felt the words before you heard them — breathless and shaken.

“Tell me to stop.”

His voice cracked as he said it. Like it cost him everything just to get the words out.

“Tell me to walk away right now, and I will.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

“I’m serious,” he said again, softer now, forehead pressed to your neck like he couldn’t bear to look at you. His hands trembled where they gripped your waist. “Just say the word. Please. Before we—before I ruin everything.”

And maybe in another life, you would’ve. Maybe if his touch didn’t feel like home and every kiss didn’t feel like a promise he’d been aching to keep, you would’ve saved him. Saved yourself.

But you didn’t want saving.

You wanted him.

So you reached for his face, made him look at you — really look at you — and you said it like a vow.

“I want you, Hyunjin.”

He flinched like it hurt to hear.

You stepped closer anyway, your voice a whisper against his lips.

“We won’t ruin anything,” you promised, fingers threading into his hair. “Not if you just let me love you. Not if you just let it happen.”

Something snapped in him and then he was on you. Mouth claiming yours, teeth catching your bottom lip before he groaned deep in his throat and kissed you like he’d been waiting. Like this was a secret he’d never meant to let slip, and now that he had, he needed every part of you to make sense of it.

You didn’t stand a chance. His hands were under your shirt before you could blink, fingers mapping your skin like he was desperate to learn it by heart. Clothes tugged off, your top discarded, his shirt thrown to the floor. Every inch of newly bared skin ignited under his touch. Your skirt bunched at your hips, and the moment his hand slid between your thighs, you nearly sobbed.

“Fuck—” he hissed, mouth dragging down your neck. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You did. You felt it. Pressed up against you, hard and pulsing through the thin fabric of his sweats. He rocked into you once, and your knees buckled. His arms caught you before you fell.

He carried you like you weighed nothing.

You didn’t remember how you got to the couch. Just his mouth, hot and everywhere, and the way he settled you beneath him, eyes dark with something between reverence and hunger. You weren’t trembling — you were shaking.

“Are you sure?” he asked, hovering above you, voice wrecked. “Tell me now, and I’ll stop. I swear.”

You cupped his cheek. Pulled him down until your lips were brushing his.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You felt the way that shattered him.

A ragged breath left his lips, and something raw crossed his face — awe, hunger, need. And then he kissed you. Deep and dizzying. No more hesitation. No more holding back. Just Hyunjin tasting your mouth like he’d starved for it, like he was finally allowed to be greedy.

His hands were everywhere, cradling your jaw, skimming down your ribs, tugging your skirt up your thighs until it bunched around your waist. When his fingers slipped beneath your panties, finding you slick and already throbbing, he moaned like it physically hurt him to touch you.

“Fuck… you’re already so wet,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “Did I do that?”

You nodded, barely able to form words.

“Hyun…”

“Say it again,” he murmured, fingers parting your folds, dragging over your clit in slow, teasing circles. “Say my name like that.”

You gasped, hips arching into his touch. “Hyunjin—”

He groaned. “God, you’re gonna kill me.”

Then he was trailing down your body, kissing a path from your chest to your stomach, his hands anchoring your thighs as he sank to his knees on the floor. You propped yourself up on your elbows, breath caught in your throat.

He hooked your panties to the side and just… looked. Like you were art. Like he’d dreamed of this exact moment and couldn’t believe it was real.

And then his mouth was on you. Hot. Wet. Relentless. His tongue lapped through your folds, slow and sinful, before wrapping around your clit and sucking hard. Your head fell back with a cry, fingers flying to his hair, but he just groaned against you, the vibration making you choke on a moan.

“Shit—Hyunjin, oh my god—”

He didn’t stop. If anything, he got hungrier. Dipping his tongue into your entrance, fucking you with it, then dragging it back up to flick over your clit until your thighs were shaking.

When your hips bucked up too hard, he gripped your thighs tighter and held you down, his shoulders braced against your legs to keep you from moving.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” he muttered against you, voice thick and dark. “On my tongue. I’ve wanted this for so fucking long—”

You were already there.

Your back arched, mouth falling open in a silent scream as the orgasm hit you like a wave crashing down. He kept licking through it, eyes locked on your face like he needed to see you fall apart.

When you finally collapsed back against the couch, breathless and wrecked, he crawled back up your body and kissed you, slow and filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You good?” he asked, voice a rasp in your ear.

You blinked at him. “Are you?”

He gave a breathless laugh and looked down between you. “Not even close.”

You hadn’t even realized he’d stripped out of his sweats. His cock was flushed, thick, and straining with need — and he was still trying to hold back.

That wouldn’t do.

You reached for him, but he caught your hand and kissed your fingers before pushing them away. Then he grabbed your thighs, spreading you wider, and hooked your legs over his shoulders. The position left you bare and open and trembling.

His eyes burned into yours.

“I need you to look at me when I fuck you.”

Then he pressed forward. The first inch made your breath catch , too much, too deep, but you didn’t look away. Neither did he.

“Fuck—” he gritted out, his hips pushing forward in slow, agonizing inches until he was fully inside, stretching you open, filling you to the hilt. “You feel like heaven. Like you were made for me.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just him, inside you, looking at you like this was his last wish granted.

And then he moved. He pulled out and sank back in, hard and deep, your legs folded up on his shoulders, the angle hitting something devastating. Your moan broke halfway out as he picked up a rhythm, hips snapping forward, each thrust driving the air from your lungs.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, voice tight. “Tell me this isn’t just in my head.”

“I want you,” you gasped. “As real as it can get—always.”

That undid him. His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit again as he fucked you deeper, harder. The couch creaked under you, the heat between your bodies suffocating. You could barely hold on, could barely keep your eyes open.

And then you came again, harder this time. Shaking, crying out his name, nails raking down his back as you clung to him. He followed seconds later, hips jerking, his face buried in your neck as he came with a broken groan, body tense and shuddering above you.

For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing and the soft, desperate way he kissed your shoulder.

Then his voice, hoarse in your ear.

“We’re so fucked.”

And you smiled, wrecked and radiant.

“I know.”

—

You didn’t know how long you stayed tangled like that. Your legs still draped over his hips, his chest rising and falling against yours, sweat cooling between your bodies. The air was heavy with the scent of sex and everything unspoken.

Hyunjin’s fingers trailed gently over your hip, then your stomach, then the side of your throat like he was relearning every inch of you now that he didn’t have to pretend he hadn’t imagined this a thousand times before.

Then he kissed you, not with hunger this time, but like he’d been waiting years to kiss you soft.

“You okay?” he murmured against your lips.

You nodded, brushing your nose against his.

“More than okay.”

His eyes searched your face, like he was trying to commit you to memory all over again.

“We should get you cleaned up,” he whispered. “You’re all sticky.”

You let him carry you to the bathroom.

He set you on the counter first and helped you undress fully, stealing kisses as he did, his hands so gentle now, like he didn’t want to miss a moment of touching you like this. He peeled your underwear down slowly, kissed your thighs. His eyes flicked down between your legs — red, sensitive, swollen from what they’d done.

A blush climbed your neck.

But he just smiled, warm and a little dazed.

“I like seeing you like this,” he said quietly. “All wrecked from me.”

The shower was hot and full of steam. He let you step in first, then wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as the water ran over both of you.

Neither of you talked much. Just small sounds. Little laughs. The soft lather of his hands running over your arms, your back, your chest.

When you turned to face him, water dripping down your hair and cheeks, he stared at you like you were made of gold.

“I still feel like I’m dreaming,” he said. “I’ve wanted this for so long, I don’t know how to believe it’s real.”

You touched his face. “It’s real.”

He leaned into your palm.

“Then say it again.”

You blinked. “Say what?”

“Those three words.” His voice cracked a little. “Just once more. Please.”

Your heart stuttered.

You stood on your toes and kissed him, slow and tender, water slipping between your mouths. When you pulled back, you looked him straight in the eyes.

“I love you.”

Hyunjin exhaled like you’d knocked the wind out of him. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, like if he didn’t hold you closer he might fall apart.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “God, I love you so much it fucking hurts.”

And then he was kissing you again. Not frantic — not this time. Just deep, adoring, like he finally knew what home tasted like.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Authors note: Everyone please say happy birthday to Angel @angel-writes-skz-here ! Thanks for organizing this fun event, I need you guys to check the Event Masterlist for the other stories! Mine was based on the song DLMLU, i hope i captured it well 🥹❤️

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8

[ta3mint]

ik you saw the video of them working out at the gym and my crazy ass wants gym sex with minho now 😩 they’re both feeling some typa way tho with y/n wearing her tight fitting workout sets and minho having his arms exposed 😛😛

Whiplash

Contains: established relationship idol Minho x female reader smut

Warnings: minors do not interact!!! pet names, lots of teasing, PDA, sexual tension, soft dom Minho, cursing, Minho gets really mad/jealous/possessive, brief spanking, praising, random gym bro making y/n uncomfortable, unprotected piv sex (as always, do not do this irl), hardly any foreplay, pull out method

Word Count: 4,448

Summary: After returning home from the tour, Minho takes you on a date to the gym. Both of you are desperate for each other, and when another man tries flirting with you, jealous Minho shows you exactly how desperate he's been.

Author's note: okay okay so I tweaked this based on our several text messages "anon" LOL so I hope you like this ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°) this is the second draft after completely scrapping everything I had at first and starting over ehehe so yeah <3 likes and reblogs are appreciated if anyone feels so inclined!!

The gym's atmosphere was quiet. There wasn't a single soul to be seen inside among the racks of weights and other equipment. There wasn't even any music playing. It was only you, your boyfriend Minho, and the gym's check in desk employee who looked like she despised every second of her night shift job.

You couldn't really blame her though. It was 10:00 at night, and she had probably dealt with the usual gym rat crowd earlier in the evening. There was only so much you could do to please people like that- those big groups of guys that only cared about gains and getting laid.

Minho nudged you in the side suddenly with his elbow.

"She definitely looked at my arms, (Y/N). You should fight her. I would totally film it for you." He reached into his pocket and held up his phone in your face with an evil grin.

You scoffed. "Minho, please. I'm pretty sure she looked through you. She definitely hates her job."

He shrugged, shoving his phone back into the pocket of his black gym shorts.

"You could've been as famous as me. Oh, well."

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend's antics. His fame is exactly the reason you had to go to the gym so late, when in reality you'd much rather be cuddled up with him watching TV. But he was tired of going with Jisung and had missed you desperately while he was away. So you couldn't tell him no when he asked you so nicely earlier.

Besides...his arms did look really good in his fitted black tank top. It was a win for everybody involved- at least in your book.

"Okay, Mr. Worldwide. What's the first exercise for the night?"

He scrunched up his face as if he was in deep thought, even bringing a curled finger to his chin to accentuate just how much he was pondering your options.

"I've just decided. It's leg day and we're gonna do some deadlifts. And by we I mean..." Minho trailed off before glancing down and slapping your ass just a bit too hard. "You. You're gonna do them and I'm gonna watch. You know I like this set."

Instantly, your cheeks reddened and you looked up at the girl at the front desk to see if she noticed the sound that was still echoing in the silence of the gym. Luckily, she had put her earbuds in within the last few minutes and probably didn't even remember you were there.

When you realized you were safe, you looked down where Minho's hand still rested against the curve of your ass. His eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Duh, I know you like it," you said quietly. "Why do you think I wore it?"

"Mmm, careful pretty girl. We're in public. Now, let's go." He pushed you away just slightly towards the weights and you bit your lip. Minho could be dangerous when he was in this type of mood. This was your first "date" since he had returned from touring, and the pent up feelings you had for each other were bound to come out sooner or later. Were you expecting it to be at the gym? No. But you weren't complaining.

And it definitely wasn't helping that you did indeed purposefully wear his favorite skin tight workout set. But that damn tank top on him was driving you wild too... You had missed him just as much as he missed you. Pictures and rushed videos were never enough when he was thousands of miles away from you.

You set your bag down next to the equipment and stretched your arms up lazily, feeling Minho's eyes burning into your arched back.

"Don't forget to stretch those legs too, princess. You wouldn't wanna pull something and not be able to walk."

Over the top of your shoulder, you glanced at him. The corner of his mouth was curled up, threatening to form another shit-eating smile.

In a last second attempt to mess with him, you turned the opposite way so that you were now facing him and bent down to stretch your thighs and calf muscles.

Minho clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.

"Fine, fine. I still like this view too. Maybe even better."

You smiled to yourself, blushing once more.

The bell on the gym door sounded suddenly, cutting through the bubble you and Minho had formed around yourselves by being the only ones in the gym.

You stood with a sigh, having finished your stretches. Then you took a few steps forward and placed a quick kiss to Minho's cheek.

"Now you really have to behave," you giggled.

"Only because you asked so nicely, babe."

This time his smile was one of pure love rather than lust. The way he looked at you with stars in his eyes was nearly enough to knock you off your feet in a completely different context. Minho was so beautiful that it hurt sometimes.

"Will you be okay by yourself? I wanted to work on these tonight." He raised one arm and flexed it slightly.

You rolled your eyes before nodding at him and turning to grab your headphones.

"Go get 'em, hot shot. I'll just be over here. Try not to stare."

"Pfft, right back at you."

As Minho walked away, you placed your headphones over your ears and scrolled through your phone to find a good playlist to workout to. Once you clicked on one, you looked over at Minho who was already getting started on the bench press.

"Oh, fuck," you thought. "Not staring is gonna be harder than I thought."

Even from several feet away, you could see his arms flex and relax repeatedly as he brought his bar up and down. Taught muscles underneath his perfect tan skin, rippling with every movement...you nearly started drooling. It dawned on you that you didn't remember his arms being that big when he left...he must've really been working on them while he was gone with Jisung.

His eyebrows were knitted together in concentration, eyes focused on the ceiling. With every breath he took in through his nose and exhaled through his soft, pink lips in a small "o," you could feel the desperation for him build deeper and deeper within you.

"I'm so fucked."

With a quick shake of your head, you turned back to your own workout and tried to focus on your music.

~

The bar fell to the ground with a loud thud. You sighed and straightened your back, almost ripping your headphones off your ears.

Sweat was dripping down your back, soaked up by your clothing and pooling there instead. You had done several sets, probably more than you should have. But you had finally been able to make yourself focus and lose yourself in your music that you didn't realize how many lifts you had actually done until your body was on fire.

Minho was sitting up on the bench now, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone while dabbing a towel to his forehead. You decided to make your way over to him and flop down on the bench next to him.

"Hmm, looks like someone needs to work on their endurance. Were you that out of practice without me, (Y/N)?" He raised an eyebrow and tried not to laugh. "I can think of several other ways to help you with that."

You shoved his shoulder playfully.

"Save it for later," you said, trying to sound firm. But your voice came out smaller than you had intended.

"You're so cute when you're trying to pretend that you're not turned on," Minho leaned in and whispered, breath tickling your ear.

Your own breath hitched and you looked at him from the corner of your eye. Of course he could read you like a damn book.

"Let's just do one more workout so it wasn't a wasted trip, you dork."

Minho shrugged and stood up, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face and getting lost somewhere in the curves of his neck.

"You go ahead and get started. I'm gonna find the bathroom."

You reached out and tried to grab his ass in retaliation for earlier, but you missed and got the air instead. He stuck his tongue out at you before turning away and disappearing down the hall where the bathrooms were.

Taking your own advice, you decided to start another workout to continue strengthening your legs and lower body. Since you were already on the bench, you decided to use it to do some hip thrusts. Once you were settled on the ground, you reached for your headphones to put them back on. But before you could get them on all the way, you heard someone clear their throat.

Not even looking up from your phone since you assumed it was Minho, you hummed in response to see what he needed.

"Need some help?"

You didn't recognize the voice. Without moving from your spot on the floor, you clutched your phone a bit harder and glanced up.

In front of you was a younger man with a hoodie on and headphones slung lazily around his neck. His lips were drawn together in one of those awkward "smiles" pick-me men often wore when trying to get a woman's attention. Wonderful.

"Oh, no, I'm good. Thank you though." You looked back down at your phone, not really registering what you saw on the screen. You were just hoping that he would leave you alone now since you declined his offer.

"Come on, it's fun working out with other people. Pretty girls shouldn't work out alone. And hey! We even have the same headphones. What a coincidence."

A sharp pang of disappointment shot through you when you realized he was right. You had the exact same pair from the same brand, color and all.

"Yeah, I guess we do. But, um, I'm not working out alone," you said with a gulp, hearing your own voice sound more timid than you wanted. "I'm just waiting for my boyfriend in the bathroom."

Without hesitation, the man crossed his arms and looked at you questioningly. "Boyfriend, huh? He didn't look like much."

You shifted uncomfortably where you were sitting, and wondered if you should text Minho and let him know what was going on. But what if that made this guy mad? Who knows what he would do...

You swallowed thickly, not sure if you wanted to hear the answer to the question you were about to ask. "Were you watching us?"

He scoffed, uncrossing his arms and looking up and down at you like he was sizing up a piece of meat. "Just you."

Ice cold fear spread through your veins and your heartbeat went through the roof. This guy didn't seem like he was going to take no for an answer...

As discreetly as you could, you searched for the girl at the desk hoping she was still there. You wished you could remember the name on her shirt... And while she was still there physically, she definitely was not paying attention to anything but her phone. So much for being a girl's girl.

Before you could think of another escape plan, a hand grabbed your forearm harshly and pulled you to your feet, nearly ripping your shoulder out of its socket. However, relief quickly washed away the pain when you saw it was Minho.

He jerked your arm back so that you were behind him and out of view from the guy. In the quick second that you saw his face, though, you knew this creep was going to regret talking to you. Minho's nostrils were flared open, eyes blown wide, and lips pressed together in a tight line like he was trying to keep from busting his nose in the middle of a public place.

"You got a problem, man?" Minho spat, jaw setting tight.

The guy took a step back, eyes scanning Minho's face and seeing how pissed he was. He raised his hands in surrender.

"It was just a conversation, chill."

Minho stepped forward and balled his shaking hands into fists at his sides.

"It looked more like you were preying on a girl who very politely tried to tell you she wasn't interested. You were preying on my girl. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The man swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and then down.

Against your better judgement, you tentatively reached out and brushed your fingertips against Minho's arm to get his attention. At first, he stiffened so hard he nearly jumped. But then he fully turned to you and made eye contact with you, softening slowly.

His anger returned in an instant when he remembered why he was looking at you in the first place, though. He whipped back around to further press the man, but he was already gone.

Minho froze for only a second, but then bent down to pick up the stuff you had dropped when he pulled you to your feet. He handed you your cell wordlessly, but kept a death grip on the headphones. You were worried he'd burn a hole through them with how fiercely he was staring at them.

"Throw those away," you said quietly. "Buy me a new pair, baby."

Minho nodded without looking at you, secretly relieved you had told him that.

He grabbed your hand hard, leading you towards the exit. It was almost too difficult to keep up with how fast he was walking. Thankfully, he paused for a second right by the trash can on the way out to slam the headphones into it at full force. The sound of them hitting whatever plastic and metal was already in the bottom of the can ricocheted off the walls.

It was what finally caused the check in girl to look up from her phone for the first time since you got there.

~

Once you got to the car, Minho finally let go of your hand and ran his own through his still sweat-damp hair. You stood as still as you could, letting him pace a bit to relieve some anger.

"Fuck, (Y/N). I'm sorry."

"For what?"

He sighed, leaning back against the door of the car with his arms crossed and looking off to the side.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like that. But..." he trailed off. Then took a deep breath before speaking again. "Why did you let him talk to you like that?"

Minho's words caused you to open and close your mouth a few times in surprise. You weren't expecting them.

"I...I didn't let him do anything. He wouldn't leave me alone."

He groaned, now dropping his face into his hands.

"And the way he looked at you...God, I wanted to knock his punk ass out."

You took a deep breath and a step closer to your boyfriend, and you could feel the hot, potent anger radiate off of him in waves.

"How did he look at me, Minho?"

His eyes locked onto yours, like they were seeing all your thoughts and desires at once.

"Like he wanted you."

The air felt electric, originally charged with white hot fury. But now...it was something else. Something more primal and physical. Something driven by need and flat out desperation.

In one swift motion, Minho pulled on your arm again, but he then turned you around at the last second, causing your back to make contact with the cool metal of the car somewhat unceremoniously. He moved closer, every move calculated and precise- much like an animal on the hunt would be.

"Only I can look at you like that. You're mine."

This time his words didn't make you freeze. They made you act.

With a noise somewhere between a moan and whimper, you slammed your lips into Minho's, grabbing onto his shoulders to pull him closer at the same time. He collided with you, mouth finding yours instantly. There was no gentleness to the way you kissed each other. No, it was desire. It was deep rooted lust that had reached a boiling point tonight after building up for what felt like an eternity.

The sounds of your mixed breaths and slick mouths echoed in your ears. His tongue met yours in a passionate dance, having immediately pushed past the confines of your already swollen lips. Teeth clashed, so fast and messy that you were sure you'd accidentally bit his lip. If you had, he either didn't notice or didn't give a shit.

Minho pulled away for just a moment, curses escaping in breathless whispers. "Fuck...you don't even know what you do to me, (Y/N)."

You tangled your fingers into the hair at the base of his neck and nestled into his shoulder. "I think I have an idea."

Minho laughed, almost bitterly, before grabbing your hips and pulling you impossibly closer to him. Against the side of your thigh, you could feel how badly he wanted you. Heat pooled into your already throbbing core, and you had to keep from rubbing your thighs together.

He began licking and nipping the delicate skin of your neck, the delicious pain immediately washed away by his lips.

"Minho...we...we should stop."

The only response was a hum against the side of your neck. Your knees began to feel weak with want for him. But you were still at the gym...still in the public parking lot where anyone could be at any time.

"Minho-"

He didn't let you finish speaking. Instead, he slotted one knee between yours and began grinding onto your thigh, his obvious bulge prodding into you multiple times.

You whimpered, your head falling back against the top of the car with a thump.

"Only I get to have you this way. Say it," Minho all but growled.

"Only you, Minho. Always," you choked out, fingers still weakly resting against his neck.

He smirked against your skin, pulling you off the side of the car so you were standing up straight in front of him.

"Good. Now get in and let's go home so I can fuck you like I've wanted to all night."

~

The car ride to your apartment passed in a blur. Minho drove faster than he should've, one hand gripping the steering wheel till his knuckles turned white, and the other gripping your knee with almost the same intensity. In any other situation, it would've been painful. But not now- not like this. Instead, it just made the wetness between your legs rapidly increase.

And then somehow, by some miracle, you made it into your apartment, despite how much you couldn't keep your hands off each other. It only took Minho three tries to get the key in the lock and successfully turn it. Then it was only a matter of stripping your clothes off, piece by piece, leaving a trail to the scene of the "crime."

Minho pushed you onto the bed, crawling over you and caging you in with his arms. His mouth was parted slightly, breath fanning over your face, which was only inches from his.

"You're mine," he repeated, softer this time. Some of the anger had dissipated from his features, and the look he gave you now was one of love and awe.

"I am," you breathed, reaching up to brush some of the hair away that had stuck to his forehead. "I love you. And I really missed you." Those words were hardly more than a whisper, and you began to feel that dull pain in your throat like you were about to cry.

"I missed you...so much," Minho said as he leaned in to kiss your forehead with surprising gentleness. "And any other time, I would show you just how much I love you, but..."

Minho trailed off, head falling into the crook of your neck and breathing in your scent.

"But I am a weak man tonight, (Y/N). I have to have you...now."

Without another word, he reached down between you and drew one finger between your folds, earning a hiss from you. He smirked once more, some of that earlier cockiness coming back with each passing second.

"Already so wet and I haven't even touched you yet. You've been waiting for me for a long time, haven't you?"

You nodded frantically, your heart threatening to beat right out of your chest. Beside you, your hands balled up, grabbing fistfuls of the soft cotton sheets of your bed. Minho's eyes met yours in an intense stare, and you had to keep from looking away.

"It's okay, you won't have to wait anymore. I'm here."

His hand wrapped around your knee and drew it upwards sharply, fully exposing your soaked heat to the air in your bedroom. Teasingly slow, he then gripped his pulsing length with his other hand, and brought it between your folds, rutting against it a few times.

Each of your lewd moans got lost in each other's, just as your bodies were below. Your need was only growing, and you could tell he was falling apart as well.

But you didn't need to ask him to do anything, you didn't need to plead. He knew you so well and knew your body like he had never left. Because within just a few seconds, he was inside of you. Slammed full into you to the hilt, stretching you open for him instantly.

You cried out, hands flying to his back and scrambling for something to hold onto. The sweet stinging sensation of him entering you so fast had your head spinning, nails clawing at him in want. He groaned at the feeling of you scratching him so harshly.

Down below where your bodies were connected, you could feel your arousal grow, dripping down the side of his cock and your thighs. Minho twitched inside of you, breath shuddering with each passing second he didn't move.

And then-

Like he read your thoughts, he started bucking his hips. Slowly at first, but then picking up the pace as you coated him more and more. Broken words tumbled from his lips, like a prayer he had been chanting in his mind before breaking and saying it out loud.

"You're mine...you're- you're all mine."

Minho's hand was still on your knee, spreading you open completely as he fucked himself into you. His other came to rest against the headboard, the skin of his knuckles feeling as if it may rip due to how hard he was holding onto it.

Stars decorated your vision, and eventually you screwed your eyes shut from over-stimulation, the only things grounding you being the sounds of his wet skin against yours and the feeling of him slamming into you. You were so drunk off of him already, all you could do was lay there for him, nails in his back and biting your kiss-swollen lips.

His scent was intoxicating, the remnants of his cologne mixing with the smell of his sweat to create something so uniquely him, it drove you wild.

"No one else can have you like this," Minho huffed, never relenting in his movements. You weren't sure if he was talking to you or himself, but it didn't matter. His voice sounded so desperate and thick with need for you, it brought you even closer to your already impending climax.

Of course, he could feel it- the way your walls fluttered around him, promising to milk him dry for everything he had if he didn't remove himself from you. His mouth formed a grin, hips stuttering for the first time tonight.

"Ah, ah. Not yet, my love," Minho began, glancing down at you through his eyelashes. "You have to tell me where you want me first before you do that. You know I won't last when you cum all over me like a good girl."

Your mouth opened to speak, but all that came out was a strangled yelp. It was so close, so painfully close, you couldn't think about anything else. The intensity of tonight was almost tangible in the air, and you felt as though you could've reached out to grab it.

"Can't even speak, pretty? That's okay. I'll make it work."

Minho relinquished his vice grip on the headboard and shoved his thumb against your clit, rubbing circles there while he thrust himself into your aching cunt. He was only able to do it once...twice...three more times, before it all fell out from underneath you.

Your orgasm hit you like an avalanche, starting small at first and then coming in wave after wave, tumbling through you in the form of wanton moans and half-moon shapes from your nails that were still in your boyfriend's back. Bright white spots blurred your line of vision, and your back arched, pushing the soft mounds of your breasts into the hardened planes of Minho's toned chest.

With a growl, he forced himself out of you, pushing you away before it was too late. He fisted himself only once before he was spilling all over your heaving stomach and breasts, thick ropes of his cum landing against you with almost inaudible splat sounds.

It was quiet now, except for the sounds of you both trying to catch your breath. Then a squeak of the bed as Minho stood, wobbling slightly, before picking up his tank top from the floor.

He came around the side of the bed where you were still laying, arm thrown over your eyes in pure exhaustion and exhilaration. He couldn't help but crack a small, crooked smile as he mopped you up lazily with his tank top.

When he was finished, he threw himself onto the bed beside you, immediately turning on his side and wrapping an arm tightly around you. After lowering your arm, you turned to face him and nuzzle into him, feeling sleep coming to take you soon.

"Um, (Y/N)?" Minho asked, almost shyly- like he hadn't just fucked your brains out after nearly fighting a guy.

"Hmm?"

"We should probably shower. And uh...change the sheets."

You groaned, hating how right he was but definitely feeling the way you stuck to him and the bed.

"Fineeee," you whined, fighting off a yawn. "Rock paper scissors for who has to change them, though."

Minho chuckled, then sat up and rubbed your head gently.

"I'll run your bath first and change the sheets, how's that? You just lay there and look pretty."

In spite of the events that had led you up to this point, you smiled to yourself. Leave it to Minho to basically give you whiplash with his words and actions...but you wouldn't have it any other way.

~

[octaneink]

Return

Arthur Frederick x Fem!Reader

Summary: Even with things like long distance and an age gap, the reader and Arthur make things work. Warnings: Age gap(Not sure if I did this well sorry) Notes: Based on this ask! I experimented a little on this one, I hope you don’t mind! I wrote something else entirely and had to scrap it because I was writing myself into a corner, so I started over, and this was the end result! I hope you like it ☺️And it's really long! I hope people don't mind...

You met Arthur outside a café in Soho, the air thick with drizzle, the sky a dull grey. It wasn’t a romcom cliché, no crashing into each other on the Tube or spilling coffee on his shirt, but it was realistic and gentle. You were both waiting outside a café in Soho, him for a friend who was running late, and you because the place was too crowded, and your anxiety wouldn’t let you squeeze past the tables inside.

You noticed him because he was cute in an unassuming way, tall but slightly slouched, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the height. His hoodie was a little too big, the sleeves bunched around his wrists, and his jeans were well-worn, the kind that looked soft from years of use. Every few seconds, he’d glance around, then back at his phone, thumb swiping absently. He was a stranger, but there was something about the way he chewed the inside of his cheek and the way his fingers tapped against his thigh when he thought no one was looking that made you want to keep watching.

He looked up and caught you staring. You opened your mouth to apologise, but he beat you to it.

“Is it usually that busy?” he asked, voice soft but with a twinge of nervous humour.

You blinked, then shrugged. “No idea. I wanted to try something new and chose this at random.” A beat “I’m starting to regret my choice now though.” 

He huffed a small laugh, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Same. I, uh. I’m meant to be meeting my mate, but he’s late. Which is very on brand for him, to be fair.”

That should’ve been it. A short conversation that should lead nowhere, just a quick chat to pass the time. But for some reason, you stayed and kept the conversation going. Arthur was quiet at first, in that cautious way some people are around strangers. Polite. Guarded. He glanced down a lot when he spoke, eyes flickering wildly like he was deciding if what he wants to talk about should come out. But something about the way he looked at you between words, half curious, half unsure, made you want to stay a little longer.

Eventually, his friend texted to cancel. He stared at the screen for a moment, then shrugged, trying to act casual. “Guess I’m free now.”

The café had finally cleared out enough to see empty tables. “Want to just grab one together?” you asked.

He looked up, surprised, then ducked his head with a quiet laugh, his cheeks slightly pink. “Yeah, alright. But only if you promise not to judge me for how much sugar I put in my coffee.”

“Deal,” you said, “and don't judge me for pretending to understand the wine lists.”

“Shit, we might have to renegotiate.” He held the door open for you, sleeve slipping over his knuckles again, and you caught the faint scent of his detergent, something clean and subtly sweet, like cotton dried in sunlight.

The café cleared out enough for the both of you to snag a small table near the window. The barista called out for the next customer just as you reached the counter. Arthur nudged you forward with an elbow. “You first. I need time to mentally prepare for your judgement.”

You rolled your eyes but ordered a pistachio latte and a carrot cake you didn't really need but suddenly wanted. When it was his turn, Arthur leaned in and ordered, “Large vanilla latte and a slice of banana bread, please.” Paid, then he grabbed three sugar packets from the counter, and after a guilty glance your way, snatched a fourth.

“Four sugars?” You raised an eyebrow as you moved down the line.

Arthur's ears turned pink as he tapped his phone against the payment reader. “What can I say? I've got a sweet tooth.” The machine beeped, and he quickly shoved it back in his pocket, nearly dropping it.

You carried your tray to the window table, carefully balancing the pistachio latte and oversized slice of carrot cake, Arthur following close behind with his own order. After sitting down, you watched as Arthur dumped all four sugars into his cup, stirred violently, then took a sip with the relieved sigh, “Told you,” he said, grinning.

“Better?” you asked.

He licked a stray drop from his lip. “Perfect.” 

You stirred your own drink, watching the steam curl. “So your friend bailed. What were you two supposed to be doing?”

Arthur's fingers drummed against his mug as he considered his words. “We keep saying we should try new things, you know? But then we always end up at the same pub watching the same football matches.” He took a sip, leaving a faint foam moustache he quickly licked away. “Gets a bit stale after a few years.”

Something about that struck a chord. “I get that,” you said. “I just moved here, actually. Still figuring things out.”

His eyes lit up. “Where from?”

You told him, and he leaned in, suddenly more animated. “That’s sick. London’s massive! London's got everything, you just have to know where to—” He cut himself off with a laugh. “Sorry. You don't need a tour guide.”

“I might,” you admitted. “And I was thinking of checking out the history museum next week. Never been.”

Arthur’s face went through several emotions quickly, a flicker of surprise, then something almost guilty. “That's. I go there all the time.” He rubbed at a coffee ring on the table. “Probably too much, honestly. My mates take the piss about it.” He chewed his lip, then met your eyes. “You, uh. You want company? If you don’t mind someone who yaps about the things on display.” 

Before you could answer, he barreled on, words tumbling out, “Or we could do anything else, really. There's this great market near Brick Lane, or the Sky Garden if you want views, or—” He cut himself off, cheeks flushing. “Sorry. Got carried away.”

“Arthur.” You waited until he looked up. “I'd love the museum tour. And the market. And whatever else you want to show me.” You tapped your fork against your plate. “Just promise you won't rush me past the exhibit plaques. I read every word.”

Arthur grinned back. “Deal.”

His grin widened just as his phone buzzed. Without glancing at it, he flipped it face-down, nudging it aside like an afterthought. The conversation barely paused for breath after that, Arthur's earlier reserve melting away as he talked with his hands, nearly knocking over the salt shaker twice.

That’s how it started.

You swapped numbers outside the café. The texts came fast after that, random thoughts, stupid observations. Like when he sent you a blurry photo of a pigeon hunched over a stolen croissant with the text, ‘this bastard has better posture than me. send help.’ You snorted loud enough that the woman next to you on the Tube gave you a look.

The first actual date was at the museum you’d both agreed on it on the first day you met. There was finally a time when both your schedules aligned, and he was fifteen minutes early and already sitting outside, nervously tapping his foot. He stood up too fast when he saw you. Tried to hug you and shake your hand at the same time. It was awkward. Adorably awkward.

You thought maybe he wouldn’t talk much. But once he relaxed, he couldn’t stop. He spoke with his hands. He interrupted himself with tangents. He got excited about random things like a chess set in the museum shop or a well known misinterpreted fact on a random topic. You loved it. You loved him, or the version of him that came out when he finally felt safe.

It took a few more dates before either of you admitted it wasn’t casual anymore. You could tell by the way you were both already planning what the both of you could do next before the current date was over.

You found out he made videos for a living. Not just silly ones, though those existed, but thoughtful ones, and sometimes chaotic ones, always made with care. He made people laugh. He made you laugh. Visiting new places, hanging out with his friends. You never felt like he was showing off. You felt like he was showing you something real.

The first time he kissed you, it wasn’t planned. He was walking you home, shoulders brushing, laughing about something stupid. He stopped suddenly under a flickering streetlamp, turned to you, and before you could process it, his mouth was on yours. It was warm, slightly hesitant, and over as soon as it started.

He pulled back just an inch, his breath shaky. “Sorry—” he whispered. His dark brown eyes looked uncertain and vulnerable, they flicked between yours and the space just beyond your shoulder, not quite able to stay still. His brows were drawn together, faint lines forming between them, and his gaze held a raw honesty, like he was bracing for rejection but couldn’t help hoping you’d understand. “I just really wanted to.”

The surprise melted into a slow, warm unfurling in your chest. His lips had been soft, a little chapped from the cold, and faintly sweet, like the vanilla latte he’d had earlier, maybe, or just him. You didn’t move away. Do it again, you almost said, but instead, you smiled. “Don’t be sorry.”

His breath hitched as he hesitated, eyes searching yours in the dim glow of the streetlight. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in again, stopping just short, giving you space to pull away. His question was silent but clear in the way his gaze flickered to your lips and back up. You didn’t make him wait. A small nod, barely more than a tilt of your chin, and his mouth met yours again, just the soft press of lips. His hand settled carefully against your jaw, fingers trembling slightly against your skin.

Then you sighed into him, and everything shifted. The kiss deepened, unhurried but insistent, his bottom lip catching between yours. His thumb brushed your cheekbone again, and you could feel the quiet noise he made in the back of his throat. The cold air, the distant hum of traffic, the flickering light above, none of it mattered. There was just the warmth of his mouth moving with yours, the faint taste of coffee still lingering, the way his fingers curled tighter into your coat when you tugged him closer, and the frantic thud of your own pulse.

Things moved slowly. But not because either of you were unsure. It was careful, and sweet, and intentional. He held your hand like it was something precious. He called you just to ask how your day was. He made you playlists with embarrassing titles. You found you could tell him things without dressing them up first. You liked that he didn’t always know what to say, but he always wanted to listen.

He started sleeping over. Making you tea in the mornings, one sugar, a little too much milk. You learnt how he hummed when he was thinking. How he hated certain foods. How he always smelt like clean laundry and the occasional hint of you from cuddling or sleeping over.

You didn’t fall all at once. It was slower. A steady drop into something that caught you softly.

Eventually Arthur’s small, perpetually cluttered flat became yours. Your books were piled onto the shelf next to him, and mismatched mugs crowded the draining board. His camera gear lived semi-permanently on the coffee table, often nudged aside for your late-night study sessions. The air hummed with the quiet energy of two lives weaving together, the whir of his laptop became white noise to your essay writing, and the scent of his vanilla latte mingled with your peppermint tea.

The seven-year gap felt like a distant rumour in those days, dissolved in the comfortable chaos of shared existence. He’d sprawl on the sofa, proofreading your latest essay with surprising insight. He once paused, eyes bright, and said, "This metaphor about the crumbling facade? Bloody brilliant, love." You’d perch on the armrest beside him, offering edits on his latest video with the same casual intimacy. 

Arguments were small, domestic things. There were the thermostat wars—he ran perpetually cold and wrapped himself in hoodies even in summer, while you seemed to radiate heat. Then came the eternal debate over the correct way to load the dishwasher, his method somehow both baffling and inefficient. And always, there was the quiet fight for the last Jaffa Cake, usually resolved with a shared, sticky bite.

His friends, a warm, slightly chaotic bunch mostly around his age, welcomed you readily. There was good-natured ribbing, of course. "Robbing the cradle, are we?" Chris would grin, elbowing him during pub nights. Arthur would roll his eyes dramatically, a faint blush creeping up his neck, but his hand would find yours under the table, fingers lacing tightly, a silent reassurance amidst the laughter. "Ignore him, he peaked at sixteen," Arthur would murmur, squeezing your hand. It was teasing, but it underlined the difference. They were talking about stocks while you were navigating the start of your life. Yet, curled beside him, listening to their banter, the gap felt like a harmless background hum, easily tuned out.

The change came quietly, on an unremarkable Tuesday. Rain lashed against the windowpanes of the flat. You were clearing the fridge, tossing out dubious leftovers, when you saw him. He was standing perfectly still, staring at the small, crisp acceptance letter pinned prominently to the fridge door, your offer for a master’s program at the University of Edinburgh. His back was to you, shoulders slightly tense. His thumb traced the embossed university crest, then the edges of the paper, over and over.

You stopped moving, the discarded yoghurt pot forgotten in your hand.

"Arthur?"

He jumped slightly, turning. His smile was quick, too quick, not quite reaching his eyes, which held a complex swirl of pride and something else, a raw, vulnerable apprehension. "Hey. Just admiring the officialness of it." His voice was thick, rougher than usual. He cleared his throat. "Edinburgh. That's, that's massive. Really massive. Proud of you. So bloody proud." He stepped closer, his gaze flicking back to the letter. "Even if it’s," He trailed off, swallowing hard. "far. Really far."

He looked suddenly older than his 28 years, the usual playful light dimmed by the grey London rain and the spectre of separation. You were 21, at the start of an exciting, demanding future, the world beyond London stretching out vast and unknown. He was 28, roots expanding in the city's rhythm, his channel finally gaining serious traction. The comfortable hum of the age gap suddenly felt like a chasm about to open.

You crossed the small space, without a word, you reached up, cupping his face. His stubble was rough under your palm. His dark eyes, wide and uncertain, searched yours. You saw the fear there. Fear of being left behind, fear of the distance, fear of losing this, the easy intimacy you'd built. You leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the faint, worried line etched between his brows.

"I'll be a train ride away, Arthur," you whispered, your voice surprisingly steady, belying the sudden ache in your own chest. "Four hours. We'll make it work." You infused the words with a conviction you desperately needed to feel yourself.

He let out a shaky breath, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you tightly against him. He buried his face in your hair, his hold almost bruising. "Four hours," he repeated, his voice muffled. "Right." He didn't sound convinced. Neither were you, not really. But you clung to each other in the rain-streaked gloom of the tiny kitchen, the acceptance letter on the fridge a silent, monumental presence.

Moving day arrived in a blur of cardboard boxes, roll after roll of packing tape, and a low-level hum of anxiety. Arthur morphed into a surprisingly efficient, slightly manic organiser. He folded your sweaters and jumpers with a precision you never knew he possessed, tucking lavender sachets between them. His quiet intensity was both touching and heartbreaking.

As you taped shut the last box labelled ‘Books (Important!)’,you found him sitting on the edge of your shared bed, holding a small, worn notebook. It was the playlist journal he kept, with silly titles and meticulous song lists for every mood. He was carefully tearing out a page. He looked up as you entered, a hesitant smile touching his lips.

"Made you something," he said, his voice rough. He held out the folded page. Scrawled across the top in his familiar, slightly messy handwriting was the title "Don’t forget me (seriously) & other reminders."

You took it, unfolding it. It wasn't just a playlist. Beneath the song titles (a mix of comforting indie, upbeat anthems, and a few embarrassingly soppy ones you loved) were little notes:

Track 3: For when the Scottish rain feels endless. Remember, my umbrella's in your bag's side pocket

Track 7: When you ace that first presentation. Dance like no one's watching (because they probably aren't)

Track 10: For the nights it feels too quiet. Put it on loud. I'll be humming along

Track 16: For the really hard nights

P.S. Seriously. Buy more socks. Edinburgh is cold. And eat something green occasionally. Love, A

Tears pricked your eyes. "Arthur."

"Shut up," he mumbled, standing abruptly, his own eyes suspiciously bright. "Just some reminders. Now, where's the tape for this box?"

The Uber arrived too soon. Boxes filled the boot and half the back seat. The drizzle from your first meeting had returned, a fittingly grey London send-off. You stood on the pavement, the final goodbyes choked and inadequate. He pulled you into one last, crushing hug, his face buried in your neck. You could feel the tremor running through him, the desperate press of his fingers against your back.

He smelt like home.

"Call me when you get there," he whispered, his voice thick. "Text me when you're on the train. Let me know the flat's not a dungeon. Send pictures of anything. Everything."

"I will," you promised, your voice cracking. "Every step. I love you."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed but fiercely tender. He cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear you hadn't felt fall. "I love you more. Go be brilliant. Just come back."

Then he kissed you. Not the quick, desperate press of lips you expected, but something slow and deep, like he was trying to memorise the shape of your mouth. His hands slid into your hair, holding you there, his breath shaky against your cheek. You could taste the coffee he’d had that morning, the faint sweetness of toothpaste, and the salt of tears—his or yours, you weren’t sure. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, moving against yours with a quiet intensity that made your chest ache.

You clutched at the front of his hoodie, fingers twisting into the fabric, pulling him closer. He made a soft, broken sound in the back of his throat and kissed you harder, his nose bumping against yours, his stubble rough against your skin. The drizzle clung to your faces, cold where his fingers weren’t touching, but you barely noticed.

When he finally pulled away, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath uneven. His eyelashes were wet—from the rain, maybe, or something else. He swallowed hard, his grip on you tightening for a second before he forced himself to let go.

Then, without another word, he helped you into the car, his hand lingering on the door handle like he might change his mind and pull you back out. But he didn’t. He just shut the door gently, stepped back, and watched as the car pulled away.

The driver pulled away. You twisted in your seat, pressing your hand against the cold glass. Arthur stood on the wet pavement, hands shoved deep into the pockets of those same worn jeans. The drizzle plastered strands of his dark hair to his forehead. He watched the car go, shoulders slumped, looking achingly young in his vulnerability, yet impossibly old in the weight of the moment. He lifted one hand in a small, hesitant wave, a solitary figure shrinking rapidly in the rainy rearview mirror, swallowed by the grey of London.

The four-hour train journey between London and Edinburgh became something the both of you were used to. Text messages replaced shared sunrises inside the flat, and video calls stood in for evenings curled on the worn sofa. The physical absence was a constant, low ache, a space where Arthur’s warmth, his scent, and the comforting weight of his arm around you, should have been.

Arthur (3:47 a.m.): Just woke up

Arthur (3:47 a.m.): Your pillow smells like your shampoo…

Arthur (3:47 a.m.): Miss your snoring

You (8:15 a.m.): I do NOT snore. Also, 3 a.m.? Go to sleep, old man. Are you editing again?

Arthur (8:15 a.m.): *Old man?! 

Arthur (8:16 a.m.): I’ll have you know I went to the gym today and sustained no injuries

Arthur (8:16 a.m.): And yes, editing. Wanted to have the video ready ASAP

Arthur (8:16 a.m.): Also… 

Arthur (8:16 a.m.): Maybe miss you more than the sleep…

You (8:17 a.m.): Miss you more. Go to bed, idiot 🧡

Arthur (8:18 a.m.): Only if you promise not to drown in projects today. Love you ❤️

You (8:19 a.m.): Love you too ❤️❤️❤️

The rhythm was familiar, comforting in its own way, but it couldn't replicate the ease of presence. The age gap, once a background hum in the shared flat, began to resonate with sharper, more discordant notes.

His career was hitting its stride. Videos gained traction, collaborations with bigger names materialised, and deadlines carried real fweight. His texts sometimes buzzed with frantic energy: "Just landed a meeting with someone big! Nervous as hell." or "Editing marathon. Might actually turn into a vampire. Send coffee thoughts." His successes thrilled you, but they also felt like planets orbiting a different sun.

Your world, meanwhile, was a pressure cooker of academia. Deadlines loomed like thunderclouds, critiques from professors felt personal, and the sheer volume of reading was relentless. You were navigating the turbulent waters of postgraduate life, learning to pay bills meticulously, budget for groceries, and exist independently in a city that still sometimes felt overwhelming. 

One particularly brutal week where a presentation went spectacularly wrong. Technical glitches, a stammering delivery, a professor's cutting remark. You left the lecture hall, tears of frustration and humiliation hot on your cheeks. Huddled on a cold bench in a secluded corner of the university gardens, you called him. 

It was mid-afternoon. He was likely filming or in a meeting.

He answered on the second ring. "Hey, love! Everything o—" He heard the ragged intake of breath, the suppressed sob. His voice instantly softened, shedding the earlier lightness. "Hey. Hey, what's wrong? Talk to me."

That was all it took. 

Words tumbled out in a messy, tangled rush. Half-formed thoughts, sharp-edged frustrations, and the kind of rambling sorrow that had no neat narrative. 

You spoke of the presentation that had fallen flat and the way your professor’s polite nod felt like a slap. You spoke of the hours spent poring over readings that never seemed to stick, of dragging yourself through rainy streets, past cheerful strangers who all looked like they belonged here in a way you never quite did. You spoke of the ache in your bones, the hunger you’d ignored for too long, and the dinner left untouched in the fridge. And then there was the bench.

That stupid, freezing bench outside the library where you'd sat for too long, just to be alone in your misery, blinking hard against the tears because crying in public still felt like failure. That moment tipped you over. 

You didn't want solutions, not really. You just wanted to be heard, to be held.

Arthur didn’t. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t talk over you. He didn’t tell you to breathe or calm down or look on the bright side. He just listened.

There was a deep, attentive silence on his end. Every few seconds, his soft thinking-hum came through the speaker, a low, soothing sound, like a lullaby murmured just under his breath. You could almost feel it vibrating through the phone, grounding you.

You imagined him in his flat, pacing slowly, or maybe sitting cross-legged on the carpet with his head bowed like he always did when he was truly focused. You could picture the furrow in his brow, the way he’d close his eyes sometimes when he listened closely, as if his whole body were tuned to your voice.

Only when your sobs had quieted into hiccuping breaths did he speak.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with tenderness, “you’re not failing. I promise you, you’re not.”

Your lip trembled again at that, not because it was reassurance, but because it felt like truth. 

“I’m so tired,” you whispered. “I feel like I’m running just to stay in place.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I hate that I’m not there with you. I really wish I was with you. I'd steal you away right now. Find the biggest, greasiest pizza in Edinburgh and eat it under a duvet fort."

“I miss you,” you breathed, the ache behind your ribs tightening.

His exhale was soft, almost lost in the connection. “I miss you more than I know how to say.”

There was another long pause, but it didn’t feel empty.

“I’ll stay on the line as long as you need,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to say anything else. Just breathe with me.”

So you did. You closed your eyes, the phone a warm weight against your ear. You focused on the sound of his breath, a slow inhale, a steady exhale. You matched yours to it. In. The cool air filling your lungs. Out. The shaky release. In the faint static hum of the line. Out. The lingering dampness on your cheeks.

Minutes passed. Just breathing. The frantic pounding of your heart began to ease, replaced by the simple rhythm shared across the distance. Your shoulders, knotted tight with stress, loosened fractionally. The knot in your chest didn’t vanish, but it softened, edged back by the quiet, persistent sound of him being there.

“Thank you for this.” You say, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He replies and makes kissing noises. “I’ll be waiting for our next call.”

Three days later, a parcel arrived. Inside, nestled in protective packaging, were expensive noise-cancelling headphones. Taped to them was a note in his messy scrawl: "For focus. Block out the world (especially noisy flatmates)." Beneath them, almost hidden, was a ridiculously soft, green plush dinosaur. Another note: "For hugs. The headphones aren't cuddly. His name is Sir Rockinsford, or Rocky. He's a good listener. Love you. A." You clutched Rocky to your chest, the scent of new fabric mingling with the ghost of Arthur's laundry detergent, and cried again, this time with a heart full of aching gratitude.

The weekends Arthur managed to escape to Edinburgh were lifelines, snatched fragments of their old life. He’d arrive at Waverley Station looking rumpled and slightly wild-eyed after the journey, a large backpack slung over one shoulder, invariably bearing a slightly squashed loaf of sourdough from his favourite London bakery. He always insisted he’d slept fine on the train, despite the dark smudges under his eyes that told a different story.

Your tiny student flat felt impossibly full with him in it. He’d immediately take over the microscopic kitchen, making tea while you tried to focus on reading at the rickety table. His presence was a warm, distracting comfort. He’d hum absentmindedly, the same tuneless hum from the phone call, as he moved about, inevitably knocking an elbow against a cupboard door or stubbing his toe on the bedframe. "Cramped but cosy," he'd declare cheerfully, handing you a steaming mug.

One drizzly Saturday, you dragged him to Edinburgh Castle. As you walked through the ancient stone gatehouse, Arthur’s earlier reserve melted away. The museum nerd you’d first met re-emerged, his eyes lighting up as he pointed out architectural details.

"See that?" he whispered, gesturing to a narrow slit in the thick wall. Tourists jostled past, oblivious. "Everyone calls it an arrow slit, right? Actually, a common misconception. It's primarily for crossbows in this period. The angle and the width." He launched into a detailed explanation, his hands sketching shapes in the damp air, his voice dropping into the enthusiastic, slightly faster cadence he used when talking about things he loved.

You watched him, a fond smile spreading across your face. He caught himself mid-sentence, noticing your expression. He ducked his head, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Sorry."

You bumped your shoulder against his arm. "Don't stop," you said softly. "I love it. And don't worry," you added, a playful glint in your eye as you nodded towards a nearby information plaque, "I'm still reading every word."

His grin was instantaneous, relieved, and bright. "Good. Wouldn't want you missing these amazing crossbow facts."

Winter in Edinburgh was a beast. The days shrank, swallowed by darkness that arrived mid-afternoon, and the wind sliced through coats like they were paper. The cheerful resilience you’d both mustered during autumn visits faded under the weight of grey skies and the relentless, grinding pressure of your workload. While Arthur’s channel thrived, it brought its own intense demands. Your own deadlines piled into an overwhelming mountain of research papers and presentations.

April arrived, bringing daffodils to Edinburgh's parks and Arthur's 29th birthday. You’d planned a weekend visit to London, a small celebration. Maybe baking his favourite cake, a quiet dinner, or just being together. But an important exam was scheduled for the Monday morning immediately after the weekend, an exam you were perilously underprepared for, thanks to a nasty flu that had wiped you out the entire week prior. 

Calling him, your voice still thick with congestion and scratchy with regret, was awful.

"Arthur. I don't think I can make it down this weekend," you rasped, the words scraping your throat. "This exam, it's massive, and I lost so much time being ill. I'm so, so sorry. Happy Birthday." The words felt like ash in your mouth. Pathetic.

A beat of silence stretched on the line, long enough for your heart to plummet. You could vividly picture the careful blankness settling over his face, the way his hand would automatically rub the back of his neck. "Oh," he finally said, his voice unnervingly neutral, devoid of its usual warmth. "Right. The exam. Yeah, no, of course. That. That makes sense. Gotta prioritise." Another pause, heavy with unsaid disappointment. "Don't worry about it, love. Really. We'll celebrate properly next time. Bigger cake." His attempt at lightness fell utterly flat. You heard the disappointment, carefully banked but unmistakable, beneath the forced cheer.

“I’m really sorry Arthur, I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

A few months later, with summer approaching, came your graduation ceremony. After an absolutely brutal year, everything had finally fallen into place. Your family was travelling up, but Arthur was the one you desperately wanted to see you walk across that stage in the ridiculous cap and gown. You’d sent him pictures of the outfit, excited to see him on the day. 

A week before the ceremony, everything fell apart for him. His external hard drive—where he’d kept almost all the raw footage for the new series—suddenly stopped working. No warning, just gone. He tried everything he could think of, but nothing was bringing it back. The files weren’t lost forever, but getting them back would take time. Way too much time. He called you late that night. His voice was flat and strained, full of panic and frustration. He sounded like he hadn’t slept, like he’d been holding it together all day and couldn’t anymore.

The disappointment hit like a punch to the ribs. You stood frozen in your tiny room, phone pressed too tight to your ear, the hired graduation gown hanging on the back of the door, its sleeves limp as if sighing at you. The gulf between your worlds, his in London, yours here, his career emergencies, and your academic milestones felt suddenly vast and icy.

Typical, you thought, jaw clenching. Of course work comes first.

“It’s fine,” you said, voice clipped. The words came out sharper than you meant, all your frustration leaking through. You didn’t have the energy to soften it. “We’re adults. Work comes first. I get it.” That word, adults, hung heavy between you. It wasn’t just about this moment. It was about his birthday last month, when exams kept you from London. It was about the way he’d swallowed his own disappointment then, just like you were swallowing yours now.

His breath hitched on the line. “Don’t say it like that,” he murmured, voice cracking. “Please. I want to be there. This just—”

And then you realised.

This was his work. Not some corporate obligation, but his. The videos, the channel, the thing he’d built from scratch, the thing that paid his rent and funded those stupidly expensive headphones he’d sent you when you were drowning. The thing that mattered enough for him to sound this wrecked over missing your graduation.

Your anger flickered, then dimmed.

“I know,” you said, quieter now. You pressed your forehead against the cold windowpane, staring out at the rain as it came down steadily. “I,” you let out a long breath, heavy with disappointment. “I get it. Really. Go fix your disaster. I’ll save you a glass.”

A beat of silence. Then, a soft, disbelieving huff. “You’re angry,” he said, like he was realising it mid-sentence.

“Yeah, well.” You swallowed hard. “So were you on your birthday. But we’re adults, right?”

Another pause. You could almost hear him thinking. When he spoke again, his tone had changed. “Right,” he said. “And we can make it up to each other. With cake. And maybe terrible wine.”

Your mouth twitched. You didn’t want to smile, but you did anyway.

“Deal,” you said. “Now go. I’ll text you the livestream link.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“I know.”

You ended the call and let the phone fall into your lap. You sat there for a while, still annoyed, still tired, still wishing things were different. But it didn’t hurt quite as much anymore. You stood up, wiped your face, and got ready for bed.

The key turned with a final, echoing click. You stood in the doorway of the tiny student flat, now stripped bare. Sunlight streamed through the empty window, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air where your desk used to be. The only sound was the faint Edinburgh wind whistling past the building. It felt hollow, resonant with the echoes of late-night study sessions, frantic calls to Arthur, and the triumphant relief of finishing your dissertation. Rocky, the green dinosaur tucked securely under your arm, was the only remnant of your life here besides the suitcase at your feet. You’d sent the boxes of your things a day ago, it’s scheduled to get to his flat a few hours after you get there.

You took a deep breath. You'd fought hard here, learnt fiercely, and loved achingly from afar. You pulled out your phone and snapped a picture of the empty room and attached it to a text.

You (8:15 a.m.):  [Image: Empty Edinburgh flat]

You (8:15 a.m.):  Ready to be back home, returning the keys soon. See you in a few hours.

Arthur (8:16 a.m.): [Image: A slightly blurry selfie of him grinning, holding up a mug]

Arthur (8:16 a.m.): Counting. Will have tea when you’re back! Safe travels ❤️

You smiled, the familiar warmth of his presence bleeding through the pixels. Shouldering your bag, you gave the empty space one last glance and closed the door behind you.

The familiar rumble and screech of the train pulling into the station sent a jolt through you. This time, the grey London light filtering through the high glass roof didn’t feel oppressive; it felt like a familiar embrace. You hauled your suitcase down the aisle, heart hammering against your ribs in a rhythm that was equal parts nerves and pure, unadulterated anticipation.

You scanned the bustling platform, the sea of faces blurring. And then you saw him.

Arthur wasn't leaning against a pillar or checking his phone. He was moving, weaving through the crowd with that familiar, slightly slouched urgency, his head swivelling, eyes scanning frantically. He looked taller somehow, or maybe it was just the way he held himself, searching for you. He was wearing a dark green hoodie you hadn't seen before and those same soft, worn jeans. His hair was a bit messy, like he’d run a hand through it repeatedly.

His gaze locked onto you. His whole face transformed. The searching intensity vanished, replaced by the grin you were familiar with—wide, relieved, crinkling the corners of his eyes, lighting up his features in a way that made your breath catch. It was the grin from the museum, the one from under the streetlamp, amplified by months of longing. He didn't hesitate. He covered the last few yards quickly, his long legs eating up the distance.

He reached you, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you tightly against the soft cotton of his hoodie, lifting you slightly off your feet in a hug that was fierce, wordless, and spoke volumes of every lonely night, every missed call, and every ache of separation. You buried your face in the curve of his neck, inhaling deeply. He smelt like home.

"Missed you," he murmured, his voice thick and muffled against your hair. His arms tightened almost imperceptibly. "So bloody much."

"Missed you more," you whispered back, your voice catching. You clung to him, the platform noise fading to a distant hum.

He held you there for a long moment, suspended, his face buried in your hair. Then, you felt the soft, warm press of his lips against the crown of your head, a firm, lingering kiss that was a silent promise, an anchor in the whirlwind of arrival. It was tender and possessive all at once, breathing you in.

Only then did he finally set you down gently, his hands sliding from your back to cup your face. His dark brown eyes scanned yours, taking you in, the familiar warmth mixed with a profound relief. He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his thumb lingering on your temple where his lips had just been. "Alright?" he asked softly, the question encompassing everything. The move, the degree, the journey, the sheer weight of being back.

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, but smiling so widely your cheeks ached. "Alright."

He grinned again, a little shakily this time, then bent and grabbed the handle of your suitcase. He slung his free arm around your shoulders, pulling you snugly against his side. The solid warmth of him, the familiar press, was an anchor. "Right then," he said, his voice regaining its usual soft cadence, laced with a happiness that resonated deep in his chest. "Let's get you home."

The Uber ride was a blur of tangled fingers resting on your knee, quiet murmurs about the traffic, and Arthur pointing out a new mural near the old flat. "Chris showed me. It's a bit weird, honestly, but colourful." The familiar streets felt different seen through the lens of permanence.

He fumbled slightly with the keys at the door of his flat, his usual slight awkwardness amplified by the suitcase and his eagerness. He pushed the door open and stood back, watching your face intently, a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

You stepped inside.

It wasn't pristine. A camera lens cap lay forgotten on the coffee table. A half-drunk mug of tea sat beside his laptop. But it was different. Noticeably so. Space had been consciously made. Your bookshelf wasn't just there, it had been expanded, a new matching unit added beside the original, and your books integrated with his, no longer just piled on top. The draining board wasn't overflowing, space had been cleared, and your favourite oversized mug sat prominently on the mug tree, clean and waiting. A small, dedicated corner by the window now held a neat stack of your binders and notebooks, a proper study nook, replacing the precarious pile on the floor.

You walked further in, your fingers trailing over the spines of your books on the new shelf. You saw your old, fuzzy blanket draped over the arm of the sofa.

"Tried," Arthur mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks faintly pink. He hovered near the doorway, suitcase forgotten. "To make it properly ours again. Knew your stuff would need places. Hope it's okay?" He gestured vaguely at the study corner and the bookshelf. "Didn't want you feeling like you were just slotting back into my mess."

You turned to him, emotion swelling in your chest. You appreciated the effort, the visible proof he'd been thinking about your return, about making space for you not just physically, but in the life of the flat. You crossed the few steps back to where he stood, still hovering by the doorway, watching you with that tentative hope in his eyes.

You reached up and cupped his face in your hands. His stubble was rough under your palms, familiar. His breath caught as you leaned in. When your lips met his, it wasn't like the first desperate kisses under the streetlamp or the quick pecks during rushed video calls. This was slow and deliberate. His mouth was warm and slightly chapped, and he sighed into the kiss like he'd been holding his breath for months.

One of his hands came up to cover yours where it rested against his cheek, his fingers pressing gently over yours. The other settled at your waist, pulling you closer until your chests touched. You could feel his heartbeat through his hoodie, steady and strong.

When you finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, his eyes stayed closed for a second longer before opening. They were darker than usual, full of something quiet and awed. He didn't smile, just looked at you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles where he still held your hand against his face.

"Welcome home," he murmured, so softly you almost didn't hear it. Then he kissed you again, shorter this time, but no less certain. When he spoke next, his voice was rough. "Meant to say that properly when you walked in. Got a bit distracted."

You laughed, the sound catching in your throat. "It's perfect," you whispered against his lips. "Thank you."

The first few days were a delicate dance of re-establishing rhythms. Arthur had a looming deadline for a video collaboration while you were deep in the trenches of job applications, tailoring CVs and drafting cover letters for positions in London.

One afternoon, you had a video interview scheduled. You’d set up in the study corner, notes arranged, and you were dressed presentably. Just as you were about to hit 'join', the unmistakable sound of Arthur’s enthusiastic voice narrating drifted loudly from your shared room.

You froze. Pre-interview nerves tangled with a spark of frustration. You took a deep breath and walked to Arthur’s room, his door was ajar. Inside, he stood bathed in the glow of his monitor, pacing the limited floor space between his desk and bed. His recording headphones dangled around his neck like a high-tech scarf as he gestured wildly at the timeline on his screen, completely absorbed in his narration.

"Arthur?" you asked.

He spun around, startled. "Yeah? Sorry, love, just this bit—"

"I have my interview starting right now," you said, pointing to your corner. "I really need it quiet for the next hour."

His eyes widened in instant understanding and apology. "Shit! Sorry! Right. Right." He immediately grabbed the expensive noise-cancelling headphones you'd given him for his last birthday and shoved them onto his head, giving you a thumbs-up and a contrite, muffled "Best of luck! You’ll crush it!" before turning back to his screen. 

Later, as you finished a successful interview, buzzing with relief, you emerged to find him still deeply focused. You started preparing a simple dinner. He finally surfaced, blinking, stretching the kinks out of his neck. "How'd it go?" he asked, coming into the kitchen, automatically reaching for the kettle to make you tea.

"Really well, I think!" you replied, stirring the pasta.

"Brilliant!" He grinned, then glanced at the simmering pot. "Listen, this video, it's fighting me. Mind if I grab another hour? Can dinner be late? I promise I'll make it up to you with washing-up duty."

You looked at him, the focused intensity still lingering in his eyes, the slight weariness, and the earnest request. You remembered the dead hard drive, the cancelled graduation, and the swallowed disappointment. You understood the pressure. "Go," you said, smiling. "Sort it out. We'll have late pasta."

He leaned over and kissed your temple. "You're a star." He grabbed a banana and headed back, pulling the headphones on again. 

Two hours later, after the pasta had been eaten with Arthur making good on his washing-up promise while you dried, you found yourselves on the sofa in that perfect post-dinner haze. The rain pattered softly against the windows as Arthur stretched out along the length of it, pulling you back against his chest with a contented sigh. His arms wrapped around you, warm and solid, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.

"Finally got that video sorted," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. His fingers traced idle patterns on your forearm. "It should be out early tomorrow.”

You hummed in response, relaxing into his embrace. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back was more comforting than any blanket. His hoodie was soft against your cheek, still carrying that faint vanilla-and-laundry scent that was so distinctly him.

"Good," you said, interlacing your fingers with his. "Worth the wait for dinner then."

He huffed a quiet laugh, his chest vibrating against you. "You're too nice to me." His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "Thanks for being patient."

You turned your head just enough to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Always."

Arthur tightened his arms around you in response, nuzzling against your hair. The laptop whirred quietly on the coffee table where he'd left it, the video finally rendered and sent off. Outside, London hummed its nighttime song of distant traffic and rain-slick streets. But here, in the warm cocoon of the sofa, with Arthur's steady breathing and the weight of his arms around you, everything felt perfect.

You were home.

[blood-choke]

Hello! I just wanted to say that I really appreciate this game and how it portrays butchness. I'm a huge fan of lesbian lit and there are so few butches in media that to see a game have not one, but three, makes me feel a certain kind of way.

Aside from that, I was really drawn to how you portrayed the differing relationships between all the characters. Everything feels so visceral and real, it just feels so crunchy that I find myself wanting for more. I really look forward to seeing how it will turn out for everyone involved.

Additionally, (if this is too spoilery, has been answered, or insensitive pls feel free to ignore) is it ok if I ask how you decide the dialogue and event flow of the choices? I was mildly and pleasantly surprised that flirting with Clear and staying with her in ch 3 would lead to "that" scene, and I'm curious on your writing process on how it lead to that.

Ultimately, I just really want to thank you for sharing your game with us. Im just really glad to be able to experience this game and I hope that you stay safe!

thank you!

overall when it comes to structuring dialogue & choices i tend to write a linear path first & then double back to add more branches.

i had a basic outline of the chapter & knew what i wanted to touch on with each route & what scenes needed to happen, and then i just kinda started writing from there. Clear's was actually the one i wrote first, her sex scene was what i wrote first, and then i went back and built a lot of the route around it.

i wrote Clear's and Hana's routes simultaneously since they were so intertwined, but i ended up rewriting Hana's three times, whereas with Clear i just had to edit it a bit. i knew i wanted them to have that conversation at the table about Clear not having any friends, and then i wrote the scene where mc finds the vampire erotica book. it took some trial and error until i was happy with the dialogue & choices at the table, as well as how i wanted to split the following variations. i tend to do the romantic variations first, and then work my way down, and sometimes i have to go backwards and edit as i write because i'll add something on a whim to one variation and decide that actually i want this to be in all of them.

i am definitely someone that's a bit of a "planster" meaning i do minimal planning and write a lot by the seat of my pants. sometimes it works, other times it puts me in a bit of a bind. like i said i tend to set out with specific information/dialogue/scene/etc in mind that i know has to happen, and build up around it.

with Hana the main focus in her route was that conversation with mc; i wanted mc to get overwhelmed at the store, and for her and Hana to talk about it afterwards, and for Hana to be frustrated at her situation as this person who suddenly has to comfort and take care of mc after being replaced by her. again, minimal planning, i wrote almost her whole route before i started working on Valentina's & i mentioned Standard and his proclivities towards Chinese antiques. this made me realize i needed to rewrite a lot of Hana's dialogue to be more inclusive of her race. i went back to Clear's route, and ended up writing a lot of the conversation with Hana there after she gets back from the store, and then i adapted it to the other routes.

Valentina's route was all about the painting. again, i wrote that initial scene of walking into her room, the description of the painting, and then her first sex scene, and built up from there. there was also the brief meeting with Joan, which was mostly just for fun and to introduce those characters early for anyone that went on V's route, so the next chapter those players will have a little jump on who they are. but the main point was that painting & i think it's pretty obvious with how the whole route plays out, and the fact that the painting is always seen by all players.

this is still a game, so it is gamified quite a bit, with all 3 characters having a potential sex scene in the same chapter at the same time. i planned it that way to make it easy for myself and because that's just how i wanted it to go. i put some stat checks in place to add variations, like if you went with Hana or Valentina in ch2, if you flirted with Clear or not, and again, it was a lot of jumping around and trial and error. i wrote a significant part of Valentina's route out of order, and i finished hers last before i finalized the council meeting (which i had written very early on but like Hana's route i had to rewrite a few times)

i like to describe my process as building a tree. i write the core of it all first, one linear path, the trunk, and then i double back and add in all of the possible branches. it doesn't mean anything that i wrote the friendly, romantic variation of Clear's route first, it just allowed me to use that single variation as an anchor and build up around it without straying too far and losing the plot, hahahaha. i still sometimes stray a little too far... but it's fun that way. it was fun trying to figure out a way to make the rival route different, how to change it while still telegraphing the same overall ideas about Clear & her situation. it's also very frustrating, but it's all part of the process....

[lotus-acid-trip]

hi! I hope you don’t mind me asking but may I request a Telemachus x fem reader where when ody returns and is being made fun of by the suitors while still in this begger disguise yn starts fighting off the suitors and yelling at them for being rude and maybe later joins ody while he is hunting them down and Telemachus has a love sick look while watching yn just like ody did for Penelope back when they were younger before he married her and after seeing how cool and awesome of a warrior yn is later ody turns to his son and says “I aprove of this one 😏” and poor Telemachus is just like 😳 all flustered and adorable what can I say Telemachus is a sweetie 🥰

feel free to ignore if you want to hope you have a good rest of your day thank you ☺️

“I approve of this one.”

Telemachus x Reader

[Epic The Musical]

oneshot

fluff

This is my first proper romantic reader insert fic, so I hope you enjoy!

Odysseus sat at the entrance of the courtyard under the shade of a large olive tree as he silently observed the numerous suitors scattered across the courtyard in idle chatter. Is this really what had become of his home while he was gone? It was baffling just how ungrateful and disrespectful all these guests were. He worried for the state of his palace after being infested with all these unwelcome guests for so many years. It must have been so difficult on Penelope and Telemachus to deal with all of them, having to feed and house them along with dealing with their pitiful attempts at courting his wife. It was a wonder why the suitors still haven’t been driven out by Telemachus yet.

His hand fiddled with the small wooden bowl in his hands. Odysseus was disguised as an old beggar, but as much as he wanted to reveal himself right then and there he needed to be patient and play it smart. He didn’t have anything other than an old knife hidden in his clothes to defend himself with and he was probably lacking a lot of proper nutrients and sustenance after being out at sea for so long with food of limited quality and quantity. If he were to fight all these suitors right now, he was sure to fail. Not only do they have an advantage in numbers, it was obvious they were well fed, and all the used training equipment seen around the palace was all he needed to know the suitors could fight. If Odysseus wanted to win, he needed to stick to the plan, which meant playing his part as an old beggar.

A suitor passed by him devouring a chicken leg and he held out his bowl to him. It would be a good opportunity to not only learn more about the state of his palace and family, but to also know just what his family has been up to in the past years. “Would you care to spare a bit of food for this old man?” The suitor tilted his head to look down at Odysseus for a moment before raising a brow. “And what exactly is this homeless old man doing in a palace like this? Surely your life hasn’t fallen so far into poverty that you’d go scrounging for scraps in the homes of royalty.” He leaned back against the tree, hands crossing over his legs. “Well, that wasn’t exactly my plan. I was just walking by but with the heat of the sun and with a body as frail and weak as mine, I just had to take a break under the shade of this mighty tree. I was always curious of what happened in the lives of royalty anyway.” He said as he looked up at the leaves and branches. He remembers planting it so many years ago to see how to take care of an olive tree as preparation for making his and Penelope’s marital bed. It's grown so much since then, and he wonders just how much Telemachus has as well. “Well, since you have so much spare time to just wander around doing nothing, why don’t you bring us all a meal or two, all the way from inside the palace’s pantry. You want some food? Work for it, old man.”

Odysseus raised a hand waving off the offer. “Ah, but there might be one small problem. I am just an old beggar, remember? I don’t know anything of the layout of the palace. I’m sorry, but I must decline. Can’t you just ask a servant to help you instead?” The suitor seemed to get irritated at his reply. “Ha! Yeah right, those servants can barely do anything right. They never bring the food on time and always seem to be short on stock. Not even their pathetic prince seems to know what he’s doing.” He stared at the suitor judgmentally. “ ‘Pathetic prince’ you say? Bold words for someone who’s staying in his palace.” The suitor looked at him as if he had just said something audacious instead of common sense. “Listen old man, we’re the guests here, not them. Do you not understand basic hospitality?” Odysseus narrowed his eyes at the suitor. He knew his palace, his servants and the workforce in it. They aren’t lazy or incompetent, if they were they wouldn’t be serving his family. Not to mention, if there wasn’t enough livestock there were plenty of skilled hunters and hunting dogs to accompany them. His memories of old hunts with Argos and others were more than enough proof of that.

“Of course I do. Perhaps instead of trying to defend your impudence against the prince, you could put away your prideful hurbis for a moment and just lend me even an inch of the food you already have on you. For someone relying on the shared hospitality of someone else for their own comfort, you sure don’t seem to be able to do the same.” The suitor’s bored annoyance quickly morphed into thinly veiled anger. “Listen you old derelict, need I remind you that this is not your courtyard you are resting in? This is not your abode and I do not tolerate your insults. For someone who seems to preach so strongly for returning hospitality, you don’t seem too keen on basic respect.” Odysseus hid his amusement at the irony with indifference. “Although that may be true, last I checked this isn’t your home either.” That statement alone seemed to be enough to push him over the edge into full blown rage. Odysseus jumped away from the suitor’s flying fist as it hit the trunk of the tree where his head used to be. “You know, for someone so insistent on how they have difficulty doing physical activities you’re awfully quick to move.” The suitor began to walk towards him, his larger form towering over him and casting a shadow that engulfed Odysseus’s entire form. “Listen here old man. If you think you can just run off after that impudence, your mind must be as deteriorated as your age.” Odysseus continued to back up, hand immediately searching for the knife he hid. A chill crept up his spine when his back hit something. Turning around, it was another suitor, the others beginning to close in on him. Fuck, he messed up. The suitor he first talked to grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him up to his face so Odysseus could face him. “Now, I think it's time that you finally learned a long needed lesson on hospitality and what happens when you don’t respect your host-“

“Hey! What the hell is all this racket?” Odysseus never turned his head away from the suitor, but averted his gaze towards the newcomer. A woman emerged from inside the palace and stared at the scene before her in a moment of silence before her once confused gaze immediately morphed into an infuriated wrath that could rival the suitor’s own rage. “Antinous, what do you think you’re doing! Gods above and below, has no one ever taught you to respect your elders?” She marched on towards the both of them, unshaken by any visible fear at the obvious violent intent of the suitors. She gripped the suitor’s, now known as Antinous, wrist and forcefully yanked it away from him, letting Odysseus fall to the ground. Antinous opened his mouth, ready to yell at her but the woman cut him off as she glared coldly at him. “The queen is watching us.” She said as she stared into the suitors eyes as if daring him to try anything. The mention of Penelope is all he needed to whip his head towards the balcony he knows she always loved to use to watch the courtyard. And there she was, elegant and poised, watching with a composed face as she always does. He could see how she’s changed from when he last saw her, the small streaks of white in her hair that weren’t there before, the wrinkles and tired eyes. But he didn’t care, for it was his Penelope, and Odysseus felt like he was falling in love all over again.

Penelope observed them silently, looking at each person one by one before her eyes eventually met his. For a moment, it felt like time froze and they did nothing but stare at each other. It was like the world itself was holding its breath. It was the smallest difference in her eyes that made his chest swell with warmth. Those indifferent calculated eyes that always seemed to be studying every little detail softened for a moment, her composed face faltering for a split millisecond to look at him with the same eyes that looked at him with so much affection and appreciation when he told her how he’d tackle the challenge she gave him. The tension in the air was so thick, yet only he could feel it… and maybe she did as well. Logically, Odysseus knew that they had only been looking at each other for a mere few seconds, but it felt like he was staring for an eternity at something so close yet so far. And Penelope did nothing else but silently stare back. She shifted her position, pulling away from the scene and returning back inside. Odysseus let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. It felt like time suddenly began moving once more when it had always been flowing, falling through his fingers like flowing water with no hope of holding on to it.

“Antinous, if you do not explain to me what exactly you were doing I can and will tell Penelope.” The woman said as she walked in front Odysseus, who’s gaze still lingered on the balcony for another moment before returning to look at the suitors and the new woman. Antinous sneered. “And why should I? Your family may be up there in terms of status, but you’re nowhere near close to me.” He sneered. “And? Do you think I care? You already showed just how petty you get because someone bruised your fragile ego. I still haven’t forgiven you for the fight with Telemachus.” The woman took a step forward towards the suitor, but he didn’t move. “And? The boy started it.” Another step forward and another rise in tension. “Who exactly called his mother a tramp? That’s right, you.” Another step forward until she was right in front of him. At this point even more suitors began to crowd around them to see what was happening, and Odysseus dreaded a physical fight would break out.

“Well then, since you seem so keen on berating me for teaching the little wolf a lesson, why don’t I give you an opportunity to even out the scales?” Antinous’s fist met the woman’s face, sending her stumbling back. She regained her balance before gently touching her face, a bruise forming on her right cheek. Whispers and murmurs emanated from the crows as it grew larger, more suitors joining the audience and a few servants discreetly watching from the sidelines. She looked at her own blood smeared against her fingers before turning her attention towards Antinous. “I gladly accept.” She ran forward, fist aimed at Antinous’s face. The suitor held his forearm up to block it, only for her to twist her foot, turning around to kick him from behind without her fist ever making contact with him. Antinous was pushed forward a step from the force of the kick, but quickly recovered, turning around to grab her by the leg she used to kick him. The crowd around them began cheering as he pulled her forward into another punch, which was blocked by her own forearms, now also bruised. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into a headbutt, unable to dodge or move away because of their position.

The sound of a wooden bowl hitting Antinous’s head caused all sound to cease, the silence deafening as everyone’s heads turned to look at the source of the bowl. Antinous glared at Odysseus, who was hiding his grip on his knife in his oversized clothes. Antinous let go of the woman who fell on the floor, wincing at her bruises. Odysseus’s grip on his knife tightened as he took a step forward towards him. He opened his mouth to say something before he was cut off by a young voice. “Stop! What’s going on he- [NAME]!” A young boy shoved his way through the crowd and into the clearing that formed around the olive tree, rushing towards the side of the young woman. He kneeled beside her as he assessed her wounds. Antinous crossed his arms in annoyance as the young boy began to ceaselessly fuss over her. Odysseus stared at the boy, he could recognize those eyes from anywhere. “[name], are you okay? What happened?”

“Tele, I’m fine. It's just a few bruises, I’m not an old frail man.” She said as she sharply turned to look at Antinous. “Unlike the person a certain someone was harassing.” Odysseus stared at the young man- no, his son. No wonder he looked so familiar. He had his mother’s eyes and the same fair skin as her, but the face and hair of his own. His head was reeling, it had been so long since he’d seen his young boy. He was all grown up now, grown through all those special moments in his life Odysseus would never be able to experience. Gods, he missed his first hunt, his first training session, he missed being able to teach his son all the things he promised he’d pass on from his mentorship under Athena. But now Telemachus was right there, but he still couldn’t teach him all the things he wasn’t able to.

Antinous looked at all three of them one by one, from Odysseus to Telemachus in increasing disgust. “I’ve had enough of this, the way both of you act around each other is nauseating.” He said as he left the courtyard and into the building. Telemachus helped [name] up and she turned to look at Odysseus. “I am so sorry for all this. My intent was only to help you get that pig off your back,” She said as she looked at the direction Antinous left in with so much disgust it almost gave Odysseus whiplash from her original apologetic tone. “but it seems my impulsiveness got the better of me. Usually I try not to cause fights but I’m not exactly the best at not doing that.” She said shamefully. “Oh please, it's quite alright. I understand what it’s like. Sometimes, when you’re in the heat of the moment, your emotions cloud your judgement and you’re so focused on doing what you think’s right that… you don’t realize the consequences that might follow.” He said with a wistful smile. “I really have no idea what happened, but I apologize either way. Please, have this for your troubles.” Telemachus said as he handed him money, before cutting through the crowd to probably lead [name] to get healed. Odysseus stared at the coins placed in his hand, it was enough to buy him a whole house.

……………………………………………………

……………………………………………………

The metallic stench of blood filled your nose as you walked across the wet floor, the red liquid staining your sandals. The faint light of the torches could barely illuminate the dark room, the moon’s light nowhere to be seen through the windows. What little the light did show was nothing but puddles of blood and the faint outline of bodies. Right there, at the end of the room were twelve axes that were originally supposed to be used for the challenge queen Penelope made for her suitors. It didn’t take long for you to hear about what went wrong, and it took even shorter for you to make your way here. You grabbed one of the axes, testing its weight as you gave it a few experimental swings. The silence of the challenge room was so quiet you could hear your own wet footsteps echo as you tested the axe. You internally facepalmed as you looked down at your weapon, realizing just how little you thought this through. You had no plan in mind, you just heard that Telemachus was also fighting and just had to join. The idea of fighting alongside him was exhilarating, and meeting his father, king Odysseus and master tactician that won the war? You didn’t really think too hard on your decision to join. As much as you hated to admit it, Telemachus and your father were right. You really needed to think things through more. 

Your body tensed when you heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the room, your grip on your axe tightening. Well, if you were good at one thing, it was brazenly charging into battle. You readied your stance, prepared for a fight. Since you weren’t able to kill Antinous, you’ll have to settle for killing the suitor first. The moment the bright light of a torch rounded the corner of the entryway, you charged forward, swinging your axe towards their head. Being on the other side of the room, they had plenty of time to jump out of your way. Now, you were at the entrance and they were trapped inside the room. Their torch illuminated their face and you took a moment to look at them. Eurymachus, the cowardly one. “Hey, [name], let us talk about this! I never once went out of my way to hurt you nor Telemachus, I always payed my due respects to her majesty. It was Antinous that-“

“Lead you and your fellow scum in the plan to execute my betrothed in secret.” You said with a sneer, throwing the axe at his head. It flew past the torch, the push of wind blowing it out as the man in front of you fell to the floor. He met the floor with a loud thump, his remains now nothing but another body in the landscape of corpses in the room. You moved to pull the axe out of his head with more aggression than needed before leaving. His words irritated you to no end, the man was nothing but an idle fool who made the choice of inaction. Never once did he try to stop his fellow suitors from tormenting Telemachus, never once has he tried to lessen all the resources they waste, never once did he leave when Telemachus ordered them. None of them did.

You let out a sigh as you walked through the hallways. Where exactly was Telemachus? And where was Odysseus? They most likely passed through this area already, if the bodies everywhere said anything. The father son duo was probably closer to the courtyards of the palace outside where the suitors must have fled towards. Either that or the pack of meatheads ran towards their weapon supply. You guessed it was the latter and promptly made your way through the familiar halls, passing by familiar faces on the floor that will never be missed. Surprisingly enough you couldn’t find any signs of struggle during battle. Nothing but the light of torches fallen on the floor could light up the scene, the moon and stars never daring to gaze upon the massacre. Bodies upon bodies were piled up in a gruesome display of vengeance with a vile stench that made your nose wrinkle in disgust, and yet each and every one of them only had an arrow to the head or chest to blame for their demise. No bruising nor cuts of a blade, only a lone arrow on each suitor. It was only after a long time of walking did the bodies slowly lessen in numbers, but still remained ever present. A silent reminder of the ruthless monster that lurked in these dark halls.

Your head turned towards the sound of metal blade against metal blade just to your right. Carefully peeking over the edge, your eyes widened at the sight of Telemachus fighting a suitor on his own. The light of a fallen torch reflected the glint of a knife in the darkness. Your grip on your axe tightened and you swung at the knife wielder without hesitation. The suitor’s screams were drowned by his own blood pouring out of his mouth, your axe lodged into his throat. Looking behind you, a surprised suitor was stabbed from behind, his blood coating the rest of the blade that pierced through him. The sword was pulled out and the suitor fell to the floor, revealing Telemachus behind him. “[name]? What are you doing here?” He asked as he looked around as if worried anyone might be eavesdropping. “Did you really think word of your suitor hunt wouldn’t get out? Tele, the entire palace could hear the screams of terror.” You replied as you rested your axe on your shoulder. “Of course I didn’t think we’d be able to hide a mass genocide! What I’m asking is why you came here after learning about a giant fight-“ He paused mid sentence, and you didn’t need to see his face to know he was staring at you with the most unimpressed expression you’ll ever see. You barely tried to hide your amused snickering as he rolled his eyes at you. “You know what? I retract my statement. The fight was all the reason you needed to come here, wasn’t it.” It was less of a question and more of a statement.

“Actually, not really. At least, it wasn’t the only reason.” You said you stared directly into his eyes that reflected the ever dancing light of the torch. The flame flickered, going from bright to dark and back within seconds. You could barely see Telemachus, but you poured every bit of attention you had into listening to Telemachus go from unamused to curious. “Really? Then what was it?” He asked as you smiled. “I’m looking right at it.” Telemachus looked around once more, but this time to find what you were staring directly at rather than look for hidden dangers. “Wha? But the only thing you’re looking at is… Oh.” You didn’t even try to hide your amusement this time, bursting out into a fit of howling laughter at his flushed face. “Really? Do you have to tease me even in the middle of battle?” You shoved your face right in front of his, mere inches away. “Yeah, cause you haven’t told me to stop yet.”

“Euryalus, he locked the rest of our weapons in one of the rooms! These are the only ones we have, none of us could open it up-“ Telemachus looked towards the group of new suitors, who immediately drew their weapons at the sight of the both of you. “Shit.” You cursed under your breath, you were kinda having a moment here. With much annoyance your stance changed from relaxed and playful with your axe on your shoulder, to a defensive battle stance with your weapon at the ready. Even with Telemachus, you could only handle so many suitors. “Hey Tele, remember what I told you about hunting wild hogs?” You asked as he looked at you incredulously. “Aim for the area around the shoulder or the head? [name], what does this have to do with anything-“ You cut him off with a mischievous grin barely lit by the torch. “Exactly. I suggest you aim for the chest since you’re too short for their heads.” You could practically see the gears turning in his head before he opened his mouth in a baffled offense.

You charged forwards to the four suitors, stepping on the torch and putting it out as you ran. You moved to the side of the group and swung your axe at the outermost member. He blocked your axe, and at the same time you heard the clash of metal from the other side of the group. You could barely see anything, but you recognized the silhouette of Telemachus fighting off the other two suitors. Another suitor came up from behind the one in front of you to aim his sword at your side. You pushed the sword blocking your axe downwards to block the other suitor’s sword, before pushing both of them off. Spinning around, you hit the head of the first suitor you attacked with your axe, killing them. The sight of another sword in the corner of your eye made your breath hitch, it was far too close for you to move away and turn around to block. You still tried to pull up your axe to block it, and a spray of blood passed by your view. By the time you were fully turned around to face your attacker, they were clutching their hand in pain. Or more like their lack of one. In front of you stood Telemachus, sword in hand as he charged forward, stabbing the suitor in their chest while they were writhing in pain. “[name], what did I say about minding your surroundings!” Telemachus said concerned as the suitor died and joined the rest of them on the floor. “Hey, it turned out okay in the end. He’s dead and I’m alive, I’ll be fine-“

A large thud behind you made you jump, and you slowly turned around with your axe held up. “You know, my son is right. If neither of us were here, you’d be another body on the floor.” You blinked and stared at the man before you. “Father!” Telemachus gasped from behind you. Oh. OH. “Odysseus?” You asked bewildered. He was a lot shorter than you expected. Now you know why Telemachus was shorter than all the men his age and you while his mother still towered over everyone in the room. He nodded with a gentle smile. “And you’re the [name] my son has so fondly told me about.” He said as he drew back his bow. You looked back at Telemachus and you both made eye contact, before you looked at Odysseus. “Wait, what? He talks about me? Wait, what did he say? Tele, you better not have told your father about the sand incident.” You heard him stifle a small chuckle, and you whipped around to gasp at him with all the exasperation you could manage. “You did not!”

“I did.” He said unapologetically. You stared at him in betrayal, jaw dropped before turning back to Odysseus. “Hey, your majesty, did you know that before I got with your son he trained Argos to run at me so he could pretend like he accidentally let him loose to make an opportunity to talk with mMMFFF!” Telemachus slapped his hand onto your mouth as you struggled against his arm. “I did not do that, she’s lying.” He said indignantly as Odysseus stared at the two of you amused. You shoved at Telemachus’s wrist while you both physically struggled against each other. You saw him eyeing your hand on his wrist and you looked at him sternly. “Don’t you even dare- OW!” The madlad bit your hand and you pulled away from him, your bodies detaching from one another. “You menace.” You said as he shoved his face into yours, mere inches away like you were mere moments ago. For a moment, he just stared at you and you stared back at him. It was like all the emotional intensity that was interrupted before was returning full force, a shameless rush of affection like a raging river. You’ve always been told by Penelope that there were moments between her and Odysseus that felt like time stopped, when they looked into their eyes and saw love for eternity in each other. But right now, you felt nothing close to that. It was like time was rushing past you with no end, quick and intense. Every small detail blurred together into Telemachus, and in his eyes you saw the life you have right now.

“Telemachus, I know little to nothing about you, and even less about [name], but I see the same love I have for your mother in you, and I see the same love Penelope has for me in [name].” You both stared at him, hands that had intertwined subconsciously squeezing tightly. Telemachus looked over to you, and once again you saw not just your life in his eyes, but yours and his. “I approve of this one.” Your lover blinked in sync with you. “Besides, weren’t you the one who said how much you loved it when she stood up for you before you got the courage to fight Antinous?” Telemachus stared at his father and after a beat of silence, screeched with embarrassment. “FATHER, DON’T-“ You looked at Odysseus with a devious grin, and began to explain every single Argos incident while Telemachus hid his face in your neck.

[formulafanfics13]

Charles and reader are in a semi-new relationship and he stays at her apartment for the first time then finds her lingerie collection and asks her to try some of them on for him then he just goes feral

Or where Charles and reader are childhood friends and reader recently got a new apartment and Charles goes to help her unpack and finds the box containing her lingerie and she jokingly offers to try it on for him and he just loses it

(I can’t decide, both sound very appetizing. You decide how or what you want to do with those🙂‍↕️. I genuinely don’t know why this has been circulating in my mind so much)

Give me a show - CL16 🔥

Masterlist

summary: charles stays over for the first time at your apartment. you leave him alone for five minutes and come back to find him elbow-deep in your lingerie drawer. turns out your sweet monaco boy has a serious thing for lace and silk — and once you start trying things on for him, he completely loses it.

warnings: established relationship (semi-new), lingerie kink, dom!charles, sub!reader, praise kink, worship, fingering, oral (f receiving), mirror sex, slight size kink, creampie, unprotected sex, dirty talk, soft obsession, charles being feral for reader’s body, possessive energy, lots of french

He was supposed to be looking for a hoodie. That’s what you told him, “Top drawer, second one down, grey zip-up.” And then you left him to it while you grabbed wine from the kitchen.

But when you came back, glass in hand, you found him standing in front of your open dresser with a very specific look on his face.

Not confusion. Not guilt. Curiosity. Obsession. Something slow and hot burning behind those green eyes.

You raised a brow. “That’s not the hoodie drawer.”

Charles didn’t even flinch. He held up a scrap of black lace between two fingers. “Is this what you wear under your little dresses?”

You blinked. “Sometimes.”

He turned it over like he was handling something sacred. “You have a lot of these.”

“Guilty.”

He looked at you. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

You smirked. “You’ve had other things on your mind.”

“Not anymore,” he said, low. “Put this on.”

“What?”

He held up the black lace thong again, paired with a matching sheer bra. “For me. Please.”

You opened your mouth to protest. You’d never done this before. Not with him. Not with anyone. But then he added softly, “I need to see you.”

And that was it. You took the set from his hands, heart pounding, and walked to your bathroom.

When you came out a few minutes later, he was sitting on the edge of your bed, shirt off, hands braced on his thighs like he was trying very, very hard to stay still.

The moment he saw you, everything shifted.

You were in black lace, sheer, delicate, cut perfectly. The bra barely covered your nipples, the thong sat high on your hips, and your skin prickled with heat under his stare.

He let out a long breath. “Mon Dieu.”

You swallowed. “Is it too much?”

“It’s not enough,” he said instantly, standing. “Come here.”

You walked slowly across the room, pulse racing. His hands found your waist, trailing up your sides, thumbs brushing the edge of the bra. “You’re going to kill me.”

You grinned. “It’s just underwear.”

“No. You in this is not just anything.”

He spun you to face the mirror. You gasped softly as he pressed himself against your back, one hand sliding between your legs over the thin fabric.

“Look how perfect you are,” he whispered against your ear. “Look at this pretty pussy. All dressed up for me.”

Your hips rolled into his palm instinctively. “Charles-”

“I haven’t even started.” He sank to his knees behind you, tugging the thong down so slow it made you tremble. He kissed the back of your thigh, then the curve of your ass, then pushed your legs apart and buried his face between them. You moaned, one hand braced on the mirror.

He licked you like it was his job. Messy, devoted, completely focused on your pleasure. Two fingers slid in easily, curling just right, while his mouth stayed latched to your clit. You were soaked in seconds, thighs shaking, body writhing against the glass.

“Please,” you gasped. “I need you.”

He pulled back just enough to say, “You’ll get me.”

He stood again, undressing fast, barely getting his belt off before he had you bent over the edge of the bed.

“This set’s my favourite now,” he said, lining up behind you. “You’ll wear it again, oui?”

You nodded, desperate. “Anything. Yes.”

He pushed in slow, groaning as you stretched around him. “You feel-merde-you feel incredible.”

You sobbed into the sheets. He fucked you like he couldn’t help himself. Deep, slow thrusts that built into something rougher, his hands gripping your hips tight, his voice a string of filthy praise in French and English.

“So tight for me, bébé. You were made for this. For me.”

You came with a scream, clenching around him, stars bursting behind your eyes.

He followed soon after, pulling you back against him and burying himself deep as he spilled inside you, moaning your name like a prayer.

Afterward, you collapsed on the bed, legs useless, breath shallow.

Charles curled behind you, brushing your hair back.

“I want to see you in every single one of those sets,” he murmured. “Every colour. Every piece.”

You laughed, exhausted. “I should’ve locked the drawer.”

He bit your shoulder gently. “Say that again, and I’ll fuck you in the next set too.”

You didn’t say it again.

You just smiled and reached for the nearest lace bra.

[onlygirlaliveinnyc]

boy next door [18+] જ⁀➴°⋆

pairing: pre-fame!liam gallagher x fem!reader genre: smut !!, slow burn if you squint lol word count: 3296 warnings: unprotected sex, crossfading (weed + alcohol; theyre both intoxicated !!), praise, hand over mouth, mmm cant think of anything else its mainly a whole lotta softness, minors dnii ! summary: you and liam have always been close — since before you knew what close even meant. you’re not officially a thing, never were. but when he sneaks through your window with cheap booze and a couple joints, something finally snaps. a/n: based of this and this! hope you love it 💌. gave myself a lot of time to write this which is why its 3k words :p; concepts like this are always so cute to me especially the fluffy bits so lmk if you guys want more !! ⋆. 𐙚 ̊

the thing about liam was—he’d always been around.

from the time you were small, all skinned knees and quiet dreams, he was there. next door, always knocking. sometimes with noel trailing behind, sometimes with bruises on his elbows and a grin too wide for his face. you'd grown up like that: side by side, scrapping over telly remotes, making up stupid games in the street till the lights came on.

it was easy, then. simple. the kind of bond that doesn’t get named because it doesn’t need to be. he was just liam, and you were just you, and somehow that had always been enough.

except, it wasn’t. not really. not as you got older. not when the space between you started to stretch thin, electric. not when you started noticing the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching—or the way you started looking back.

and noel, always had something to say about it. “jesus, will you two just shag already?” he’d mutter, flicking crisps at your shared spot on the gallagher couch, where you’d inevitably ended up too close. legs tangled. heads tipped together.

“shut it,” liam would say, voice lazy, arm thrown across the back of the sofa behind your neck like it meant nothing. like his thumb wasn’t brushing your shoulder. like you weren’t leaning in.

and you weren’t a thing. not officially. not ever.

there were others—people you dated, people he kissed... or fucked behind pubs—but they never seemed to stick. didn’t matter how far you drifted, you always came back to each other. always found yourselves shoulder to shoulder again, sneaking out of the gallaghers’ house to smoke in the backyard or lying in your room with music spinning soft on the stereo.

and he never said it. you didn’t either. but it was there. in the way he carried your books when he couldn’t be arsed to carry his own. in the way he always had a hand at the small of your back when your parents were shouting again, like he could keep you steady.

it was like that for years. soft. close. nearly.

and then one night—it changed.

—

it started with the knock. two taps. one pause. one more tap. the code you’d made up years ago, back when he’d sneak pebbles at your window when your mum grounded you for staying out too late.

you climbed out of bed, heart thudding, bare feet cold against the floor. the room was dark save for the amber glow of the streetlight filtering through the curtains. when you pulled the window up, liam was there, crouched on the roof just below your ledge, grinning like he’d done something heroic.

“miss me?” he asked.

“liam,” you hissed. “it’s nearly midnight.”

“and?” he held up a brown paper bag, triumphant. “nicked this from noel. figured we could have a bit of a drink. catch up. got us a couple joints, too.”

“you’re insufferable.”

he smirked. “but charming.”

you rolled your eyes but stepped back, letting him climb in. he stumbled a little on the landing, knocking into your desk and sending a few pens skittering across the floor.

“shhh,” you whispered, laughing despite yourself. “you’re gonna wake my dad.”

“wouldn’t be the first time.” he flopped onto your bed like he owned it, sprawling across the covers and patting the space beside him. “come on, love. sit with me.”

soon you were both pressed together under the soft lamplight, passing the bottle back and forth, coughing your way through cheap whiskey and shared laughter. liam had rummaged through your little stack of records before settling on beatles for sale—said it calmed him down, made the world feel less shit. the needle crackled to life, spinning out soft harmonies and slow strums, a dusty warmth in the background. he even whistled along under his breath, off-key but fond.

then liam tugged the little joint from behind his ear and lit it with a crooked grin, flicking his lighter to life and cupping it against the breeze from the cracked window.

the flame sputtered as he lit it, and he grinned around it before taking a long, slow drag. "god, that’s better," he said, voice already dipping low. "feel like m’floatin’."

you laughed, tipsy and warm. "yeah? might need to tie you down."

"yeah," he said, dreamy. "tie me down to your bed, more like."

"open that a bit more, babe. unless you want the whole house reekin' like sin."

you obliged, leaning forward on your knees, fumbling with the latch. the old window creaked as you cracked it wider, letting the night air spill in. it was cooler now, soft and damp and threaded with the scent of rain from earlier. you glanced at the small lavender candle on the windowsill—something you’d nicked from your mum’s cupboard weeks ago.

"s’getting stuffy in here," you mumbled, reaching over to strike a match.

the flame flared, then softened. you touched it to the candlewick, and the room filled with the warm, clean scent of lavender and smoke.

you didn’t notice the way liam had gone still behind you. didn’t see the way his eyes locked on your body—the stretch of your thighs, the rise of your ass where your sleep shirt had ridden up, the soft indent of your waist as you leaned into the windowsill. all that lazy heat in his gut twisted sharp.

he took a swig from the bottle between his legs—sweet and sharp on the tongue—and passed it back to you. you took it without thinking, fingers brushing his. the liquor burned warm as it slid down, mixing with the haze of weed in your lungs.

the crossfade hit slow, like syrup, and you giggled as you swayed back toward him. your limbs felt like water, cheeks hot, the room soft at the edges like a dream. liam was still watching you—too long, too quiet.

when you turned back, candle lit and sweet smoke curling through the air, his eyes were darker.

"what?" you asked, a little breathless.

he blinked like he’d been caught staring. "nothin’. just—fuckin’ hell, you’re trouble."

he handed you the joint and you took a drag, laughing low. your fingers brushed as you passed it back, and this time when he caught your hand, he didn’t let go.

he didn’t say anything, but his thumb rubbed slow over your knuckles, and the air between you got heavy.

"liam?" you asked, voice small.

he looked at you, eyes molten. "come here."

he tugged your hand gently, guiding you toward him. and something about the way he did it—soft, sure, like he’d always known you’d come—made your chest ache.

"y’realize we’ve been passin’ the joint the wrong way for like ten minutes?" liam mumbled suddenly, blinking at the candlelight like it might float off the sill.

you snorted. "you’re stoned as fuck."

"nah," he said, grinning. "just thinkin’... y’look pretty in the light. like—fuck. like a dream or summat."

"what’re you doin’?" you teased, half-whisper.

"makin’ room for my girl," he said. simple. like it was always meant to be.

you slid over, loose-limbed and flushed, crawling into his lap, thighs spread over his hips. the weed and drink had softened your limbs, blurred your edges—you felt floaty and bright, every brush of skin a spark.

he groaned, quiet and reverent, hands finding your waist. "look at you," he murmured. "fuckin’ hell. you always feel this warm?"

"only with you."

his hands roamed under your shirt, slow and bold, fingers brushing the soft skin under your breasts before cupping them, thumbs flicking over your nipples. you gasped, hips rocking into him on instinct.

he kissed you then, slow and deep, tasting like whiskey and weed and every secret you’d ever kept between you.

it built quick. your hands tangling in his hair, his grip tightening on your hips like he couldn’t get you close enough. the crossfade made everything feel far away and too close all at once—his mouth hot and wanting, your body buzzing under his palms.

he pulled your sleep shorts and panties down, letting them pool on the floor. then his hands framed your thighs as he flipped you underneath him on the bed, mouth trailing fire down your neck.

he undid his jeans with one hand, shoving them down just far enough to free his cock, already flushed and leaking. he stroked himself once, eyes locked on you.

"fuck, look at you,” he breathed. “laid out all pretty for me.”

he lined himself up and sank into you slow, making you both gasp. the stretch was full, perfect—you clung to his shoulders, breath stuttering.

he started slow—deep thrusts, slow grinds that dragged your body across the sheets, lips brushing your cheek. he whispered praises between kisses, breath hot against your jaw. "so good, baby. always so fuckin’ good."

but when the bed creaked beneath you—once, then again, louder—your eyes flew wide.

"shit—my mum," you breathed.

liam froze. listened. then swore under his breath. he kissed you quick, then pulled out with a hiss.

"fuck this," he muttered, already scooping you up with warm hands. you barely had time to gasp before he was walking you backward, both of you stumbling slightly from your intoxication.

he pressed you to the wall and leaned in close. but you didn’t turn away—you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

he kissed just below your ear, voice breathless. "jump for me, love. wrap your legs 'round me."

you obeyed, high and shaky, your thighs lifting and hooking around his waist. he caught you easily, one hand under your ass, the other braced against the wall. your back thudded soft against the plaster as he held you there, his cock pressed right up against your cunt, still slick and throbbing.

"there we go," he murmured, face buried in your neck. "hold on to me, yeah?"

you nodded, clinging to him, dizzy and burning. the crossfade made your limbs feel molten, head swimming and body too soft, too full of want. your fingers twisted into the hair at the nape of his neck, your cheek pressed hot to his shoulder.

he guided himself back in slow, thick and stretching, and you both gasped at the pressure. your cunt clung to him like it didn’t want to let go. the angle was deeper this way, fuller—he bottomed out with a breathless groan.

his hand was over your mouth instantly, muffling the high moan that caught in your throat.

"shhh, sweetheart," he breathed, voice thick and low. "don’t want your dad hearin’ how good the boy next door makes you feel, yeah?"

you whimpered beneath his palm, biting down on the sound.

he started to move—slow, grinding thrusts that sent tremors through your body. your limbs felt floppy, crossfaded and blissed-out, every motion like moving through honey. you let out a little giggle between moans, half-dazed, and he huffed a laugh against your cheek.

"you’re so fuckin’ high," he whispered. "feelin’ good, yeah?"

you nodded, lips brushing his neck. "feels mad. like m’floatin’."

"you are, babe. on cloud fuckin’ nine."

his grin turned feral, and he rolled his hips in a sharper snap that made your eyes flutter.

"gonna fuck you so good you’ll think you’re dreamin’." the wall was cool against your back, a stark contrast to the heat blooming everywhere else. you held tighter, chest pressed to his, bare skin against bare skin.

his hips rolled harder, dragging moans from your throat that died against his hand. his other arm curled tight around your waist, holding you suspended, hips flush as he fucked into you deep.

"so good like this," he muttered into your ear, voice rough. "warm little cunt wrapped around me. fuckin’ made for it."

your thighs squeezed tighter around his hips, trying to ground yourself. everything felt too much—too good. your high made the sensations blur at the edges, cotton-soft and golden. every thrust hit deeper, messier, the kind of want you’d only dreamed about.

"you’re bein’ so quiet, baby," he panted. "my good girl. keep bein’ good for me, yeah?"

he shifted slightly, hand sliding from your mouth to your breast, palming it roughly, thumb grazing your nipple. your breath hitched and you buried your face in the crook of his neck, teeth catching skin as your body arched into him.

"fuckin’ hell," he groaned, hips snapping up. "that’s it. take it. you love this, don’t you? bein’ held like this. full of me."

he rocked into you faster, rougher now—slamming up into that sweet spot with every stroke. your hips jolted with each thrust, back pressed harder into the wall, and the moans you couldn’t hold in came out as muffled gasps against his throat.

"gonna make me come just from the way you sound," he growled. "but not yet, yeah? need you to come first. need to feel you squeeze me."

his hand trailed between you, fingers finding your clit and circling slow, tight little strokes that made you buck in his grip. your body shook. your nails dug into his back.

"gonna be good? come on my cock without makin’ a sound?"

you nodded, unable to find words, lips trembling against his skin.

"attagirl," he rasped, kissing your temple. "you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this. all dazed and needy. my good girl."

he slammed up again and again, pace relentless, and you felt it building fast. your whole body tensed, thighs quaking around his hips. it was dizzying—overwhelming—the way he filled you, the way he praised you through it.

you shattered in his arms with a soft, strangled cry against his neck. your cunt pulsed around him, fluttering so tight it pulled a ragged moan from his lips.

"fuck, that’s it," he groaned. "my pretty girl. look how fuckin’ perfect you are when you come."

he kept fucking you through it—deep, slow thrusts that made your body jolt each time he bottomed out. your cunt pulsed around him, milking him, and he groaned low, lost in the way you clenched. your head lolled against his shoulder, mouth open in a silent moan.

"can’t fuckin’ take it," he breathed. "gonna come—need you on your knees for me, love. now."

he slipped out, already panting, and lowered you to the floor with shaking hands. you dropped to your knees in front of him, dazed and flushed, lips parted.

"open up for me," he panted, pumping his cock. you obeyed, eyes wide and glossy.

he stroked himself faster, tip flushed and leaking, before slapping it twice against your lips—wet, teasing, the sound sharp in the hush of the room. you moaned softly, tongue flicking out.

"you want it, yeah? let me come in that pretty mouth."

you nodded, and that was all he needed. his hips stuttered and he groaned, thick and deep, spilling over your tongue in hot spurts.

"fuck, yes—good girl, take it. take all of it."

you swallowed him down, letting him empty into your mouth until he trembled above you, one hand fisted in your hair.

he watched you, eyes half-lidded, as you licked your lips clean.

"jesus fuckin’ christ," he muttered, pulling you gently up and into his arms. "gonna be dreamin’ about that forever, love."

he grabbed a spare tee from the floor and cleaned you gently, careful hands on your thighs, soft kisses to your shoulder. helped you into your knickers, lifted you into bed with a sigh.

he tucked you both in for a moment, arms still trembling around you. you curled against him, half-asleep, your breath warm on his chest. the room was dim and golden with the last flicker of candlelight.

"d’you really have to go?" you whispered, voice slurred with sleep and weed.

he pressed his mouth to your hair. "yeah, love. can’t have your parents catch me in here, balls out and breathless."

you laughed, quiet and warm. "just stay till i fall asleep. just a bit longer."

liam exhaled like it hurt. he brushed your temple with his thumb, tucked a bit of hair behind your ear. "i’d stay forever if i could. swear it."

"then don’t go."

"i have to, babe. for now."

you sighed, hand slipping beneath his tee to rest over his heart. he stayed a while longer, just breathing with you, watching the shadows crawl across the ceiling.

when your breaths evened out, he kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then your lips—soft, slow, like a promise.

he slid out from under the covers, tucking the blanket up around your shoulders, his touch lingering. he watched you for a moment more, eyes roaming your face like he was memorising every piece of it.

"i’ll be back," he whispered. "soon as i can."

he crept to the window, bare feet soundless on the wood floor. paused with one hand on the sill. looked back one last time.

you didn’t stir. just lay there, soft and perfect and dreaming.

and when he slipped out into the cool night air, the room still smelled of lavender and sin and something sweeter still—yours.

he crept over the roof tiles like a cat, the cold night air bit at his skin where his shirt stuck to him with sweat. his legs were jelly. his mind still slow with weed, whiskey, sex, and the feel of you—sticky thighs and sleepy kisses and your breath hot in his ear.

he landed light on the garden ledge, hopped the fence, and made his way to the back of his house, slipping through the side door and into the kitchen like a ghost.

except he wasn’t quiet enough.

“’bout fuckin’ time.”

liam froze halfway through toeing off his trainers. noel’s voice drifted in from the living room—dry, smug, unmistakably awake.

“what’re you doin’ up?” liam mumbled, trying to play it off, but his voice cracked halfway through.

“could ask you the same,” noel called. “creepin’ back from a shag. hang on—were you shaggin’? you were, weren’t you?”

liam rolled his eyes and padded in, hair a mess, face flushed. he collapsed onto the armchair with a groan. “jesus christ, can you not?”

“don’t need to,” noel said, grinning over his mug of tea. “you smell like a perfume ad gone off the rails. bit of weed, bit of lavender... and a lot of gettin’ your dick wet.”

liam shot him a glare, but it was weak at best.

“and you’re limpin’,” noel added, gleeful now. “what’d she do, tie you up?”

“fuck off.”

“was it who i think it was?”

liam went silent.

noel’s grin widened. “’bout time, mate. jesus. the way you two’ve been orbitin’ each other since nappies—i was startin’ to think you’d die of unresolved tension before you ever figured it out.”

liam scrubbed a hand through his hair, grinning despite himself. “yeah, well. figured it out, didn’t i?”

“you’re still pink in the cheeks,” noel teased. “she ride you that good?”

liam threw a cushion at his head.

“oi! i’m tryin’ to be supportive here.”

“you’re bein’ a knob.”

noel just laughed, leaned back, sipped his tea like he hadn’t just roasted liam alive. “you gonna tell mum you finally copped off with the girl next door, or should i?”

“tell ’em and i’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“romantic.”

but noel didn’t press. just gave him a look—equal parts smug and warm—and nodded once like it was settled. like it was understood.

liam leaned back, staring at the ceiling. the taste of you still lingered in his mouth. your hands, your mouth, your quiet gasp when he told you he’d marry you someday.

“she’s somethin’ else,” he murmured.

noel snorted. “you’re so far gone.”

liam didn’t deny it.

he just smiled.

[yandere-sins]

Monstober - Day 2: Werewolf/Werecat

I had a request for the continuation of my last werewolf!boyfriend story for at least a year now... time to make it nasty, ehehe >:3 I dedicate this to all my monster readers, and those that really enjoy knotting. >:3

First Part here!

Prompt: Werewolf/Werecat | Full Moon // Claws // Beastly Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Fem!Reader, Dub-Con, Praising, Degradation, Knotting, Knotfucking, Nicknames, Cunnilingus, Orgasming from pain, Use of pheromones to make darling horny, Mentioning of sexual manipulation, Monsterfuckery (more animal than human in this case), Talking about pregnancy), Violence (Breaking a door, Biting, Blood Mention, Mention of claws), Animal behavior, Monster descriptions, Very long post

"I know... Maybe... But the smell... No, no, no... Ah, I want to..."

Scraps of a conversation—one not held with you—reached your drowsy mind, slowly pulling you out of your dreams, which were almost as grim as reality. Ever since you discovered your boyfriend's true nature on that full-moon-night weeks ago, your depression had grown more and more. You fought at first, reasoned, pleaded to what was left of your sweet boyfriend. But the animal had taken roots too deep for you to tear them out.

And now, there was not much to do other than sleep.

The cottage had never felt like home, but it was suffocating now. When he wasn't around, you were locked up. And when he was home, he was overbearing, doting, and downright creepy. You caught him sniffing the bathroom door more than once just because you hid inside the room for a while. He explained that he just wanted to ensure you were okay, but you couldn't be so sure about it.

Hearing him pace back and forth behind the bedroom door wasn't as alarming anymore as it should have been. It didn't alert you right away, since he always seemed to be around, even when he wasn't. But this night was special, and between depression naps and being force-fed canned ravioli, this time, you did strain your ears after shaking off the initial drowsiness.

"Ah, awake, good, good... No! No, not good, not good! No..."

You sighed, listening to his rambles turning into a soft whine, the longing scratching of his nails against the bedroom door. From your position on the bed you spied the key still dangling from the lock, followed by countless steel locks snapped into place next to the frame. He had advised you to do it, and spending a night alone in your room was more of a pleasure than you cared to admit.

It was another full-moon night.

The first one since you found out, to be exact. And it hadn't been you who raised concerns at realizing it, your ex still remembering the blood bath he left after last time. It hadn't been intentional, but after throwing you across the parking lot, scratching you with his claws while carrying you, and biting your ankle when you didn't want to stop fighting, he had been devastated, wishing to avoid the bloodshed at all costs.

Of course, you wanted to avoid getting hurt again, too, even if your feelings and desires had become relatively meaningless over time. You still wanted to fight, but hiding was your second best option, and knowing he cared just a little about your well-being gave you some hope that not all was lost. One day, you'd escape him, but maybe not on this particular night. All you had to do for now was wait it out, keep quiet, don't alert the beast of your presence.

"Hrngh, mate... need to... mhm, no. Not like this..."

If only he wasn't so damn annoying.

"Just shut up!" you yelled, unable to fall asleep even after trying your hardest. It was bad enough to be in this situation, you didn't need a velcro werewolf to add to your misery and deny you the one thing you liked doing—sleeping in peace.

A soft whine escaped your ex as he halted in his tracks, and you sighed, feeling stupid that you blew your cover completely. Now that he knew you were definitely awake, he'd probably create an even bigger ruckus, especially when you refused to let him in. You heard his body rubbing against the wood, followed by the sound of his sniffing, and you cursed the door for being so poorly soundproofed. Ever since you found out what he was, he didn't hold back the strange mannerism his other form brought with. And you wanted nothing more than to escape the weirdness of this inhuman beast.

He groaned on the other side of the door, and you groaned inwardly as you realized even his breathing had gotten annoying.

"What are you even doing?" you asked him, not needing to yell for him to hear.

"N-Nothing..." he stuttered, sounding dejected and pathetic as he mumbled it into the doorframe. He had always been a lousy liar, but saying this while behaving like a mad dog was almost insulting. Some more hums and sighs reached you ever so often, the creepiness of it all rattling you every time.

"Can you go away?" you asked, annoyed. You wouldn't be able to go back to sleep like this, feeling constantly threatened and grossed out by his presence like this. But your ex merely slumped against the door, letting out a mix of a groan and a growl. It was as if he was on drugs—and not the good kind.

Grabbing your pillow, you wrapped it around your ears, hoping to eradicate the sounds coming from the door. But like so many times before, your hopes were literally smashed as you heard the frightening sound of violently cracking wood.

Immediately, you sat up, staring wide-eyed at the door. It was a small frame of pliable wood, but for some reason, you had felt safe with it separating you from the monster outside. As if it, with all the locks he installed and let you manage, could keep him out. But as you watched the door bend, his body slamming into it from the other side, you realized it had never been enough, not nearly.

"S-Stop!" you called out, and an inhuman growl escaped from behind the splintering wood.

"No stop," the beast growled back, the sounds of claws raking over the wood sent goosebumps down your spine. "My mate..." he sighed in that awful, inhuman voice, and you gulped as you listened to the sniffs. "I know where you are, Mate. So desperate, so in need."

You gasped as his shoulder finally broke through the door, pulling out of the hole it punched through, only to be replaced by his face. You sat completely still as his eyes roamed, taking only milliseconds to find and fixate on you. He had already shifted most of his features, hair growing where it wasn't supposed to, eyes turning from soft green to an intense emerald, his pupils small and digging into you.

Both of you stared at each other for what felt like hours, but you were surprised when he groaned once again, sounding desperate as he withdrew. Before you could say anything, his arm—already fully shifted, with claws for nails and the greyish-brown fur of an animal coating his skin—burst through, getting caught on the splintering wood, yet not caring as it pawed at the locks. Desperate to get it. To get to you.

"Mate," he whined, stopping in his tracks. "Let me in, yes? Let me make you feel good."

You shook your head, unable to voice your thoughts. As if you'd let that thing inside and do harm to you. No matter what it said, that wasn't going to happen.

Another growl, the door shaking while he gripped the first lock, yanking at it. After losing his grip once, he tried again, and before your very eyes, the first lock crumbled in his fist. He wouldn't be stopped by something puny like this, whether you helped him or not. You carefully clambered out of bed, not feeling safe cowering anymore. Desperate, you fiddled with the lock on the window, hoping it would be just as easily removable as your ex made it seem.

Crunch, gone was another lock on the door, the wood bending and creaking further as a body much larger and heavier leaned against it.

Just your lock didn't budge, even as you yanked and begged it to give way. "Come on," you whispered, and the beast growled from behind you, only encouraged by your words to break another one of the door locks.

But suddenly, in the middle of your frenzy to escape before the werewolf could get to you, you heard a whine louder than any before. The arm retracted, and you listened to the chaos unfold outside as the body of your ex slammed into the furniture in the hallway, scraping along the walls.

"No! No, stop! She's scared, she doesn't want this!" This was clearly your boyfriend's voice, begging with something—most likely himself—to stop. Your heart swelled with thankfulness, knowing he was the only one able to subdue the beast. But it was strong, as it had showcased so many times now.

"Yes, she wants," the beast growled. "She's fertile, she's ready. We waited so long to be one. Be one with our mate. Now we have her, and she needs us!"

"But she's not a werewolf! She's not ready for... for this!"

There was so much disgust and hate in his last words, and although you could imagine he meant this situation, you weren't sure if that was truly what he was implying. Maybe there was something more, something even worse, awaiting you that only your ex knew about.

Much to your own shame, your thoughts drifted temporarily, and you were unable to shift them back to focus. Fertile, ready, being one. It suddenly clicked what this monster wanted, and heat flooded your body, causing your core to clench. This had never been about hurting or scaring you.

The monster was, quite literally, trying to mate with you.

A gravelly groan escaped the beast, and you shuddered, feeling caught as the sound raked through your body unwillingly.

"There, she's ready. Waiting for us. Need us," it growled before softly whining, the sound of your boyfriend's voice not reemerging this time.

"I'm ready, too, need to see that pretty cunt, lick up that sweet scent."

Never once since finding out about your ex's secret had you thought about sex with your boyfriend. Depression killed most of your libido, and his touches disgusted you rather than excited. But he, on the other hand, or perhaps that beast controlling him, apparently had.

Looking out of the window, you had a full view of the bright full moon, hanging like an executioner's axe above your head. Even if you could escape this room, you knew you couldn't outrun the monster. Not with his enhanced senses and abilities. You could try to fight him, but your chances of success were slim with his superior strength and the possibility of you freezing up when you were face to face with the creature.

What should you do then? Simply... give up?

You shuddered, another cracking reminding you the monster was again working on opening the door. On getting to you. He wouldn't stop. He didn't when you screamed and begged, didn't when you were obviously afraid. There was no reasoning with an animal, and tears welled up in your eyes.

"Mhm, sad... Mate sad," your ex whined through the gap in the door, his voice mixing into the monster's way of talking. As if to lure you, like the big bad wolf had with little red riding hood. "Soon. I'll be there soon."

You knew it would be.

Surprised, you found yourself in front of the door, watching as the gnarly arm yanked at the second to last lock, impatiently trying to tear it off. There wasn't much you could possibly do to save yourself, but it was all too much to bear for your psyche. Tears fell freely as you reached up, not even realizing you had come so close to the beast, and brushed your hand over his fur. He stilled, letting go of the lock as he reached up instead.

Your breath hitched as you thought he would wrap his paw around your throat, but instead, his palm cupped your face, clawed thumb wiping away the tears. "Open the door," he rumbled softly, commanding it despite the gentle instruction. "Let me come in, mate. Let me comfort you."

His hand fell from your face, brushing down your body. There was something so strangely sensual in this huge paw of a hand gently caressing your body, even if the claws could slit you open at any given moment. You were going crazy, but you didn't move, didn't shove him away as you should have. He drove over the curve of your breast, his knuckles getting caught on your nipple, flicking it one after the other before he moved on to the side of your hip. Then the hand slit around the small of your back, pushing you closer to the door before settling above your ass.

Its presence was like a threat, and you reached up with shaking hands, slowly fiddling with the key to the door before unlocking it. Two more to go.

"Good," it growled. "I can smell your arousal. I'll see to it soon, pretty mate. Open it. Open the door."

Click. Did you want it to? Did you perhaps want that werewolf to get to you, ravage you like the beast it was? Had you gone insane after a month of isolation and depression? Your breath hitched as you reached for the last lock, the steady growling turning into more of a purr as his hand spread over your asscheek, slowly rubbing it, fingers dipping down too low for comfort with his elongated tips. Yet, when he pulled them from between your legs, you followed his touch, chasing the tingles he left in his wake.

Yes. You had gone insane. Fuck, you must have been mad, but your hands acted on their own as they unlocked the last barricade between you two.

"I-I'm opening it now," you announced, and the monster hummed appreciatively.

"Yes... Yes, you open it now, sweet thing. Let me in."

Your breathing ragged, the last lock clicked open much too easily, and you stepped backward as the wood creaked open. The monster's arm retracted after pushing down the handle from the inside, the splintered wood cracking out of the way as the creature's massive body broke through the frame.

There was more growling as it got stuck in the small opening, his body way too massive to fit, but it was too eager to wait. The werewolf jammed into it, shoulder and legs getting caught as he couldn't decide what should go first.

You gasped, noticing he hadn't even shifted fully yet, with much of your ex-boyfriend's features remaining as you caught his gaze, looking at you with desperation and sorrow.

"S-Sorry," he stuttered, his voice the growl of a beast, yet you knew it was your boyfriend talking to you. Telling you he couldn't stop it—no, he couldn't stop himself. You needed to stop differentiating the two when they were one and the same. And you were what they wanted, they desired, even if his rational part tried to protect you from the one that ran purely on instinct. You were prey. Prey that the werewolf wanted to fuck and then devour.

For some reason, that revelation made your heart race faster, and your legs clenched tighter together, a shuddering breath escaping you.

"Pretty mate," he sighed. "Pretty, pretty. So needy, so ready."

"W-What do you mean?" you asked him, and his grimace twisted into a grin.

"I can smell it. You are ripe and fertile. You're gonna take my seed and you will enjoy it, begging to have my cubs."

A gasp escaped you as you were slowly backed into the wall to the side of the bed. It was moments like these that made you regret not caring enough before. Not stealing a knife from the kitchen or asking for silver to protect you. Fuck, how could you have been so stupid as to open the door?! How could you do this to yourself?!

Your core clenched, and the shameful realization finally dawned on you. It had been some time since your period, and that meant... you were ovulating. Your libido may have been off, but nature didn't miss. Especially not if your boyfriend had some weird, werewolf pheromones you didn't notice before. It was your only explanation for wanting this thing anywhere close to you. You two used to have a very active sex life, but you had always used protection, and he had never pressed you to do what you didn't want. Maybe that made you too easily persuaded now, in this situation. A false sense of trust

"Don't be scared," the creature purred, reaching out his fully shifted arm towards you. "I'll take good care of you. I'll start right now."

With that and the terrifying sound of wood breaking, that massive monster plummeted to his knees, more hair sprouting as the full transformation took place. You watched in horror and awe as his snout elongated, teeth sharpening, and ears protruding from the top of his head. You wanted to throw up, but you had no time as the snout leaned forward, landing right between your legs.

The deep inhale could be felt through all the layers of clothes on you, and you felt your own wetness betraying you as it seeped into your panties. The monster was way too huge, even as he knelt, his body bending in what must have been painful for him just so he could kneel before you and sniff your privates mercilessly, driven by the need to satisfy his and your cravings.

Pushing his snout upwards, an electric shock went through you as it flicked your clit, maw splitting to allow his tongue to lap out. It was so damn long, able to easily slip between your asscheeks from his front-facing position. And it moved like a separate entity, a snake able to buckle and twist, eager to taste all you were offering.

Claws hooked beneath the waistband of your pajama, and you squeaked as he rapidly pulled them down to your ankles. His tongue moved out of the way only to let the fabric pass, immediately slinging back between your legs, licking up all the excess wet coating the inside of your thighs. You let out an involuntary moan as the tip of his tongue poked at your entrance through the fabric, and the monster chuckled, his tongue vibrating along to the sound.

It was almost too much. Your body bent forward, the monster's shoulders perfectly in reach to grab onto, and you leaned into his snout. He took it as a sign of your willingness, arms reaching out to support you by the hips, and you whined as the thick muscle pressed into you teasingly. You'd never be able to take it fully, and the fear gave you another pang to your core, making you imagine what it would be like inside you, winding and twisting around.

You felt so embarrassed that you were thinking about these things, not understanding why your body would crave them. But you couldn't stop. Couldn't stop thinking of the ways it could lap at your folds, play your clit, or dig deeper than anything ever had before. Maybe with a tongue like this, your orgasm wouldn't be an every-once-in-a-while thing but a constant, double, triple pleasure that only you got to experience. You were fucking going insane, and the shame almost turned you on more.

"So good," the monster praised, and the deep sound shuddered through your body. You raised onto your tiptoes, realizing you were so close to the edge of depravity. But that was when he sniffed your soaked-through panties, inhaled with a long, deep breath before suddenly closing his maw, leaving you breathless and violently tingling.

"You're ready," the creature announced and you whined as he pulled the last bit of pressure—his nose—from your clit, leaving you with nothing. You didn't know you could be this needy, but your fingers curled into his fur, silently willing him back to give you the earth-shaking orgasm he had built up to.

"You need to be filled up, sweet thing. Need my seed to swell your belly until it bursts and give you what you desire, little mate."

His hold on your hips grew uncomfortably tight, but before you knew it, you were lifted off the ground. A breathless gasp escaped you as you were carried over to the bed, your head hitting your pillow with a soft "Uff!" escaping you. But when you opened your eyes, the werewolf was right there, his legs spread on either side of the bed, one arm gripping the iron headboard that creaked underneath the pressure of his grip.

It felt incredibly threatening to have him hover above you like this. Still, at the same time, you couldn't help but flush with heat as he looked down at you, that massive monster looking at you as if it was either lovestruck or famished, satisfied some inner demons of yours. That was, until your eyes fell below his waistline, seeing the red, angry erection that awaited you there, jutting out of the fur and merrily spilling precum as if it was lube.

With a groan, your ex reached down, gripping his massive cock awkwardly in his clawed hand. More cum gushed from it, and his hips pounded forward into the hold. There was no way you could take that, its girth unimaginable inside your small, human pussy.

Some of the hot spill touched your bare legs, your pants discarded on the floor where you had stood, and you jolted from the heat. It spread like wildfire, the thought of being filled with it almost sending you over the edge right then and there. The idea of your womb filled up with this hot, heavy seed was so enticing to you, although you didn't realize it had been a kink of yours. Something felt so off about your reactions, yet you couldn't determine what. You couldn't turn your eyes away from his cock, not even as his hand slid back, fingers spreading further to envelop the bulbous growth at the base. You swallowed thickly as you watched him squeeze and massage it, the discomfort clear in his movements, yet his tip just wouldn't stop spilling.

"Open your legs," he growled, and you shuddered as hesitation and willingness fought inside of you. It seemed the monster didn't have the same concerns as you had, willing to tear you open just to get his dick wet. And a part of you wanted to be the one wetting this dick, but this time, rationality won.

"N-No, it won't fit!" you squeaked, slamming your legs shut as hard as you could and moving backward until your shoulders hit the iron frame.

"It will," the werewolf snarled confidently. "You are more than ready, little mate."

"No! No, you will hurt me! I can't take it--"

The deep growl that clattered his teeth shut you up fast, and you turned your head away as he lowered his towards yours. His snout ran from your temple to the side of your throat, brushing away your shirt to expose more of the soft area between your shoulder and neck. When he licked over the spot, you felt a jolt of pleasure rake through you, a weird kind of connection developing with this monster.

"You are my mate. I long prepared you for this—longer than you realize. Spread you wide, marked you, let you smell my pheromones. You were always going to be mine, even when you didn't know it. You were ready before you found out about this, but tonight, you'll finally take your place as my mate. Mine."

Pushing his hips down, they connected with yours, and you temporarily forgot to clench your thighs, allowing the monster to rub his cock against your cunt. It was hot, wet, and ready, and with your soft whine, you signaled that you were, too.

With his free hand, he reached down, grabbing your left leg before pulling it to the side. With another sniff in the air, the monster let out a satisfied rumble before stretching out his pointer, slipping the claw under the fabric of your panty.

You gasped as the fabric tore at the smallest of tugs, easily giving way to your bare pussy, and you felt almost the same sense of shame as you had at your first time with your boyfriend. Shy, virginal. Perhaps because, to this werewolf, with his heightened senses, you were much more exposed than normally. He saw, smelled, and tasted everything so much more and did so with the greatest of pleasures.

"Mhm, tight," he commented as he looked down.

"Too tight," you whined, and he snorted.

"Perfect."

Pushing your leg back, he brought his own forward to secure it in place, and letting go of the headboard, he swept your other leg up to rest it above his. You hadn't even noticed the swift lifting of your hips he did, only feeling the softness of your blanket underneath them when he had already elevated you. He was surprisingly considered for a beast, but that wasn't what you should have been thinking about.

"Hold here," he instructed, guiding your hands over your head and to the iron rods that made up the headboard. With shivering hands, you grasped them and looked up to meet his gaze, his eyes not wavering from yours as he reached down to position himself.

"Good girl," he chuckled, and you couldn't help more heat spreading to your cheeks as you looked away first.

Cursing the wave of excitement, only measured against the fear of being penetrated by something so big, you whined softly as you felt his tip press against your entrance, your pussy gaping after this promise of finally getting the orgasm you had been denied before.

His snout leaned down, brushing against the side of your face reassuringly, and you heard that eery purr rumble in his chest again. With his own hands gripping the top of the headboard, you began to realize what you had allowed. You shifted on top of his lap, pulling yourself further away, but his hips followed, caging you between his body and the headboard.

"No, no wait!" you whimpered, panic spreading through you as your body prepared with all the adrenaline it could muster.

"No more waiting, little mate," he replied and his hips snapped forward.

A soundless scream ripped from your throat, your spine arching as the whole shaft of his cock invaded you, split you wide open, and tore your entrance as the bulb tried to follow into your depths.

"It's too big!" you complained, but your words were all but one big moan that only encouraged him more. There were no words to describe the feeling, a mixture of pain that turned into pleasure, that burned with even more pain before finally pressing all the right spots. And you were so full.

You felt your toes curl as you came, overwhelmed to the point of tears. Tears that were licked up by an eager tongue, wet and hot as it found your lips, pulling them apart to invade your mouth as well in an abhorrent kiss to fur-covered lips. His tongue was choking you, fucking your throat as his cock made little juts inside you, guiding you through your orgasm.

It didn't take him long to find a rhythm, his cock rutting into you madly by the time your high was broken, only mind-shattering sensitivity remaining. The headboard creaked and shook as he used it to drive himself forward and deeper into you. Soon, your wetness and his precum pooled beneath your cunt, and when he dragged his cock back, preparing for an especially deep push, the knot at the base slipped inside with it.

This time, you did scream, loud enough to make him jolt, his cock kissing even deeper as your bodies collided. The werewolf growled, pulling his knot free, and your shriek turned into a loud moan, your eyes rolling back. And so he did it again, fucking the mass into you again and again. You couldn't scream every time it spread you open with blunt force, but every time it did, you felt like losing your conscience.

Soon, he didn't even pull it out fully anymore, only moving inside of you. The knot grew, and you squirmed, uncomfortable with the mass spreading inside you. "No!" you whined, but it wasn't convincing when it sounded like a plead for more. You completely lost control as his cock bulged inside you, the beast growling as a hot spurt of cum splashed your inner walls.

And as if the floodgates opened, more spurts followed, spilling all inside you with no chance of escaping. You wished it didn't give you that ugly, fulfilling feeling of yet another orgasm, but you weren't spared. The werewolf groaned as you clenched around him, and you shook violently while more and more cum filled your womb. Just like he promised, he filled you up to the brim, expanding your insides as if he had already gotten you pregnant. You felt both nauseated from the feeling of fluids swapping around inside of you as well as so damn satisfied by feeling full.

Growls and howls escaped him, maw lowering back to settle between your shoulder and neck. You didn't notice him licking the spot over and over while you were still orgasming, as if this was the first time you had ever reached such a high. Groaning, you let your head fall back, arching your body against his, not realizing this had been your biggest mistake.

Pain worse than anything you had ever felt before shot through you, and your scream died down quickly as blood gushed from your shoulder, his teeth burying deeper as you tried to rip yourself away from the monster. He was groaning, lapping at the wounds his maw caused and his cock jerked inside you, causing all the fluids to sway.

You reached around his neck, driving your nails through his fur and into the taut skin on his back. You whimpered and pushed your body into his pleadingly, willing him to stop. It hurt so much, and yet you felt almost back at the edge of your orgasm, your hips unwillingly rutting against his, the knot moving back and forth around your entrance.

Only when you came again did the werewolf stop his bite, howling at the sight of you shuddering violently beneath him. And finally, he was satisfied, your blood dripping from his maw as he pumped his cock into you again a handful of times, making sure you were plugged up well.

"Mine," he rasped. "All mine. My mate, my bitch."

His hand fell to the swollen part of your stomach, and you groaned as he applied some pressure.

"And soon," he hummed, satisfied as you felt another pump of cum fill you up. "You'll bear my pups like a good mate. And I will fill you up again for more like you were always meant to be."

You barely registered the words, but the tears falling from your eyes were proof that you understood. Understood what you had allowed to happen, understood that you were indeed what he claimed you to be. His bitch, his little breeding pet. His.

"Good," he chuckled, and you let out a sob, realizing he could feel your giving up, the despair overwhelming you. But to him, it was only one thing: submission. He didn't need you to voice it to win a battle you couldn't have fought if you wanted to. And you were too helpless to make him think otherwise, too exhausted to argue, too full to deny what you were.

Tugging his knot back, you realized he was slowly able to pull it out, and you whined, feeling the first spurts of seed run down your legs. But he pushed it back the second he noticed it, humming as he seemed to enjoy your warmth.

"You're all mine now, you belong to me," he growled, victorious. But then a whine broke through, and you watched as the werewolf hunched over, one hand gripping his head. Concerned, you didn't know what to do, but when you tried to move, you felt his knot inside, and the pleasure that shot through you made you flush with heat and moan.

"God..." you heard him whine, and you looked up, not in the eyes of a beast, but those of your ex. You saw your own reflection in them, undone, bloody, and sexually satisfied beyond recognition. He whined again softly, but you didn't believe his words when he sobbed them quietly. Not with his knot pulsing inside you still, leaking seed everywhere.

"I'm so, so sorry..."

[b14augrana]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Nothing gold can stay

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 3 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion. this chapter in specific discusses themes of abuse and alcoholism.

A/N: the long awaited part 2 to ‘ad astra per aspera’! this took a lot of thinking and scrapped passages to really get this on point, i hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

"You’re early today!”

You smiled halfheartedly at Magdalene and Dani’s teacher, nodding at her. “Yeah, uh, I’ve gotta get to work a bit earlier today so…”

“Not a problem, I’ll see you later,” the woman responded. You gave Magdalene and Dani one last hug before returning to your car, having hope that you’d finally be early to training for once and go the day without being berated by Alexia.

You didn’t want to relive the other night’s training, not in your mind, and definitely not in person. With you, Alexia was a completely different person to the patron saint of Barça that everyone painted her as. You wanted to change that and show her you weren’t as irresponsible and careless as she thought you out to be, but you couldn’t.

It was a relief to see the training pitch parking lot barely populated as it came into sight. There was maybe two cars, which meant you were on time. How incredible.

Before every training, a hopeful feeling swelled inside of you — one of happiness, because you saw football as a means of enjoyment and something to look forward to when all else came crashing down in your life. It was short lived of course, but like a phoenix, it always came back one way or another. Were you wrong for believing in your sport to help you?

"(Y/N), you're early.. for once."

You knew that voice all too well. There was a surprised tone that Alexia's voice held as she spoke, and you knew she expected you to show up late once again if not miss practice completely.

"Yeah, surprise," you replied dully, sitting down on the bench to put your boots on.

"Why are you early?" she asked, and it was a bit of a stupid question.

'Well, after you yelled at me in front of everybody the other day, I decided that if I have to drop all three of my siblings off to school, I might as well do it as early as possible so I don't have to worry about getting screamed at and humiliated at half past nine in the morning!'

"Dropped my siblings off earlier today," you mumbled instead, eyes fixated on the ground as you spoke. You were sure that eventually, your fear would be the one to corrupt your family completely, but you couldn't tell Alexia; it was equivalent to opening yourself up to her, being vulnerable even after trying so hard to maintain a tough front.

She glanced at you, her eyebrow just barely raised but her mouth idle. You cinched your laces tightly and sprung to your feet, very aware of her gaze fixed on you as you grabbed a ball from the bag and dribbled it over to the nearest wall, preparing for the training session ahead.

More of the team started to file through the pitch gates. You could hear their bags dropping to the ground as you passed against the wall, and as Mapi passed behind you she squeezed your shoulder. “I’m glad to see you, (Y/N),” she said, a smile on her face.

For once, as training started, you didn’t feel dreadful. You were excited and motivated by the good start to the morning, which showed in the newfound pep in your step and enthusiasm around the pitch.

After a long while, the sun began to set, which indicated the end of training. You sat down at the bench, unlacing your boots and trading them for sandals. Unexpectedly, Alexia sat down beside you, saying, “Good job today. You did well.”

“Graciés,” you responded, standing up while slinging your bag over your shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

She watched you leave through the gates, her eyes unwavering on your figure disappearing around the corner.

You lived next to a lovely elderly lady named Margalida. She was a sweet woman, always saying bon día and bona tarda to you and your siblings whenever she saw you. Sometimes, after you returned from training and picked up your siblings, she invited you four into her home to share pastries with her. You always accepted, of course, because it was much better than subjecting yourself to the olfactory assault that was your home, and she was also a widow that you figured needed some company from time to time.

When you weren't home, you couldn't monitor your mother's behaviour; praying that it would stay somewhat normal would have to suffice. You didn’t know whether Margalida knew about the true nature of your household or if she thought you were all naturally raucous.

You pulled into the driveway, parking the car as the doors opened and your siblings got out of the car. “(Y/N),” Magdalene said slowly, imploring you to look at her curiously. “Who are those people?” she pointed ahead, and that’s when you noticed Margalida at your doorstep, alongside two police officers and another woman. She looked like a regular office worker, but you weren’t an idiot; she was obviously a social worker, which could only mean one thing. A bad thing.

"You three stay in the car for a bit, okay? I'm gonna go talk to these people," you said to your siblings, motioning to the car as you turned around again and walked towards the people.

You felt nothing but dread in your gut as you approached them. One of the cops, who was talking to a distressed looking Margalida, looked at you and began to speak. "Miss (Y/L/N)?"

You nodded slowly, "Before we talk, can I just send my siblings inside?"

"That won't be possible," the officer said, making you raise an eyebrow, "...Because we're here regarding a call about a person inside, which we now know isn't you."

"I heard yelling from inside," Margalida added. "It was loud, and– and it sounded like there was crashing, from things being thrown around."

She took a deep breath, looking at you sympathetically. "I thought one of you was being hurt, so I called the police."

"I know your situation with the..." she paused, gesturing to the rubbish bin. You spun around, your eyes widening at the sight of it. Cans and bottles galore filled the bin to the brim, threatening to spill out. You could count at least ten, and that was only at the surface of the deep bin. You could recall the rubbish being collected just a few days ago, and now it was basically full.

She looked at you, her eyes pitiful. You hated it, so much; pity made you feel like a kid, and it angered you that the only time you got to relive any sort of childishness was when someone noticed you were suffering, not because you actually had the liberty to behave like one again. Where was the pity when you actually were a kid, having to wake up and stay afloat to support three other kids?

"Who else lives here, other than you and your — I'm assuming — siblings?" the other cop asked.

"My mother. My dad left a few years ago," you mumbled, looking at the ground.

"Is she home right now?" he asked, and you nodded. "Yeah. She's probably asleep, so if you did knock on the door, that's why nobody opened it."

"Asleep or blacked out?" his partner suddenly added. You looked at him, clenching your jaw as you shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? I've been at work all day."

"What do you do for work?"

"I'm a footballer."

"For FC Barcelona?"

"Buy a ticket and maybe you'll find out."

You ended up sitting across from the two officers and the social worker in a dingy, dark room scarcely furnished with only a table, three chairs and a dirty window to accessorise it. This time, the woman did most of the talking while the cops just surveyed the conversation. Magdalene, Dani and Lorenzo were sitting in the waiting room of the station — you didn't want to drag them along, but you didn't have much of a choice.

"Can you tell us a little bit about your family history that might correspond with the things reported to us today?" she asked, leaning across the table.

"My dad left when I was, I think.. 13. Cheated on my mum and left us all for another woman. My mum, uh, got out of control. She didn't take it well," you replied, not looking up once as your gaze was fixed on the chestnut-stained, chipped table.

"I see. Well, from the contents of the rubbish bin, I presume her coping had something to do with alcohol," the woman said. As if her apathy hadn't been obvious from the start, it was dripping off her every word and showing her true intents; not to help you, but to get this over and done with and throw your siblings into foster care, then consider her job done and get paid for it.

You nodded at her claim nonetheless, picking at the paint of the table. "Yeah."

"Have you or your siblings ever been subject to abuse, from either of your parents?" she continued

"No no, absolutely not, they never hit–"

"I'm not just talking about physical abuse, (Y/N)," she interrupted. It was the first time of the entire questioning you had looked up as you met her gaze, your eyes saying more than your mouth ever could.

"It was just a few arguments,” you responded coldly.

“When we asked Margalida, your neighbour, about if there’s been any incidents like this, she said there has been. Yelling, screaming, and lots of it,” the woman told you. “How many arguments are you considering a few, (Y/N)?”

The table shook from the impact of your hand slamming it sharply as you shot to your feet. "If you consider a couple arguments to be verbal abuse, go ahead. My mum is hurt and angry, very angry about her husband leaving her, so yeah, she drinks and we argue about it!"

"Listen, please sit down. I understand that you and your siblings are troubled children but–"

"I hate being a– I hate that term, 'troubled kid', you know? We aren't troubled! If we were troubled, wouldn't we be dead? Wouldn't we be troubled by an inability to continue living in these conditions, these... ruins?"

Silence. You sat down once again, your head in your hands.

"Do you have another location you can stay at?" she asked you. You shook your head, the feeling of dread burying itself deeper in your gut.

"Unfortunately, we will have to place your siblings in foster care. The living conditions are unsafe and unstable for kids their age to be living in," the social worker finished.

You wanted to burst into tears. You wanted to sob and sob and sob, harder than you ever have, but the tears wouldn't summon.

"There is another option," she spoke slowly, making you immediately look up from the darkness your palms shrouded you in.

"...we contact your father and see if he wants to look after them."

It sounded just as bad as placing them into foster care. Now, you wanted to scream in her face and call her utterly stupid for assuming that a man who abandoned his kids would want to take care of them years later to keep them out of the foster system. Why on God's green earth would he want to reap the consequences of his infidelity?

"Are you hard of hearing?" you scoffed. "Yeah, so, I said earlier that he left us years ago for another woman, you know, to make another family. He didn't want us."

"He's the only other option at the moment. Unless your mother can be moved to a rehabilitation center in sufficient enough time, and you become their legal guardians, they will end up with foster families. Possibly not even the same one."

The news weighed on you like bricks. It was all so much, you couldn't think straight and contemplate possible outcomes and solutions. You put your elbows on your table and held your head in your hands once again, taking a deep breath.

"Can I at least find someone myself who's willing to foster? Someone I know?" you asked, your tone being nothing short of desperate.

She took a moment to respond, and it was probably the most nerve-wracking few seconds of your life, until the ultimatum was spoken.

"I suppose, yes. That is basically the whole principle of fostering, so I see no issue. Until then, they will be placed in a temporary home before we start looking for a permanent family. A pair of officers have gone to detain your mother and we'll review the information from this questioning to determine whether she should be charged or put straight into a rehabilitation program."

"Thank you," you almost cried, your body relaxing from the little bit of relief and reassurance you had just received. There was still a possibility that you could get your siblings back.

The problem standing in your way now was, you didn't know anyone willing to foster. You had no idea who you'd turn to, and it actually made you realise that you were pretty alone in this whole ordeal, and life in general. You really did have nobody but yourself, and clearly there came a time where that wouldn't be enough.

"Magda, Dani, Enzo, come on. We're going now," you said as the door of the interrogation room swung open. You beckoned at the kids, who stood up and ran to you, following you out of the door.

You didn't want to go home yet, just in case the officers were still there and you'd arrive to the horrible scene of your drunkard mother getting dragged of her own house by the authorities, so you drove to the training pitch. You were in search of one person in particular, and hoping to avoid another one.

Parking the car in the same spot you had parked in the same morning, you quickly got out of the car and ushered the kids onto the pitch to play for a little bit while you went into the gym.

As soon as you walked through the automatic glass doors, the person you were searching for was stretching on a yoga mat, her resistance bands discarded above her head.

She sat up, looking at you with a mixture of surprise, confusion and concern, probably achieved from your sorrowful expression.

"Vicky, I need your help. Now."

[mothwingwritings]

Can we have Ren/Fox (TPOF) and Mc with a child?Long after Fox decided to stay with MC, they both had a daughter (probably not something with consent and a bit of Stockholm syndrome).The daughter asks her mother how she got the scars and this makes MC have memories of post-traumatic stress.

I was so tickled by this ask that I started manically typing out a response for it nearly as soon as I saw it in my ask box (which at this point, was quite some time ago. Forgive me, I am a mess lul). I wrote the whole damn thing in a fit of passion, excited to release it into the world… But ultimately hated it and thought it was garbo, so I scrapped it and tried again. Wrote a second iteration and thought ‘hell yeah, this is it!!! Sick!’, but then I read it AND HATED THAT ONE TOO AAAHHH!!!

I rewrote this… so much…

But I never give up on my dreams, and you shouldn’t either! Persevere! Don’t give up on yourself! Here’s your daily motivation for the day! Keep writing even it makes you cry!!! :D

Anyway, so I wrote this third one, comprised of new stuff and the stuff I actually did like from the first two stabs, and it ended up being the one. Truly it is a Frankenstein of a fic lol. Regardless of all the reworking, I had a lot of fun writing this and enjoyed the prompt very much!!! I I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. :)

I’m sorry if the writing seems a tad too mature for the reader’s daughter in this, writing children isn’t my forte. ^^;

Due to the nature of this fic, IT IS 18+ ONLY!!! Thank you!

WARNINGS: Incessant mentions of abuse of all kinds for reader and mentions of physical abuse for her child!!! Reader is heavily scarred from said abuse and that’s a main theme in this fic so please avoid if that is upsetting to you. Also, though not the main focus, there are multiple mentions of child abuse in this fic, as well a part where reader goes off verbally on her child, so please be mindful of that as well! Other things of note: reader is a parent in this (which you can probably tell by the prev warning lol), reader getting hurt, blood, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, being held against your will/isolation, mentions of noncon, sad family stuff :(

Diminishing rays of afternoon light splayed through the open window of your quaint living room, casting a comforting orange glow over everything they touched. The light gave the environment an ethereal and nostalgic feel, wrapping you in peaceful warmth as the sun sunk lower and lower. The loveseat you occupied was plush and inviting, and a mug of your favorite tea stood at the ready on the small coffee table beside you, steadily cooling with help from the last hurrah of winter blowing in gently from the outside. Besides the slight chill, the wind brought with it the heavy scent of freshly bloomed flowers, a delightful precursor to the oncoming spring.

Relishing the rare moment of serenity, you couldn’t help but wish that all your days could be this lovely.

You smiled down at your daughter who sat perched in your lap, happily flipping through the newest gift she had acquired from her Father- a thick picture book full of bright illustrations highlighting various exotic animals. As it lay sprawled across her tiny lap, her chubby finger pointed out each animal she took an interest in, her high pitched voice chirping away as she explained what she liked about the creatures. She got particularly excited when she spotted the page full of foxes, jabbing at the red one feverishly as she exclaimed “its daddy!”

Spotting the foxes began her down a path of assigning an animal to not just herself, but you as well. She didn’t find it fair that only her father had kin in the animal world, even though you pointed out that she technically did as well by sharing half the man’s blood. Your revelation did little to deter her, she wanted something new, something just for herself, and she wasn’t going to stop until she found her perfect soul animal. So she continued on, scanning each page in earnest until she found a creature that suited her.

She ended up picking a bunny for herself, supplying you with a comprehensive reason as to why she chose it. As she explained in great length, skimping no details, you couldn’t help but hold back laughter. She spoke as if she were a professor teaching a class, and you did your best to keep a straight face as she yammered on with her shoddy reasoning, deep down knowing she only picked a rabbit because of how cute they are.

After she was done waxing poetic about bunnies, she continued scouring the book, coming to a halt once she reached the wild cat section. She stopped with a gasp, beaming up at you as she pressed her finger firmly against one of the images on the page.

“Mommy this one is you!”

Your eyes traveled to the picture she was rapidly tapping, “An African Wildcat, huh?” You smirked down at the little girl in amusement, “Why did you pick that one for me?”

“Because it looks just like you!”

You chuckled at her enthusiasm, “It looks like me? How so?”

“It has marks just like you do!”

Her innocuous words sent a chill up your spine. Eying the stripes that crossed the cat’s legs, you felt a great unease begin to overtake your body. Her reasoning was not lost on you, the cats coat did quite resemble the jagged scars that covered nearly every inch of your body, and just like the feline in her book, your limbs were the most prominent location of said ‘markings’. You quickly shook your head, not wanting to dwell on it further. In hopes of moving on from the subject, the outpouring of words that flew from your mouth were jumbled and messy.

“O-oh, I see,” you stuttered, clearing your throat to steady your voice, “well you certainly picked a cute animal for me! Thank you baby, it was a good choice.”

She smiled at you innocently, a gesture that usually made your heart melt with affection. But as her tiny hands moved from the book to your arms, that smile did nothing but fill you with dread, the realization that you wouldn’t be getting out of this sticky situation hitting you like a brick to the face. 

“Yeah mommy, the kitty’s marks are just like these ones,” her stubby fingers gently traced the old wounds, a look of reverence reflected on her cherubic features. “They make you look like that kitty mommy,” her little voice cooed, “I like them a lot!”

Your muscles constricted at her words, a slight tremor coursing through you as you involuntarily tightened your grip on her. She took note of this, looking up at your strained features with a puzzled expression on her face.

“Don’t be sad mommy,” she spoke assuredly, “I really do like them! I think they are pretty!”

Her words burned you, scorching the inside of your frozen shell of a body, leaving you feeling sickly and discombobulated. The room around you started to spin in a hazy blur, a wave of nausea making you nearly wretch. Your breathing grew erratic as you tried to calm yourself, inwardly repeating that your daughter was just a child, a little girl barely four years of age who had an incredibly limited view of the world. Her words were not meant to upset you. Her opinions were coming from a place of total naivety.

Yet still, the mental assurance did little to help with the extremely uncomfortable position you now founds yourself in. It wasn’t as if this was her first time noticing your scars. She had mentioned them before, her curious mind trying to piece together the reason that her arms appeared different from your own. Each time she brought your old wounds up you couldn’t help but feel flustered, responding with weak explanations and misdirection to try and quickly brush off her questioning.

The marks came from a silly mistake, or a childhood accident, or from a careless moment when mommy should have been paying more attention. It was always excuses on repeat. How many lies had you told her on this topic alone?

But even if they were lies, it beat telling her the truth. You didn’t want to have to explain where the scars on your body actually came from to anyone, let alone a child, and especially not to your own daughter. How could you possibly word it gently, or in a way that she would understand, when you barely understood why you had them yourself? How could you look her in the eye and tell her that these markings were a permanent sign that you had been very, very hurt and that it was her own fathers hands that inflicted the pain?

Reliving the horrific moments that left your body in such a state was overwhelming enough on its own, but to also have to lay bare her father’s sins, relay to her the unsavory proclivities of a man who she idolized and adored, was not something you were keen on doing.

She didn’t know her daddy like you knew him. She was ignorant to the constant state of concern you lived in, unaware of the worries that plagued your mind and kept you up each night. All the troubles of the hell she had been born into were completely lost on the small, carefree girl.

But honestly that was for the best. You had made an unspoken promise the moment she entered your life that you would protect her no matter what. From the day of her birth onward it became your mission to keep her as happy and healthy as possible.

Ren had broken you, but she did not have to suffer the same fate.

At this point in her life, your daughter knew nothing of her daddy’s profession or ‘hobbies’, and you wanted it to remain that way for as long as possible, if not for the rest of her life. You dreaded each time Ren came home from an auction, terrified he may let casually slip too many details about his ‘lively client’ or that he would carelessly step through the door with the stains of his liaisons still littering his clothes. Your daughter was at an age where she was brimming with questions, and she was relentless in getting answers to each question she asked. Everything had to be explained in complete detail for her to be satisfied, drop the subject, and move on. She was a smart little thing, possibly too smart for her own good. You highly doubted a silly joke or wave of the hand would assuage her whirring mind should Ren grow too impetuous in her presence.

And should her questioning become too pesky, you fretted over what Ren’s reaction to it may be. The more you tried to avoid thinking about it the more you seemed to fixate on the topic, pondering just how much goading it would take from your daughter before his temper would rear its ugly head.  You, above anyone, had firsthand experience in just how volatile the man could be, the scars that littered your body a testament to his turbulent emotions and violent outbursts.

Looking back on it now, it’s a wonder you survived any of it at all.

Ren often told you he loved you, each confession spoken through honeyed words that spilled from his lips easily and often.  And while you didn’t doubt those words (you knew better than to, at this point), you also knew his sweet nothings weren’t merely a term of endearment, they also served as your curse. He loved you, but he also loved your fealty to him, your adoration and worship of him and only him. Should you not reciprocate his feelings as quickly or ardently as he expected, the mere thought of whatever punishment he would concoct was enough to send you into a debilitating panic attack.

There were few things he loathed more than when you flinched from his affection or if you exhibited any sign of distress towards his presence, especially after he had spent so many years going above and beyond to provide for you, devote himself to you. You had learned early on to keel any feelings of aversion you had to his advances, several of your more prominent scars a brutal reminder of that misstep alone.

 If your daughter uncovered the truth and saw her father for who he truly was, if she began to fear him the way you feared him, how would he respond?  If not only his partner, but his own daughter started shying away from him, what length would he go to to correct this behavior?

Dwelling on it made your skin crawl.

But perhaps all of your worries were asinine. Despite his inclination for cruelty, Ren had never so much as raised a hand towards your daughter, even when she did act up. If anything, he was overprotective of her, barely letting her move faster than a brisk jog lest she fall and hurt herself. He hated seeing his little girl experience even a modicum of physical pain, mentioning to you previously that were he able, he’d keep her locked up in a padded room all day and night to prevent any foreseeable accidents or injuries. Surely it was just his idea of a joke, but the insinuation still made you cringe.

It was almost comical, just how greatly the manifestation of his affection for her differed from how he showed his love for you.

His domineering nature shielded her from experiencing any true pain. Every scrape, bruise, and cut she ever received was superficial, nothing that caused major bleeding or left a lasting impression. She had no way of knowing what had been done to you to cause the scars that marred your form, the torment and hell you experienced with each slash, smack, burn. Hell, she probably didn’t even really understand what a scar actually was. All she knew was that her mommy and daddy had strange marks on their skin that didn’t follow any kind of set pattern, weird jagged lines and indents that her soft skin was curiously free from. The mystery of it all was as puzzling to her young mind as it was enticing.

However, some mysteries were best left unsolved, and just as with each other time she brought up this hot topic, you found yourself unable to look into her clear, bright eyes and tell her any semblance of the truth. She may have been forced upon you, but she was your daughter. You loved her, and you refused to be the one to shatter her innocence. You would keep her ignorant for as long as possible, shielding her to the endless nightmare of your daily lives, even if it cost you your sanity.

“Mommy,” her voice jarred you, dragging you from your thoughts, “mommy did you hear me? I said I think they are pretty!”

“T-that’s… I…” You stuttered, struggling to find the right words to say, your voice coming out much smaller than you intended it to. The room felt like it had dropped thirty degrees, your body twitching in response to the sudden chill.

“Daddy told me he gave some of them to you, like this one,” her pudgy, cold finger pressed into the faded heart that resided on your chest, the first of many indelible sins he had etched onto your form. Only the top half of the carved symbol was viewable above the collar of your shirt, so she tugged at the loose hem until she could see it in its horrible entirety.

“Daddy said he gave you this one because he loves you so much,” her voice grew quiet, a thoughtful look in her eye as they drank in wounds you wished you could forget, “Daddy loves me too, right mommy? You think he’ll give me a cute heart someday too?”

You felt as if you had been hit by a train.

“S-top,” the words were forced from your throat, airy and breathless, as if someone was wringing your neck to make them come out, “p-please, just stop talking.”

“What did you say mama,” your daughters sing-song voice responded as her fingers continued to trace and prod your scars, “You are whispering, is it a secret?”

“I told you to SHUT UP!”

As if following your command, your booming voice instantly silenced the small girl. Unused to such a violent outburst from her mother, her happy-go-lucky nature quickly shifted to one of alert, her tiny body going rigid as she stared up at you with fearful eyes.

Seeing her in such a state and knowing that you were the cause of it would normally have killed you inside, making you fall to your knees to beg for the child’s forgiveness. But right now, the thin thread that had been holding you together had snapped, and your words rushed out in a torrent you couldn’t begin to quell.

“Shut up, shut up, shut UP!” You seethed, clasping your hands to your ears to try and block out your own intrusive voice, “Just STOP TALKING about it! What are you even saying? Why would you ever want to look like this?!”

Tears started to flood your eyes, blurring the image of the girl who had quickly jumped from your lap and was now cowering before you. Through your bleary vision, you could see tears were brimming her eyes as well.

“You… You have no idea,” your voice warbled, shaking in equal parts grief and frustration, “You have no clue what you are saying, so just STOP IT. KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!”

You slunk from the chair down to the floor, burying your face in your cold, stiff hands. The soft blubbering of your daughter could be heard through your own sobbing.

“I-I’m sorry mommy. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Hearing her broken voice began to shatter the spell you had been under, instant regret jerking you roughly back to reality. Your head sunk lower, your body scrunching itself up as tightly as possible to hide from this cruel reality.

Your screams were born from deeply buried feelings of hatred, tucked far, far away as a means of self-preservation. For a moment, you felt as if you despised your daughter, her existence tethering you to this wretched excuse of a life, binding you irrevocably to Ren. But as you lifted your heavy head, glancing up to stare into her young face, a face so very similar to your own, a face contorted in panic and sadness over her mother’s abrupt descent into madness… you realized it wasn’t her that you hated.

It was yourself.

Your daughter didn’t deserve this. She deserved normalcy. She deserved a father that didn’t pose a threat to her. She deserved a mother that wasn’t ruined by his hands. She deserved a happy and untroubled life, not to be stuck being raised in a barbed cage, navigating her way through life with nothing but the shattered remains of a battered woman to guide her.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked under the weight of your overwhelming emotions, snot and tears running freely down your ruddy cheeks and chin, “I’m so, so sorry baby…”

“What the hell is going on?”

You hadn’t heard the front door open, nor had you heard Ren’s jubilant greeting as he entered your home. He had no doubt been upset by the lack of welcome-it was one thing to be ignored by a child, but his doting wife? That was not something he was not apt to look past.

But surely any feelings of annoyance or frustration fled from his mind the moment he entered the room, his eyes falling upon your crumpled, messy form collapsed on the floor. You cursed his arrival, upset that he entered the scene at such a compromising time, right as you were struggling to regain an ounce of composure and properly apologize to the little girl who had done nothing wrong.

“D-daddy,” your daughter’s voice warbled as she barreled towards him, colliding into his waiting embrace. You wiped at your face in a desperate attempt to hide your previous outpouring of emotions, doing your best to avoid eye contact with Ren as his sharp gaze quickly flicked from you, to his daughter.

This had already become enough of a scene without Ren’s interference, it was best to try and begin damage control now. 

“Daddy I-I made mommy cry!” Tears continued to pour from your daughter’s eyes, her face twisting into a look of pure dismay. Her misguided admission of guilt made you recoil, knowing full well it would grant her no favors with the person she seeking comfort from. “I’m really sorry daddy! I didn’t mean to!”

After several endless seconds of silence, Ren spoke.

“… You made her cry?”

His voice was far sharper than it needed to be, further agitating the precarious state of affairs. In most cases he would have offered your daughter leniency, letting her get away with far more than she probably should. However that leniency was null and void if you ended up suffering in the process.  Ren could not forgive anyone that caused you any duress (himself, of course, being the exemption) even if that person was his own flesh and blood.

“What do you mean you made her cry? What the hell did you do to her?”

“I-I don’t know,” she wailed, a fresh wave of tears spurred on by the accusatory tone of her father’s voice, “I just told mommy I thought her marks were pretty and then she started crying! I wasn’t lying daddy, I like them! I think they make mommy look really pretty!”

“Her marks…?” Ren’s look of vexation began to dissipate as the meaning of her words donned on him. He lifted his arm, rolling up his sleeve to reveal his own scars to the little girl. Pointing a clawed finger to them, he leaned down until he was looking her in the eye, “You mean like these?”

As she nodded her head vigorously in confirmation, Ren tutted, “That’s the reason for all the water works? An innocent compliment started all this fussing?” He scoffed, shaking his head, “Isn’t that a little bit… silly?

You tensed at the sound of his barking laugh, your frown deepening as an amused grin spread wider across his lips. You wished that you could say it was shocking for him to have such disregard after finding the two of you in such an agitated state, but it was painfully in character of him to shrug off your misery and suffering as inconsequential.  How he could so nonchalantly normalize this hellish situation he kept you and your child ensnared in, you would never understand.

Your daughter was apparently sharing similar thoughts, as her face began to once more morph into a pre-sobbing scowl. She was no doubt wounded that her father was not offering her the comfort she was seeking, her emotional state already greatly weakened by her mother’s venomous tantrum.

To help quell another round of tears, Ren pulled the child closer, wrapping her up in his arms so that her tiny form was nearly enveloped by him.  “Shhh, no more tears angel,” he cooed sweetly, patting her head gently to appease her, “There isn’t any reason to cry, especially because… Well, you’re right! Mommy’s whole body is pretty, isn’t it? Her marks just compliment the beauty that’s already there.”

Slowly but surely, her tears began to dissipate. Hunched over shoulders loosened, and sniffles and hiccups gave way to even breathing. Like clockwork, her father’s gentle handling soothed her, the same touch that destroyed you offering her salvation.

As if under a spell, the turmoil that had overcome your daughter quickly began to vanish, her sobbing fading into quiet sniffles. Once she was fully calmed, Ren continued speaking, “That’s all you meant to say to mommy, right angel? I’m sorry she took it the wrong way, she’s probably just tired or hungry, you know how mommy gets. She’ll get over it in no time flat!”

Heat spread through your body at his flippant dismissal of your feelings, an indignant blush lighting your cheeks as you gripped your hands tightly at your side. Your previous emotional episode left you all but drained, but your will to fight back against his callous commentary could never truly be contained.

“In fact, I bet she is already over it now,” Ren’s voice took on a jovial tone as he directed his focus solely on you, “Aren’t you, pumpkin?”

With the ball suddenly in your court, you flinched as both sets of expectant eyes fell on you. Your own eyes darted from Ren’s piercing glare, down to your daughter’s wide-eyed look of unbridled hope. You felt much like the rabbit that had been caught by the fox, stuck in a lose-lose situation. Seeing him hunched over her small body as she clutched to him as a life line, openly concerned that her mother may once more reject her while her father remained a bastion of strength and understanding, left you reeling. Either you would get heated again and stay the villain, but possibly hold on to an ounce of your dignity, or concede to Ren and have yet another piece of your soul wither away and die-the price to pay so that your daughter could remain in blissful ignorance for another day.

“Aren’t you, pumpkin?” He repeated himself slowly, enunciating each word. The kindness in his voice serving only as a mask for the threat buried beneath.

“Y-yes,” you responded quickly, shooting them both a smile you hoped was convincing, “I am very sorry, baby. Daddy is right. Mommy is just… tired.”

A serene smile lit her face, your words placating her. Seeing her happy once more helped relieve a bit of the ache in your own heart, making the lie worth it.

“Good, good,” Ren affirmed with a nod, carefully detaching himself from your daughter as he stood, “but you know little one, mommy deserves some love too, don’t you think? She may have been in the wrong, but it’s not nice to make her cry like that. Why don’t you go give her a hug, hm?”

With no further persuading necessary, she quickly padded over to you, hopping on your lap with so much enthusiasm that it nearly knocked the wind from you. Her arms tightly latched around your torso as she smushed her face into your chest, rubbing it back and forth like she was trying to burrow beneath your skin.

“I love you mommy,” her voice spoke clearly, any hint of previous sadness long gone. You sighed, relieved that this dramatic chapter was over as you pulled your daughter closer to you.

“I love you too.”

During this show of affection, Ren had made his way behind you, slinking so deftly you hadn’t even known he had moved until you heard him chuckle softly behind you.

“This is what I like to see,” he spoke with a sickeningly dreamy sigh, “nothing makes me happier than when my two girls are happy.”

He placed his hands gingerly atop your shoulders, trailing them down until they rested on your arms. His thumbs pressed gently against the marred skin, rubbing in a small circular motion in an attempt to subdue you. His claws grazed your flesh, uncomfortably scratching against you as they snagged against your skin.

He planted a firm and lingering kiss to the side of your head, pulling away just enough that his lips grazed the shell of your ear. “There really was nothing to cry about,” he whispered breathily, his words quiet enough that despite your daughters’ proximity, she would have no chance of hearing them. “It’s almost unfair how gorgeous you are, scars and all. But you must know that, right my sweet pet? I tell you all the time.”

Ren took in a deep breath, releasing it in a shaky sigh, “Seeing these scars reminds me of all we have been through, all that we share. They are a symbol of our bond.”

One of his claws pressed down sharply, a small bead of blood pooling around the piercing. Leisurely he began to drag his finger up your arm, a thin red line following in its wake. You shivered at the burning sensation, but deigned to give him any reaction further than that.

“Don’t forget pumpkin, these pretty marks are a reminder of my constant love for you.” He chuckled softly, peppering a few kisses to the back of your neck while his claws slowly sunk deeper, “And right now I am feeling  terribly sentimental, so for old times’ sake, why don’t I add a few more to remind you just how precious to me you are~?”

[multifandom-pleasures]

Can I have sonic/silver/shadow/scourge (separately)with a reader who was sold off for most of their life and really only knew that world. so when they were working together and stuff got stressful reader 'offered' themselves to the boys as an outlet for their stress while trying to make them feel better

A/N: loved this request sm !! i swear i could write even more for each one of them; but i did just little blurbs. i hope i did it well !!

sonic

you’d never seen sonic stressed like this before. he was pacing around his home, more restless than usual; and you observed him from your spot on the couch, sprawled out and certainly more relaxed than the blue hedgehog. you’ve lived with him for a time. he had saved you from a little trafficking ring where you’d spent a better part of your life in - it had taken you a while to grow accustomed to life without begging for scraps in unpleasant ways, and then being tossed into random strangers arms for hours on end.

you owed your life to him. so you could feel your own anxiousness building the more you focused on his little nervous ticks. the pacing back and forth, shoes thumping on the ground, his ears giving little twitches and his tail lowered. you didn’t know how to help him, he never spoke about anything that bothered him. he always brushed it off with a smile and wink, insisting he was alright. you knew better than to believe him.

you slinked off of the couch, making your way over to him. he jerked as you wrapped your arms around him from behind, tucking your chin against his shoulder. he laughed; it sounded nervous and forced.

“ hey - whatcha doin’ back there? didn’t even hear you. “ you hummed softly, fingers beginning to trace against his chest. you saw his ear flick as he tried to crane his neck to look at you, “ you alright? “

“ are you? “ you asked instead, looking up at him. you frowned as he gave you a cheeky smile and shrug.

“ always am! y’know I can get ansty sometimes when there’s nothing to do. “ but you could feel the tension in his body as you held him, shoulders drawn tight and his breathing was slightly labored. your fingers began to trail down his torso, and he instinctively grasped onto your wrist.

“ h-hey, cmon, what’s up? “

“ lemme take care of you. “ you mumbled, lips pressing to his shoulder, and he tensed further, “ you don’t have to tell me why you’re stressed, but at least let me help relieve some of it.. “ your other hand moved instead, drawing dangerously close to his crotch. he yanked himself away and held his hands in front of him as he faced you.

“ no, no, none of that. “ sonic said sharply, on instinct. he hated the thought of using you in such a way after what you’d been through. he sighed and retried, “ no, it’s okay.. don’t ever think you need to do that for me. “ he grasped onto your hands, and you stared up at him with a bit of guilt and anxiousness.

“ I just.. “ he chewed his lip for a moment as he thought, “ things have been piling up for me.. sure I have the others but - people rely on me. and it can be a lot sometimes. I worry I might not be enough. I worry I won’t be able to save people when I’m needed most. “ he bowed his head with another heaved breath, and his arms wrapped around you.

he pulled you into a hug instead, burying his face into the crook of your neck. you slinked your arms around his shoulders and after a moment of hesitation, brushed your hand over his quills. he melted into your embrace at the touch. his voice was muffled as he spoke again.

“ this.. this is better. “ he squeezed you gently, “ can you just hold me like this a while longer? “

“ of course, sonic.. “

silver

it was late, and silver should be well asleep by now beside you; but he wasn’t. you keep from your shared room to the living room, where he sat down with his head in his hands, staring down at what seemed to be a map of the city while illuminated by candlelight. being a protector of a fallen planet was not easy work, worrying for so many people.

you were one of the lucky ones he had managed to find and save. a fallen planet was not easy to those who lived on it either; desperate people will do anything to those of perceived to have less power than them. with the smoke that covered the sky, you had lost track of how many years you’d spent being taken advantage of.

you made your way over and sat down beside him, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.

“ you should be asleep. “ silver spoke softly, as he always did. his tone was what had lulled you into security when he found you.

“ so should you. “ you countered, looking down to the map before him. unintelligible scribbles and plans written over it, all the inner workings of his mind put onto paper. you knew he wouldn’t sleep on his own, not while overthinking like this.

you rested a hand on his knee, and he lifted his head to look over at you. he gave a small smile and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“ get some sleep, I’ll be there soon, I promise. “ you gave a small shake of your head, your hand sliding further up his leg.

“ ‘m not tired.. “ you replied softly, lips pressing against his cheek, and then his jaw. he shuddered and melted into it; until your hand brushed over his crotch, where he jolted and took your hands. his muzzle was flushed and his breath was quick and trembling.

“ what are you doing? “ silver’s voice was quiet, unsure.

“ trying to help you. “ you replied, trying to work your wrist from his grip, “ you’re too worked up to sleep.. I can help you waste some of that energy; I’m good at it. “ his lips twitched into a frown, more out of sadness than anything as his mind caught up to what you were trying to do.

“ (y/n).. “ he sighed, his hand coming up to cradle your face, and you leaned into it, “ that’s not.. I don’t want to use you in that way. my stresses are my issue to take care of, not yours. and not in that way. “ his thumb stroked your cheek, “ I think to highly of you to do that. “

you frowned, shameful as you looked down at your lap. he crooned as he kissed your head, “ come on, love.. you’re right, we should both get some sleep. “ he waved off the candlelight he was using and rose from his spot. he helped you up along with him.

“ I adore you, (y/n). “ silver spoke as you made your way to the bedroom, “ know that. what would help me more than anything is having you by my side. that’s all I’ll ever need to get through this. “

“ okay. “ you whispered, settling into bed with the hedgehog, “ I love you. “

“ and I you. “

shadow

you jumped as you heard the door slam shut, knowing well shadow had come home. he didn’t usually come home upset but when he did, you knew it was because G.U.N was being unreasonable and while he could stand his ground against them; even he couldn’t deny certain missions. not when one had led him to you, where he had found you and saved you from the unfortunate life you had. you witnessed firsthand the rage in which he held.

you peeked from the doorway to watch him as he grumbled, tossing his gun down onto the table by the doorway, his quills bristled in frustration. you desperately wanted to help him, relax him somehow. you didn’t like seeing him upset. you inched your way out of the room, calling out to him with your voice light; not wanting to startle him.

“ shadow? are you okay? did something happen at work? “ you jumped as his head snapped in your direction, his expression alone making you shut your mouth. he was definitely not in the mood. he snarled as he made his way over.

“ what are you doing awake? can’t handle being alone for a moment too long? you always have to pester me with your useless questions; does it look like I’m okay? I get you may not have had much education where you were from but you can’t be stupid. “

you wished you could cave into yourself, make yourself smaller. he always said such harsh things when he was mad, directed at whatever or whoever was in the general direction of his view. you should have known better than to try and provoke that. you tried to keep your lip from wobbling as you dropped to your knees before him, and his look of anger flickered into confusion.

“ ‘m sorry, please don’t be mad at me. “ your fingers inched up his legs, and his eyes desperately flitted from your hands and your face, unsure of just what it was you were doing. you’d never done this sort of thing to him before. he winced as your fingers brushed at his thighs and he stepped away, your hands dropping to your lap.

“ no. “ shadow replied firmly, annoyance settling onto his face. he’d caught on, finally, “ get up. don’t be ridiculous; why would I want that from you? “

“ ‘m sorry. “ you sniffed, balling your hands on your lap, “ it’s.. it’s all I know to do. I don’t want you mad at me; I wanted to just make it up to you. please don’t hate me. “ you bowed your head, tears slipping down your face. you could hear him heave a sigh and he knelt before you. he tried to lift your face and you weakly fought against it, and the second time he was successful. he frowned at your tear-filled eyes.

he was clearly trying to determine how to fix this. emotions weren’t his strong suit, other than anger and pride. and he couldn’t even begin to imagine how your life was before he had found you; how complex it must be to still have those instincts engraved into your being.

“ I’m not mad at you. “ he decided to say, wiping your tears with the back of his fingers, “ my frustrations were.. misdirected. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, or.. insulted you. I should know better. “ you sniffled and nodded, to which he snorted softly; and then composed himself, “ I was offended on your behalf. I didn’t want you to think of me in that way, that I would use you for my own sake. “

he rose to his feet, helping you up gingerly, “ I helped you leave that place; I’ve heard what you’ve been through. it would be the last thing I would ask of you. not unless.. you decide for yourself. “ he averted his gaze for a moment and then focused, “ I apologize. “

“ it’s okay. “ you laughed tearfully, wiping off the rest of your tears onto your shoulder, “ are you hungry? I have your plate saved in the kitchen. “

“ I could eat. “ he nodded, “ care to keep me company? “ you smiled and tugged his hand to lead him to the kitchen.

scourge

“ fuckers! “ you heard scourge hiss from where you sat on his throne, entertaining yourself on your phone. you looked up to watch him stomping his way over, and you quickly got off to make room for him. he sat himself down and motioned for you to sit on his lap; he always insisted the weight of you on him relaxed him. you obeyed and looked up at him with a small pout.

“ what’s wrong? “ he groaned at the question and lolled his head back, as if remembering everything all over again; which only infuriated him more.

“ ungrateful citizens, that’s what! ya lead ‘em, ya let ‘em cause whatever chaos they want; and they still bitch and complain! “ you listened with little nods, letting him ramble on. it was the least you could do. you didn’t agree with all that he did; but after he ran into you you being sold off on a corner, stopping you before you climbed into the car of your next customer. once he’d found out what it was that was going on, he went on a rampage. he nearly beat your seller and the customer to a bloody pulp, and insisted you stayed with him - so he could keep an eye on you.

you both knew by now he’d taken a liking to you, whether he admitted to it or not. you jumped as he slammed his hand down onto the arm of his thrown, lip curled in a snarl as he threw his crown off across the room.

“ I should teach ‘em all a fuckin’ lesson! I’m the goddamn king! I deserve respect! “ he leered down at you, his frown curling into a smile, “ dontcha think? they should all be like you; all nice and obedient. never talk back a word. “

you shivered lightly, a cold, unsettled feeling building in your chest. you still nodded. this had to mean something, did it? he wanted you to do something. with trembling fingers, you shifted on his lap to face him. he blinked and watched you curiously, startled by the sudden movement. your hands slid down his chest and torso, creeping closer to his crotch. it took a moment for it to process, but his face flushed and his hands came to take yours; stopping them just before they’d reached their destination.

“ h-hey! “ he laughed nervously, “ almost went a little low there, babe. what’s up with ya? “ your nervous look cause his smile to falter slightly, and he sat up a bit, “ hey, what happened? c’mon, y’can tell me. “

“ i thought.. I thought you wanted me to do something. “ you replied quietly, fingers twitching anxiously, “ to help you calm down.. y’know? “ he blinked as the words proceeded, and he frowned.

“ what? no - never. d’you think I’d make ya do that? after what ya went through? I know ‘m a shitty guy, babe, but I ain’t a monster. “ he huffed, bringing your hands to his lips, and you flushed as he kissed over your knuckles, “ nah. I just like bein’ pissy and go on complainin’. I was only complimentin’ ya with what I said before. “

“ yer nice, and quiet, and you let me go on and on when someone’s got me riled up. I didn’ word it right. that was my fault, doll. “ he hooked his arm under your legs to shift you back into your original position, and coaxed you to lay your head against his chest, “ never gonna be a thing I ask of ya, alright? ya been through enough already. “

you nodded against him, relaxing into his hold with a sigh. you felt his hand smoothing over your head, and down to your and to give it a squeeze, “ yer alright here, doll. “ you closed your eyes with a smile, listening to him as he picked up his ramble again.

“ but those anti-mobian’s; ‘m tellin’ ya doll. they’re nothin’ but a mess, gotta just go down there and.. “

[prdx-invdr]

୨୧⸝⸝﹕it’s salty in the middle of those sweet moments.

SUMMARY! for reasons unknown to him, you seem to absolutely hate lee anton. on several occasions, he’s tried to hate you right back, but found that it can be difficult to dislike someone when you’re completely infatuated with them.

PAIRING! lee anton x fem!reader

GENRE! college!au, slice of life, swim team!au idk what to call it actually but anton and reader are both captains, fluff, angst (kinda), (one-sided) enemies to lovers WC 6.6k

WARNING! swearing, reader is mean to anton for a while, miscommunication, i have no knowledge of swimming as a sport and had to do a lot of research for this one so sorry if this contains some inaccuracies, not proofread

NOTE! when anon requested this i jumped out of my seat bc rivals to lovers with anton was my very first wip on this acc but i scrapped it and this gave me an excuse to write abt it again

anton thinks the world of you while you think nothing of him. he’s unsure of how someone he thinks of so highly could hate him so much, and he’s even more unsure of how he could still be so enamored by you despite knowing that you feel the exact opposite way about him.

he gave up on trying to understand the root of your hatred towards him long ago.

at first, he assumed that you were just jealous of the fact that the boy’s swim team had a bigger budget than the girl’s. this wasn’t anton’s fault by any means, but he thought that you might’ve been taking your anger out on him due to his position as team captain. the school administration seemed to simply favor the boy’s swim team over yours, and even anton knew that it wasn’t fair. the favoritism meant that anton’s team received better funding, which inevitably meant better… everything.

anton vividly remembers the glare that you’re always giving him only growing in intensity the day he and his team stepped into the pool area wearing their brand new goggles and swim trunks. he recalls the way the other girls on your team looked down at their own worn out swimsuits upon seeing anton’s team’s new attire, and he felt terrible. if it were up to him, he would’ve entered the room wearing the same faded blue swim jammers he and his teammates were forced to wear at the start of the semester if it meant you’d stop looking at him with such disdain in your eyes.

if this had been the reason behind your distaste for the boy, he would’ve understood. but the hatred you held for him extended beyond swimming, too.

“your hair looks stupid like that,” he hears you mutter from behind him. he turns around, an indifferent expression adorning his features to mask his nervousness.

the fact that you still manage to get the boy’s heart racing and his palms sweating despite your cruel words is baffling to him.

anton’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, wanting to retaliate but not having the slightest idea what to say. “my hair looks like this everyday,” is all he can pathetically exhale.

you’re still staring at him with a furrowed brow and he stares back at you, perplexed. he wonders if you have anything else to say to him or if you were insulting his hair for the pure fun of it. he thinks he’d be fine with either, because at least you’re talking to him.

he feels like slapping himself in the forehead at his own lovesickness.

after a few moments of silence, you scoff, signaling with your hand that you want him to move out of your way.

wordlessly, anton obliges, stepping aside and watching as you continue on your way to whatever class you have next. he notices merely seconds afterwards that the hallway he’s currently standing in isn’t narrow in the slightest, meaning you could’ve easily gone around him and still insisted on making him move. he wishes he could dislike you— he really does.

anton turns around to find sohee and seunghan now leaning against the wall, having observed the entire interaction between you and their love-struck friend. sohee looks at him pitifully while seunghan claps, slowly and sarcastically.

“don’t,” is all anton says to them, hanging his head. he knows that they’d like to drill another lesson into his mind about how he needs to stop letting you push him around like that, and he’s not in the mood for it.

“anton, my man,” seunghan sighs, putting an arm around his shoulders. “i get that you like her, i really do, and that she’s pretty and all,” he feels anton’s shoulders momentarily tense at his words, “but i don’t think she’s into you. like, at all.”

anton shrugs the older boy’s arm off, shaking his head. “i don’t like her,” he lies through gritted teeth. sohee and seunghan share an unamused look.

in actuality, the two of them were there to witness anton fall for you firsthand. when their younger friend first saw you and two of your friends walking through the quad area of campus, they watched the way his eyes widened and the way the oxygen left his lungs. they recall thinking that anton’s heart would burst out of his chest and fall right onto the grass below the three of them. his friends were in disbelief that anton was currently standing in front of them and denying his feelings for you when they quite literally saw him develop said feelings in real time.

when anton found out that you were captain of the girl’s swim team, it only solidified the way he felt about you. being captain of the boy’s swim team himself, he thought it was the perfect setup. he was too shy to nonchalantly walk up to you and initiate conversation, but he had the notion that swimming would make good enough of an excuse.

his hopes of becoming acquainted with you through your shared interest in the sport were crushed almost immediately. when he first tried to strike up a conversation with you, you sent him a scowl that intimidated him into walking the other way. on a separate occasion, he attempted to talk to you again, only for you to turn your head and pretend that you hadn’t heard him. he hasn’t tried to initiate anything ever since, the only time the two of you ever interact being whenever you glare at him or make a remark about him in passing.

he never found out what your problem was when it came to him, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

anton sees sohee and seunghan’s solemn faces and scoffs. “i’m serious, guys!” he complains, “you’ve seen the way she acts towards me. why would i like somebody like that? that’s like setting myself up for failure.” his chest tightens as the words leave his mouth. he only said that so his friends would drop the subject, but he knows that there’s truth behind his statement. the two boys only exhale disappointedly.

sohee purses his lips. “if she didn’t absolutely hate you for no reason, you guys would probably look good together,” he comments. seunghan nods, “too bad she’s got a stick up her ass.”

for whatever reason, anton wants to defend you and tell his friend that there is no stick up your ass— you’re only hostile when it comes to him. he realizes how pitiful that sentence would sound to sohee and seunghan and decides against saying it out loud.

“stop being hung up on that girl, anton,” sohee chimes, putting a hand on his friend’s arm, “there’s plenty of fish in the sea. you would know all about that, right? since you’re a swimmer and all.”

seunghan hits sohee in the arm jokingly. “he’s on the swim team, not a fucking merman.”

“he’s so cute, are you kidding me?” you hear rei practically squeal as you step into the locker room. she and jiwon are both already wearing their swimsuits, and the latter looks up upon hearing you enter the room.

“who are we talking about?” you smile, setting down your backpack. it’s late in the afternoon and you’re relieved to be done with your classes for the day, finally able to do what you love most.

“um,” jiwon begins, “no one in particular. right, rei?” your friend sounds a bit on edge as she turns to the girl sitting on the bench beside her, who shrugs. “we’re talking about anton,” she replies, earning a slap on the arm from jiwon. “ow! what the hell?”

jiwon watches as you halt your process of taking off your shirt, about to change into your swimsuit. she knew that your mood would turn sour at the mention of the boy; it’s a known fact amongst the members of your team that you hate lee anton.

“you think anton is cute?” you turn to rei, frowning. the girl lets out a huff of air, her bangs moving in the process. “i don’t see how you don’t,” she mutters, “and i don’t get why you hate his guts either. he’s super nice.”

you continue changing, the two girls looking away from you as you do so out of respect. “you wouldn’t understand,” is all you say in response. jiwon bites her lip, feeling bad for the boy. she’s seen it all— the fleeting, longing glances anton sends your way, and the scornful looks you send him in return. she doesn’t comment on it, not wanting to upset you, but a minuscule, intrusive part of her desperately wants to know what’s going on between you and the captain of the boy’s team.

rei, however, seems to know no boundaries. “would you be mad if i dated him, then?” she chortles, giddily kicking her legs. not facing you, she doesn’t see the way you grow tense at her question. you open your mouth to respond when a knock at the locker room door startles the three of you.

the door opens a fraction and you turn to see yujin pop her head inside. “are you guys almost ready?” she asks, scanning the room before her eyes land on you. “oh, hey, captain,” she smiles, eyes forming crescents. you wave, and the older girl continues. “coach wanted me to remind you guys that we have a joint training session today,” she clenches her teeth for a second, eyes moving to jiwon and rei who are wearing matching nervous expressions at the reminder. “you know, with the boys team,” yujin finishes, not daring to look you in the eye in fear of how you might react.

as captain of the team, you were curious as to why your coach would want to remind you of that, seeing as you were often the first person to obtain this information. upon deeper thought, you realize it was probably because even your coach knew about your hatred towards anton and wanted you to stay focused this time around rather than glaring at him every few minutes. you almost let out a laugh at the thought.

“you hear that, captain?” rei teases, “prepare yourself! don’t let anton distract you this time.”

you throw a towel in her direction, earning a grunt from her. “i should be telling you that,” you scold, “seeing as you’re obsessed with him all of a sudden.”

rei laughs, and you’re unsure of how to feel when you come to the realization that she didn’t disagree with your statement.

once you finally leave the locker room, you come face to face with your sworn enemy himself.

anton doesn’t look in your direction for as long as he normally does, memories of your interaction from earlier in the day flooding his mind. no matter how small of a gesture it is, your teammates take notice of it. “he’s not staring at you today,” gaeul whispers, shocked.

you only shake your head. “like i care,” you spit, crossing your arms, “i prefer it that way, actually. he should focus on his own team.”

wonyoung puts her hands on your shoulders from behind, lightly shaking you. “loosen up, okay?” she advises, her own eyes drifting over to anton’s team. as if on cue, anton looks over at you for a moment, watching as you joke around with your teammate. he wishes that you were even half as nice to him as you are to your team, wondering what it would be like to laugh with you the same way wonyoung is right now.

noticing anton’s preoccupied state, one of his teammates calls out to him. “captain!” anton turns his head away from you, looking his teammate in the eye. “yeah, taesan? you need something?” he inquires, getting back into his leader headspace. taesan looks over anton’s shoulder at your team, making the inference that he had been distracted by you. like always, taesan thinks to himself.

“do some stretches with me, yeah?” he says, wanting anton to fully dedicate himself to practicing instead of letting you pose as an obstacle.

anton is a good team captain— any of his teammates can attest. but it feels like anytime you’re in his presence, he’s only able to give 80% as opposed to his usual hundred, the other 20% being spent completely fixated on you.

he walks over to his dark haired teammate with a nod, agreeing to help him warm up. he thinks it serves as a more productive way to pass time than staring at you like a lovesick idiot.

“i was thinking,” taesan starts, copying the way anton does shoulder stretches to loosen his joints, “well, me and leehan were talking about it, actually. we should do a bonfire later, at the beach,” he tells the older boy.

anton licks his lips, nodding absentmindedly. “just you and leehan?” he asks, looking around the room for the boy in question. he sees leehan standing in the corner looking disinterested and waves him over. with an inaudible sigh, leehan reluctantly joins the two boys who are now doing tricep stretches. taesan shakes his head in response to the question anton had posed, “no, i meant, like, the whole team,” he corrects. “tell him, leehan,” taesan nudges his teammate.

“i hate stretching,” leehan murmurs, gaze aimed towards the white tiles beneath him. “about the bonfire, dumbass,” taesan deadpans. leehan perks up at the mention of something that he actually cares about. “oh, yeah! we’re gonna invite the whole team,” he grins, “it’ll be a blast, anton. you’ve gotta go.”

anton thinks it over, biting the inside of his cheek. “it’s already kind of late though, no?” he points out, causing the two boys on either side of him to groan. “bonfires are literally supposed to happen at night,” taesan comments at the same time leehan says, “don’t be such a buzzkill.”

“is the girls team invited?” anton can’t stop himself from asking, earning more groans from the two boys. “i don’t want to go through the trouble of inviting them,” leehan complains. “yeah,” his friend nods, “plus, he’s only asking because he wants their captain to be there.”

taesan’s comment makes anton come to a halt, and he’s now the only one out of the three of them no longer stretching. “that’s not true,” he defends himself, “i just feel kind of bad. i mean, we already have a bigger budget than them, and stuff.”

“keep telling yourself that, champ,” leehan grumbles. “we see right through you.” anton steps forward, looking at both of them simultaneously. “guys, seriously,” he says lowly, “i feel bad.”

taesan lets out a laugh, “right, you feel bad that you won’t be able to make heart eyes at y/n tonight.”

anton rubs his palm across his face, frustrated. “here’s an offer for you. you either invite the girls team, or…” he pauses, attempting to appear intimidating, “you’re not allowed to have the bonfire at all.”

the two boys scoff in unison. “you can’t just do that,” taesan snorts, “you’re our captain, not our mom.” anton scratches his head at that, disorientated. “look, i— okay,” he tries again, “i don’t know. i’ll buy you guys food, or something.”

it’s now taesan and leehan’s turn freeze in their places. “why didn’t you start with that?”

practice ends faster than you wish it had and you hoist your bag over your shoulder. you turn to jiwon and rei, about to ask if they’re ready to leave when you’re interrupted by two loud voices. “girls! hey!” you turn your head to see two members of the boys swim team— who’s names you never bothered to learn— running up to you and your friends.

“hey,” one of them pants, “don’t leave yet.” you look at your friends once more, studying their expressions that look just as confused as yours. “anton wanted— ouch!” the boy is interrupted by his friend slapping him on the arm harshly, as if he had said something wrong. “all of us, i mean, wanted to know if you girls would like to join us tonight,” the boy finishes, rubbing his arm while sending a subtle glare in his friend’s direction.

“join you.. in doing what, exactly?” you inquire, serious as ever. the two boys seemingly grow smaller under your intimidating gaze as if they hadn’t anticipated your somber attitude. “we’re doing a bonfire,” the other boy replies, pointing his thumb in the direction of the rest of his team. you look over the boy’s shoulder, your eyes landing upon anton, who is already looking at you. upon seeing your eyes scan over him, he looks away.

rei claps her hands together a few times, “we’ll be there! thank you for inviting us.” her words startle you and you open your mouth to protest. you had just been seconds away from telling the boys in front of you that you weren’t interested.

“yeah, count us in!” jiwon chimes, and you want the tiled floor below to swallow you whole. “you guys have fun, then,” you tell them, eyes swimming with boredom, “i’m going home.”

“no!” the boys in front of you shout in unison, startling you and your team. “you have to come. especially,” one of them pleads. “and why is that?” you put one hand on your hip, intimidating them further.

everyone already seems to know the answer to your question before the boys can even formulate the words to say it. “our captain wants you to.”

your teammates all but drag you to the beach against your will, uttering complaints about how you “need to learn how to have fun” and how they’ve “been waiting for something exciting like this to happen”.

within the first 5 minutes of your arrival, you’ve already tried to escape more times than your friends are able to count. wonyoung had to keep a tight grip on your wrist to ensure that you wouldn’t go anywhere, and you swear at the girl in your head for being stronger than she appears.

“i can’t believe anton himself told his friends to invite us just so he could see y/n,” rei mutters, astonished, “do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

“that’s definitely not the reason,” you deny, already wanting to drop the topic, “they probably just thought it would be funny because everybody on the planet knows that i hate him.”

and while taesan and leehan are most definitely aware of your hatred towards their captain, their reasoning for inviting you and your team really was because anton wanted to see you.

“invite the girls team!” leehan mocks, intentionally making his voice sound higher, “i feel sooo bad for them!” anton pays no mind to the way he’s being blatantly teased, his eyes trained on you. “feel bad for them my ass,” taesan comments under his breath, “he’s already making heart eyes at her, just like i said.”

“you’re a real masochist, you know that?” leehan adds, waving a hand in front of anton’s line of sight. the taller boy blinks in response as if he had broken out of whatever trance you had him under. “that girl doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she hates you, and you’re still, like, obsessed with her.”

anton sharply exhales through his nose, not needing another reminder of the fact that you dislike him and that he’s stupid for helplessly pining after you.

“i’ve heard that a million times,” he retorts, “and i’m not obsessed with her. in fact, i’m starting to hate her, too.”

he thinks that lying to his teammates is just as difficult as lying to sohee and seunghan, only receiving humorless looks in response to his statement. “right,” taesan scoffs, “you hate her so much that you forced me and leehan to invite the entire girls swim team just so you could see her.” anton lightly hits him with the back of his hand, muttering, “i told you that’s not the reason.”

all three boys turn to look at you, arms crossed and unamused. “oh, man,” leehan laughs, “she’s bored out of her fucking mind.” anton watches you carefully, your eyes burning a hole in the sand beneath your shoes. “why don’t you go talk to her, captain?” taesan teases, slapping his friend on the back boyishly. anton staggers forward about a centimeter due to the impact, looking back at the boy. “or anyone on the girls team, for that matter. since you made us invite every single one of them,” leehan quips.

but anton thinks that talking to you would only dampen your mood even further, and he doesn’t want the glare that you’re currently directing towards the sand to be aimed at him. “try talking to her, right there,” leehan points to someone in your general direction and anton follows his finger with his gaze, “naoi rei. she’s one of y/n’s closest friends, i think.”

taesan lets out another scoff, “yeah, but she’s not y/n. anton wants y/n, not the next best thing.”

jiwon and rei stand next to the bonfire, and you overhear one of them comment on how it isn’t as big as they were expecting it to be. you see wonyoung and yujin sitting on some large rocks a short distance away from the shore. you quickly scan the perimeter looking for gaeul, who you find sitting on the sand and looking up at the stars. your friends are all enjoying themselves— why aren’t you?

as per usual, you want to blame your discomfort on the fact that anton is in your vicinity. but how exactly could you do that when he hasn’t interacted with you all night?

come to think of it, your last interaction with the boy in question was earlier today when you told him that his hair looked stupid. you shake your head at the memory— you hadn’t even meant it. you actually liked his hair, but you’d rather drop dead than admit that to him. you hate lee anton with a burning passion, and you hate that you like his hair.

you hate that you’re currently sitting here wishing that he would come up to you and say something. after all, your friends dragged you here and his teammates made it seem as though your attendance was obligatory. the way you see it, the least anton could do after subjecting you to all of that is talk to you. you suppose that you can’t really blame him for not wanting to, though. you kick the sand beneath you at the realization.

you’re not sure how much time you spend thinking about the boy you swear to hate with every fiber of your being, but you conclude that a few long minutes must’ve gone by, because suddenly you look up and find that both your team and anton’s team are gathered around the fire. you watch them carefully, eyes wandering from individual to individual.

you see yujin laughing with some guy from the other team. you see the two boys that invited you and your friends to this very event. finally, your eyes land on anton, and you regret it almost immediately.

he’s nervously scratching the back of his neck the way you often catch him doing. he’s got a bashful smile on his lips as he looks down at whoever he’s currently talking to. you crane your neck to see who that may be, and find that it’s none other than your own teammate and friend— naoi rei.

you make a face of disgust that no one sees, and only then do you realize that you’re still standing a good distance away from the large group. “oh my god,” you scowl. you run a hand over your face, conflicted. you already hated being here, and seeing anton converse with one of your closest friends might’ve just made your attitude towards this whole situation a million times worse. you know that rei is probably over the moon right now, looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye and a girlish smile.

you want to be happy for her— you think that any good friend would jump at the sight of their teammate getting along with the person they find attractive— and you swear that you would be if the person she was talking to was anyone but him. you tell yourself that it’s because rei deserves better than him, ignoring the way your heart plummets. he was only going to chase after you for so long.

you shake your head rapidly as if it would rid your mind of the thought, not knowing where it came from in the first place.

you need to get out of here— asap.

you hate lee anton and you hate that you like his hair and you hate that you spent a decent amount of time tonight wishing that he’d speak to you.

you hate that you even care in the slightest that he’s currently flirting with your best friend and you hate that almost everyone here managed to convince you that he and his teammates invited you simply because he wanted you here.

you discreetly make your way around the group, advancing towards the shore. you don’t think anyone sees you as you do so, hearing the sound of their laughter grow more distant with each step you take towards the sea. as you continue moving forward absentmindedly, you don’t realize that you’re already knees deep in the water until a salty wave crashes into you, reaching the area below your thigh.

“what are you doing?” your head quickly turns to find the source of the voice and you scowl once you realize who it is.

of course, anton chooses now to finally talk to you.

you turn back around, ignoring him, because that’s how you are— you think about him more than you’d ever like to admit and act indifferent towards him once he’s in your presence. anton watches as you turn your back to him, unsure of why he assumed that this interaction with you would be any different from your interactions in the past.

nonetheless, with bravery that he didn’t even know he had, anton continues talking. “you could get sick if you go any further,” he blurts out.

in truth, anton had been watching you through his peripheral vision as he was conversing with rei, and saw as you treaded through the sand and into the water. he excused himself— he had been looking for a way to escape the conversation anyway— and followed your silhouette that was now standing in the ocean, letting waves collide with your legs.

in retrospect, he should’ve thought of something to say to you beforehand, because if the mere act of him talking to you wasn’t enough to piss you off, anton was sure that lecturing you about how you could get sick from swimming at night would definitely cause you to flip your lid.

his suspicions appear to have been correct, because you whip your head back around and give him an angry look. “what are you doing here?” you spit, expecting him to flinch and avoid your gaze the same way that he always does.

“why can’t i be here?” he presses, furrowing his brow, and you’re the one that flinches. “do you own the ocean?”

you’re sure that steam would be coming out of your ears right now if you were living in an old cartoon. you clench your fist, taken aback.

“why do you hate me so much, y/n?” anton pleads, unable to prevent the million dollar question from leaving his lips. this is a position he never thought he’d find himself in; confronting you about your unadulterated hatred towards him while your entire bottom half is almost completely submerged in the ocean.

your lip quivers and you clench your teeth as you feel your resilient facade start to crack. neither you nor anton are sure where his daring attitude came from, but it seems to be catching both of you by surprise, because even the boy in question moves to wipe his palms against his jeans to rid them of their clamminess. “answer me,” he demands, his voice as soft as it normally is and yet it still intimidates you.

you turn around for the forth and final time, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of discovering the root of your distaste towards him. anton shakes his head, although you’re unable to see it, and sharply inhales in preparation for what he’s about to do.

he cautiously takes a step forward, letting the water dampen the cuffs of his jeans. he cringes, but proceeds nevertheless, mimicking the strides that you had taken minutes prior.

before you’re able to prevent it from happening, anton is standing directly beside you, jeans darkening as the water seeps into them, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

the tall boy leans forward, and you lean back. “answer me,” he repeats his previous words in a hushed voice.

you’re looking down at the water that the two of you are standing in and anton thinks it’s funny, for a moment, how the roles seem to be reversed— you’re tense and apprehensive while he’s bold and collected, trying to crane his neck to meet your downward pointed gaze.

“you should know the reason why,” he hears you speak under your breath. you finally look at him, eyes narrowed. “you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” you question, and he recoils.

“i’m not— what? why would— why do you think i’m making fun of you?” anton sputters, genuinely appalled at the accusation. he’s unable to wrap his head around what kind of thoughts might be running through your mind right now.

“because there’s no way in hell that you don’t know why i hate you, lee anton,” you say, words flying from your mouth hurriedly. “there’s no way you just let me push you around and stare at you like you’re the scum of the earth if you don’t know the reason why. you have to know,” you look into his eyes in search of an answer but you’re only met with confusion.

anton shakes his head. “i don’t know, y/n,” he begins, “i really don’t know, and i’m sorry if you think i’m playing a prank on you right now, but i’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

he looks down momentarily, his eyes landing on his wet jeans. when he looks back up, he’s zoned in on the way the moon makes your eyes look as though they’re sparkling, and he thinks it’s beautiful. “you may know this already,” he starts speaking again, “but i’m in love with you.”

he makes sure not to stutter or appear anxious in the slightest, afraid that if he made the slightest mistake, he’d try to prevent the words from leaving his mouth. and he needs you to know.

your lips part, his words shocking you more than anything else that has taken place tonight. “i’m always lying to my teammates and my friends, saying that i don’t like you because they think i’m insane for chasing after someone who wishes i didn’t even exist,” anton continues, his tone becoming sorrowful, “but i can’t lie anymore. especially not to you.”

by now, both of your hearts are pounding, and you’re sure that they would be audible if it weren’t for the sounds of the waves crashing. “so, no,” he says, “the reason i let you push me around isn’t because i know why you hate me. it’s because i’m in love with you, and no matter how hard i try, i can’t stop.”

he waits for you to respond, eyes trained on yours. you finally start speaking, lowly and carefully. “there was this guy,” you tell him, “you used to hang out with him last year. i would see you and him laughing together all the time, with two other friends of yours.”

taking in your words, anton ponders who you could be referring to before his eyes widen slightly. “wonbin?” he asks, although he has no doubt in his mind that you’re talking about his older friend. wonbin, seunghan, sohee and anton were practically attached at the hip during the latter’s freshman year of college, and when wonbin made the decision to drop out in order to pursue a career in music, the other three were left to fend for themselves.

you scoff, despite wanting to contain your hostility towards the boy after his confession. “i don’t know his name,” you mumble, “but yeah, that’s probably him.”

anton nods, urging you to continue. he’s finally going to find out why you’ve disliked him for as long as he can remember and he doesn’t want to waste a second. “he told me that you liked me,” you say, watching as the boy flinches in your peripheral at your words. “and i was so happy at the time because i liked you, too.”

it’s anton’s turn to be stunned by your confession, not believing the words that are coming out of your mouth. “i would always look at you, but you’d never look at me back. when your friend— wonbin, i guess— told me that you liked me, i thought that meant you would talk to me,” you shake your head at the memory, “but you never did. it was like i didn’t even exist to you.”

you keep talking, quietly, “every single person who knew me knew that i liked you. one day, i saw you guys laughing together like you always did, and then it clicked in my brain.” you’re silent for a moment before you continue. “i figured that you must’ve known that i liked you, too, and told your friend to say that to me as some sort of cruel joke.”

anton is yet again appalled at your words. “you only seemed to start caring about my existence at the beginning of last semester. you tried to come up to me a few times, and i always assumed it was because you were finally feeling bad about the whole wonbin thing and wanted to apologize, and i didn’t want to hear it. it was around that time that i started hating you.”

you scratch the back of your neck, not having thought that you’d ever admit any of this to the boy standing beside you. anton swallows before he thinks over his next words. “i didn’t know about any of that,” he assures you, and he can sense that you doubt his words momentarily because he starts talking faster. “i’m not sure what prompted wonbin to say that to you, but i can tell you this,” he whispers, “i’ve been in love with you from the very first time i saw you, and no amount of insults or glares from you is ever going to change that.” for a moment, even the waves of the ocean seem to still, leaving only the sound of anton’s voice ringing in your ears.

you’re not used to feeling this vulnerable, and the fact that you’re sharing a moment like this with lee anton— the man you (no longer) hate— sends a shiver down your spine. you find yourself searching for a sense of familiarity, even if it comes in the form of playful banter rather than the usual insult.

“say that again,” you tell him, and he’s unsure if you’re being serious at first. when silence lingers in the air, he finally begins speaking. “i’ve… been in love with you since the first time i saw you,” anton says, unsure. you shake your head, displeased.

“put it in the present tense,” you purse your lips, crossing your arms. anton lets out a curt laugh, now realizing that you’re actually joking with him. so this, he thinks, is what it feels like to laugh with you. “i’m in love with you, y/n,” by now, he’s adorning a smile that reaches his eyes, head slightly tilted towards the ground bashfully.

“wanna know something, lee anton? i think i might be, too.”

weeks later, you’re swinging open the doors to the pool area, the smell of chlorine crashing into you as you step inside.

the boys team is in the middle of practicing, leehan and taesan— who’s names you finally learned after enduring weeks of their relentless teasing, always having to hear a complaint from them about how their team captain is even less focused than before since the two of you started dating— spotting you almost immediately. they let out exaggerated groans, knowing they now have to witness you and anton grossly interact.

“captain!” taesan calls out with dread lacing his tone, “your girlfriend is here.” upon hearing that, anton, who is currently in the pool, whips his head around so quickly that you’re almost positive he could’ve gotten whiplash. you wave, and rather than exiting the water, he swims over to where you stand on the poolside. looking up at you, he smiles, slightly out of breath. “hey, lovely,” he says, removing the goggles from around his head so he can study you better.

he pays no mind to the sounds of his teammates gagging in the background, not looking anywhere but at you.

to say that both your team and anton’s team were surprised upon hearing about your blossoming relationship with the boy would be an understatement. not only did both teams have to grow accustomed to the fact that you no longer hated anton, but they also needed to get used to the mere concept of you two dating each other. it wasn’t as though you two no longer served as distractions to the other, however— if anything, you both stared at each other even more than you had previously, the difference being that now you looked at anton with adoration in your eyes rather than resentment.

“i don’t know if seeing you two together makes my heart want to explode with joy, or if it makes me wanna throw up,” you recall rei telling you during practice one day. anton has shared similar stories, stating that although both taesan and leehan are happy to see their captain in a relationship with the girl he’s been pining after, they hate the way anton apparently never shuts up about you during training.

you look down at the boy, flashing him a smile of your own. droplets of water threaten to fall into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “hey,” you hum, “i won’t bother you long. just checking in.” anton shakes his head, water spraying the floor beneath you in the process. “you never bother me,” he says.

“oh, hush,” you wave your hand dismissively. “i’m serious. hey, can you come down here for a sec?” anton asks, gesturing for you to crouch next to the pool. you give him a suspicious look, morphing your lips into a tight line. “anton, i’m not letting you pull me in there.”

he shakes his head again, letting out a laugh. “i’m not gonna pull you in,” he tells you, and you still aren’t convinced. “y/n!” he whines, stretching the final syllable. you look to the ceiling for a moment, letting out a scoff before kneeling down next to the pool.

in a swift motion, anton grabs your shoulders and lands a kiss on your lips. it’s wet from the water of the pool and you pull away, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. anton is laughing as you swat at his arm, muttering something about how he got your shirt wet.

anton sees an opportunity in the fact that you haven’t stood up yet, fully wrapping his arms around your shoulders, nearly causing you to fall into the chlorinated water. his laughter only increases in volume, and his teammates don’t think they’ve ever heard him laugh that hard. you let out a yelp, feeling the water continue to seep through the fabric of your shirt. you struggle against his embrace, and he shows no signs of releasing you. “lee anton! oh my god— i hate you!”

you both know that you’re lying.

AUTHOR’S NOTE! this is my 30th time trying to post this but we move

[twistedmafiaau]

𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥

You entered the lounge all finely dressed with your best clothes. The dim lights hid your nervous blush very well — you were about to meet your favorite after all, who could blame you? 

The head waiter with their polite smile approached you and asked:

“You wish to be seated with Thorny Rose correct?”

As you nodded they gently led you to your assigned table, him waiting for you while sipping a glass of his favourite alcoholic beverage.

Ready to start the night?

“You gotta be fucking kidding me!” you screamed at no one — except maybe the Almighty in the skies above — at your nth failed attempt to get your car started. You had been trying to restart your car for half an hour, which had left you stranded in the middle of the road, without success. No way, the wreck had left you hanging.

Your forehead bumped against the steering wheel, exasperation mixing with desperation when you got to realize you were never gonna make it on time to the exclusive lounge and meeting up close Thorny Rose, Riddle Roseheart, boss of the aforementioned mafia family.

You had fought tooth and nail to get a reservation and now that you’d spent days figuring out what to wear and what to say your stupid car abandoned you when you needed it the most. 

You got out of the car and tried to push it, hoping it would at least move that inch that made the engine start again, but the only thing you got was a tear on your best clothes and lots of sweat running down your skin. You were tempted to say in desperation “Can’t go worse than this.” but held it back — if luck would have it, it would’ve gone worse.

You started kicking the heavy wheels, a curse bubbling up your throat. 

“You damned junkyard wreck! Of all the days you had to decide to leave me in the lurch, you had to do it today! This one’s the time I decide to scrap you once and for all.” yelled a voice not too far from you, high and colleric like few you had heard so openly.

You turned your head in the direction of the yell and saw a person not much taller than you, in your same position — kicking the tires of an old Volkswagen beetle of a lovely red shade, his black jacket hanging from one shoulder with his hair pulled back to avoid it getting in his face.

“Rough night for you too, uh?” you said, letting the words slip past your lips before you could stop them. 

The stranger turned in your direction. Agate grey eyes pointed at you and the moment you recognized those eyes and those scarlet red strands, shame built in your stomach faster than food poisoning.

That was none other than Riddle Roseheart. 

If your car could start you would’ve run away faster than lightning.

Riddle sighed, deep and frustrated. “Yeah. — he said, answering your previous question — Let this be a lesson to me. This way I learn to take the first bunch of keys I find around. I thought I had done the MOT on this car, and instead…” 

“I thought that you were to be driven around by one of your subordinates, or at least drive some high-class racing car.” you blurted out those words, once again, before you could even stop them.

Riddle looked at you, one brow raised to the sky. “I like vintage, okay?” he said while subtly bobbing his head. “I’m no princess that needs to be driven around, I can do it on my own…and despite my outburst I’m still deeply attached to this car.” he said, giving loving pats to the rearview mirror.

You stared at the old car, still somewhat not convinced that a boss of a well known family would drive such a thing. A Volkswagen beetle that had honestly seen better days — with cream car upholstery fading into an old yellowish, a beat up convertible radio on the dashboard and the red paint chipping away in some places — more fitting for a grandma than a mafia boss.

“I use this one for personal outings, like the one I was driving to, so that nobody knows it’s me. It draws less attention than what you think.” he explained, tone somewhere between reproaching and offended. He must’ve interpreted your staging for something akin to disgust most likely. 

As you opened your mouth to apologize a car passed the both of you at breakneck speed, tires hitting a nearby puddle that drenched you with a rain of murky water. You both froze, like deers in the headlights. 

Your immediate response was a deep, frustrated sigh that climbed up your throat almost like reflex; you exhaled and looked at your soaking clothes with a sorrowful look — the pinnacle of misfortunes that had befallen you, which had officially ruined the evening you had longed for, before it had even begun.

When you glanced up at Riddle, soaking wet himself, he was wearing a terrifying mask of silent rage. His agate irises so small they almost disappeared into the void of pure, incandescent white, his mouth a stern rigid line that seemed sewn with surgical precision, his fists clenching at his sides like he was trying to control himself.

He gave you one quick glance.

“Pardon me for just a moment. I need to take care of something.” he said, quietly yet deadly, the calm before the storm.

He marched up to the owners of the car that just splashed the both of you, parked not too far away, crooked, the young couple — a pimp with more holes in his jacket than money in his pocket and a woman on his payroll, obviously — crowding a vending machine stationed in a alley. 

You don’t know why you decided to follow him.

“Excuse me, you two.” Riddle said, loud enough to attract the attention of the squawking couple. The both of them stared at the redhead like he was a nuisance.

“You splashed us when you passed by with your car. As you can see you drenched good clothing meant for an important night. Please apologize.” Riddle said firmly, not even an inflection in his voice. 

The pimp twisted his mouth in disgust. The woman merely giggled from behind her manicured hand as two more men got out of the car. Looks like he wasn’t going to apologize.

Riddle just lightly wiggled his nose, like a little mouse. “Well, seems like good manners are beneath you. — he said as he rolled up his sleeves — Looks like I need to teach you all a lesson.”

You grabbed him by the shoulder, squeaking in alarm at what he meant. 

“Wait, wait! Hold up a sec, we could get arrested for this.” 

Riddle wasn’t at all fazed, cracking his knuckles instead.

“Good thing many in the police department owe me a few favors then.”

“Wait! You seriously want to beat them all up?”

Riddle just gave you a look, the same look that said "I mean business".

“Did I stutter?” 

The fight was over before the sirens of a police car could approach, both you and Riddle hiding in the shadows offered by your parked car. Your legs were still trembling with shock while Riddle massaged his sore knuckles, now a lively red. 

“Thought you were more collected and diplomatic than this…” you muttered as you saw the bright blues and red of the police forces driving away with a small beaten up gang in their backseats.

“You don’t know me much.” deadpanned Riddle. “Though I assume that is the reason why you were driving to the venue…and why you looked so defeated when that car splashed you.”

You remained quiet for a few seconds, processing.

“Is that why you got so mad?” you inquired, voice shrill and incredulous.

“They ruined perfectly good clothes and refused to apologize for their mistake. That’s how I am. Plus, judging by how many times you called to make a reservation it seems like you were looking forward to this night.” he replied. “I was going to offer you a ride and those brutes basically ruined your night by making your only clothes unusable, it’s only natural I’d get bloody mad by such an untasteful behavior, those people needed to be taught some manners.”

“You’re so hot when you talk like that…” you muttered, the words flying out before you could have the chance to stop them. 

Riddle looked at you shocked, eyes wide, shoulders pointing up and mouth slightly agape; his cheeks looked a bit more pinkish too.

“I…I appreciate your fondness for my dialectic, but maybe use your inside voice next time we get together.”

“Wait, does that mean..?”

“Our cars are down and both our clothes are soaked like we walked inside the sewers. I suggest we postpone our meeting to another date. Tomorrow night is good for you?”

“Tomorrow night is very good.”

✠ Would you like a table? ✠ Bullettin Board

Thank you so much for requesting anon. Apologizes for the late answer and I hope you enjoyed yourself. I await your next patronage.

Signed - Boss

[missmarveledsblog]

Now she's mine ( Bradley bradshaw x reader) 18+

summary : sequel to if she were mine  where  rooster shows y/n how much she really loves her in the best way possible . 

warnings: smut so 18+ , oral ( fem receiving)   p in v unprotected ( wrap it before you tap it) , body worshipping and to be honest its just pure sensual filth ,goofy fluff  ending though. AWAY MINORS

From thinking the universe was against him to feeling like the luckiest man in the world was an outcome Bradley bradshaw . His hand held hers the whole time as he drove home ready to show her what she deserved and why he was the one worthy to give it to her. Was he nervous fuck yes but he wasn't letting the it pass not when he finally had a shot of getting the girl , getting his girl . He still felt her tears on his shirt when she broke in his arms earlier in the night and timing wise it may of looked quick but for him , who waited all his life well no time limit was needed.

" roo" she called so sweetly it made him melt in his seat and yet grip the steering wheel like he was holding on for dear life all in one. " yes baby girl" the sight of his driveway was never so exciting .

" how come you never said anything before" she asked pulling the belt of her body as she slide to his side leaning over and taking his seat belt off .

" well i mean a number of things i already told you but mainly i didn't wanna ruin our friendship , you mean world to me and if it meant keeping my feelings a secret to keep you in my life well i would of done it .. oh fuck" he groaned as she sat perfectly on his lap , like she meant to be there all this time on him , with him . " well giving the situation and in a blinding hindsight i think we got a lot of time to make up for don't you think" his eyes searched her hoping she wasn't having second thoughts not just about what they were doing but future or too .

" you know i never thought you'd love me like the way i love you " was all she got out of her mouth before he kissed her deeply hoping he could show how wrong she was as his tongue slid against hers . like two soulmates finding each other after eternity of being a part , puzzle pieces that fit together it made the most beautiful picture. Heated yet tender and sensual like she never been kissed before, her heart beating just for him but it always did since they were kids and he used to give her wild flowers he'd find or when they were teen and he slip silly notes in her locker to make her smile.

" sorry i had to shut those silly and wrong words up one way" he smirked as he pulled back eyes never leaving hers locked in a hypnotic trance of full blown love and lust .

" roo i meant what i said take me to bed" she leaned kissing down his jaw nipping the skin like she was staking her claim , marking what was hers . He wanted to pinch himself wondering if he somehow crashed during training and this was his heaven because never in his life would he think that he and his dream girl would be making out in his bronco like horny teenagers .

" show me the way babygirl" his fingers under her chin making her look at him .

Every nervous feeling she felt on the way was gone the minute his lips touched hers, every worry , insecurity wiped in the moment and replace with a need , an ache only bradley bradshaw could soothe . she opened the door sliding off his lap wordlessly took his hand and keys locking the car her back flush with his front as her head lolled to the side giving him more access and he kissed , teeth scrapping the sensitive skin as she a mix between a moan and sigh escaped her lips . the moment she opened his front door he spun her to face him , large hands under her thighs, kicking door closed as she was pressed up against the wood . fire , passion , hungry ready to eat each other whole her hip rolling to quell the inferno that he was building between them.

" scratch that i'll show you the way" he rasped voice low making her breathe hitch and eyes blown in lust . maybe another time she would fight for dominance but this time she was submitting to anything he wanted of her and what he wanted was to take her apart and show her how a woman like her needed to be treated . lips down her neck feeling the scratch of his moustache she would never make fun of again as his hands on the hem of her top when she heard the rip and his hands sliding her ribs sliding around her back up her spin and in her hair pulling her closer if it was possible .

So lost in him that she didn't even notice she was in his room til he placed her ever so gently on his bed . sitting herself up on her knee soft hands pushing the hawaiian of his shoulder , her hands slipping under his vest feeling every nerve coming to life like it was solely under her control . leaning over her she felt so small compare to his sheer size which only added to the excitement that filled her from within .

his large hands coming to the clasp of her bra pulling it from her body throwing well he didn't know or care he had to stand back and admire the view her chest bare as she set prettily on his bed a place he would keep her forever if he could . he imagined this so many times he was alone with his cock and compared to reality it was nothing even close .

" fuck you are a dream come true" he rasped pulled his vest from his body . now it was her turn drool . she may of seen it before , admired for a second or through the lens of her sunglasses and yet now was different without obscurity in the way of such a view. Tanned muscled body that only a god could of took his sweet time carving to utter perfection . bradley bradshaw was beautiful inside and out so much so it would cause a nun to sin .

" fuck" both panting.

" god my mind didn't do you justice one bit" he growled leaning over her caging her like a hunter and his prey . his bare chest against her alone had him fighting the urge not to cum in his pants like a teenager. Leaning back up his hand went to top of her pants opening the button pulling them down with her thong , knuckles grazing her skin a blaze in it trail. His lips kissing the tops of her breast as his hands slide under her knee spreading her open as he pressed his bulge against her weeping cunt. Hands still trailing up her body , up her ribs and cupping her breast pushing them together as he took the stiff peak of her nipple in his mouth and the other between his finger tips.

" roo please" she begged fucking begged for him he could die a happy man from that alone.

" patience baby waited so long wanna burn this in to my memory" he groaned hand sliding down.

" god you are soaking for me baby you are a fucking dream come true let me show you the goddess you are , a goddess i would spent rest of my days worshipping" he rasp thick digits sliding through her glistening folds . she whine as he pulled them away only for her breath to hitch as he brought his finger to his mouth tasting her sweet nectar like it was essence of life itself.

" fuck i got a taster now i need the whole meal" he smirk licking and kissing sloppily down her body she never felt anything like it already driving in a lust filled madness before he touch her .

" i will warn you baby once i get a taste i may never stop" was all he said before he dove in . eating her out like it was his first and last meal all in one . every sound she made he wanted to record have it on repeat better than any song he's heard and yet he got her singing like it was a personal concert . his tongue lapped at her cunt as if it was only source of water in the desert the coil in her stomach winding tighter and tighter she honestly thought she was going to snap in half.

" oh fuck baby you would have jesus christ himself to come off the cross for a taste" he slipping a finger then two in her weeping hole playing her like his personal instrument .

" fuck fuck fuck rooo don't stop" she cried. head thrown back on the pillow as scream came out her throat as the coil wound so tight snapped in a toe curling pleasure that made her vision blur . he chuckled when she weakly pushed his head away . if she wasn't in such a blissed out horny state she would of blushed as her arousal coated his face yet instead everything was doing made her feel powerful , a confidence she never had building inside her . lips on her she moaned at the taste of herself on his lips as her hands undone the buttons of his letting her finger graze his painfully hard length going to push him up for a taste of her own.

" baby girl any other time i would be all for those lips on my cock but i need to be in that pussy pronto before i die of madness" his voice deep graveling as his thumb tugged her bottom lip .

" please roo" she whimper mouth cover his thumb as her tongue swirl around the digit before sucking it softly.

" tonight is about you baby" he smiled kissing her nose hand around his own length guiding it through her folds letting her slick coat him .

" i just need you" she admitted softly as leaned down hand on one side of her head and another guiding his cock to her weeping entrance

. " you have me you'll always have me" he moaned pushing inch by inch feeling the velvet walls tighten around him . " gate of paradise between these leg" he trusted slowly watching her plump lips form o shape.

" oh roo faster" she moaned. She never needed to ask twice not with him sitting himself up as he went faster , harder as her back arch his hand held her in place .fucking every feeling he's had all these year. Hitting spots she only ever read of. Every coherent thought in her mind leaving as she babbled in a pleasure filled daze his hand down her body til she felt his finger coming to her clit . she was losing her god damn mind in every good sense possible feeling it approaching.

" don't stop fuck roo dont stop i'm gonna.. ohhh roo " she cried as she the world crashed around her .she gushed around his length sending his own release following after . tear falling down his cheeks in post orgasm haze .

roo you ok" she panted eyes filled with concern although her own tears we soon approaching.

" fuck i love you so much" he kissed her more softer , gentle like he was afraid she would vanish in thin air.

" roo i have loved you since we were kids and it never gonna change anytime soon" she peck his cheek before his nose and then his lips . pulling out of her before he felt onto the bed beside her pulling her to his chest holding her in his arms like he's dreamed of so many times before.

" except i pulled your hair back then" he kissed her head both panting covered in a sheen of sweat.

" i wouldn't be opposed to it now just wait til i can feel my legs again roo you've ruin me" she giggled nuzzling her face in his neck as he groaned at her admission .

" good because i'm the only one you need i know its probably not the best timing but if i know anything time means nothing your it for me have me down since that day you gave me your ice cream cause i dropped mine" he lifted her face to his .

" i just want you" she smiled repeating her words earlier.

" you have me all of me" he smiled nose rubbing hers.

" good because big heart and big dick your stuck with me" she giggled only for him to laughed pounce on her again .

" now your mine" he peppered her face in kissing as her laugh fill his house.

He woke up smiling , he was laid in bed with the girl of his dream except it was real , he got the girl now wrapped in his arms like the greatest gift on the earth. He wanted to make their first morning perfect softly out of his bed throwing his boxer on ready to spoil his girl. Extra pep in his step as he strolled confidently into his kitchen , turning the radio on searching the presses and fridge and getting to work. Maybe he had too much or too little he never knew because he had no idea what he was doing but it was going to be perfect  even if he had no idea what he was doing . 

She stretched out feeling the emptiness of the bed wondering if she dreamed it all but the ache between her legs set reality right and his room coming to focus in her sleep induce view. She didn't get a chance to wonder where he was when the smell of burning hit her nose and string of incoherent curses travelled to his room. A giggle escaped her lips as she hopped out of the bed putting his hawaiian shirt amused at how much bigger it was on her to him . looking around the room to find her thong and padding down to see what the hell the burning was. Coughing and swiping the smoke she stood at the door way not noticed as he was busy cursing the pan .

" no shit stop burning ... fuck you need to perfect" he scolded only for the sweetest laugh hitting his ear making him turn and his jaw to drop .

" whatcha doing " she went on her tipping toes trying to get a glance .

" well i was trying to make my girl breakfast in bed but then a five course meal walk in the door" he purred sight of her in his shirt and his shirt alone sent him feral.

" move over big boy before you kill us both" she pushed him to the dinning table . watching in amazement as she moved easily around his kitchen so easily then groaning when she bent to reveal what was under his shirt.

" bradshaw , man we got a problem y/n not at home and we cant get .... Woah now i see why you like those shirt" jake rush in snapping him out of his trance. " phoenix found her" he called as the brunette ran in .

" oh thank god i was so ...OH MY GOD " she screamed.only for y/n to pull bradley in front of her

" its just our friends although bagman stop looking at my girls ass" he said when she let out a squeak.

" she still not ans..." .

" oh my god kill me now" . "We asked for help " jake shit eating grin was not helping  sitting at the kitchen island .

"hey mav" ,

" hey dad see i'm safe ... breakfast..anyone? " she squeaked pulling the shirt to cover her more.

" go get dress we need to have a talk .... Both of you" pete mitchell sigh as the worry was long gone as two rushed out the room.

"i'll have some breakfast" jake snorted only for nat to slap him. He definitely wasn't missing the show .

[whatitshouldvebeen]

(no idea if these even go through, first time pls be patient with me) i’ve been going through your blog for a few days and i am loooving it omg i love the way you write so much! i was wondering what you would think would go down when,

a victim using reader as bait to let the victim go

a victim hurting reader (mistook as a family member) or

A victim dragging reader out an exit to escape also (thinking she’s another person trapped there) please don’t feel like you have to answer all, (or even answer at all) you have your own life and you can make your own decisions in life :) 👋

A Dog's Loyalty

I wrote this as a combo of all three requests of yours!

Description: Ana tries to escape with you, but you don't want to leave

Warnings: blood, injury

"Oh my god, Leland, there's someone else in here!"

You looked up at her, your eyes wide. You were huddled in the corner of Johnny's shack, frozen in place. It had been months since you saw another person; you'd almost forgotten anyone but Johnny truly existed.

"Don't worry, hun, we'll get you out. My name is Ana, what's yours?" the young woman asked, working to untie the rope from around your ankle. She had the most beautiful tan skin, her dark hair matted with sweat but still cascading in pretty waves down to her shoulders. The guy she'd called Leland kept watch, peeking out of the cracked front door anxiously.

You hesitantly told her your name, and she smiled as she helped you up from the floor. "I think our friend Julie already unlocked the front gate. We just have to get there without getting caught."

Leland signaled that the coast was clear, sliding through the crack in the door. Ana waited for you to go, and you marveled at how easy it was to get through now. You'd been here so long you'd lost a lot of weight since the first time you'd been sneaking around trying to escape.

You're almost blinded by the light as you emerge on the other side. How long had it been since you'd been outside? You couldn't even remember. Months? A year? Longer?

Ana came out after you, and not long after the three of you heard a chainsaw revving. Ana pulled you into some tall grass while Leland ran away from the exit, drawing the attention of the man you'd heard Johnny refer to as "big boy," who yelled in outrage as he chased after him.

"Come on, now's our chance!" Ana said, grabbing your hand. You stumbled after her, not used to running after so long locked away.

"Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?"

The voice stopped you in your tracks, only a few feet from the gate. Ana looked at you incredulously and tried to pull you toward the gate.

"Come on! He's coming!!" She screamed, tugging at you. You stayed rooted in place, your ears burning.

"Be a good girl and stay right where you are." Johnny rounded the corner of the white picket fence, walking so slowly you probably could get away if you started running. But you didn't.

"Oh my god, you're one of them, aren't you?!" Ana accused, pulling your back against her chest. She took out a bone scrap and held it to your neck, her breathing erratic.

"Let me and Leland go, or I'll kill her!" Ana said, pressing the scrap against your neck and backing up toward the gate. You winced, but it wasn't anything new to have a sharp edge threaten your life.

Johnny stopped, his eyes narrowing.

"'Fraid I can't do that. Your friend is already in the basement being chopped up as we speak."

Ana swallowed harshly. "You piece of shit! You're lying!"

Johnny grinned. "Stick around fer dinner and I'll let you see him again, all dressed in some nice gravy ‘n chitlins."

Ana's tears fell on your shoulder as her back ran into the gate. Johnny stayed where he was, his fingers twitching at his side.

"Johnny," you whispered, trying not to move.

"Obviously, she wants to stay. Keep her," Ana said, shoving the gate open. She then took the bone scrap and jabbed it into your thigh, throwing you to the side.

You screamed as you fell to the ground, blood welling around the bone scrap. Johnny let out a feral growl before lunging, moving faster than you'd ever seen him move.

"Help me!" Ana screamed, running out onto the road. Johnny moved twice as fast, fueled by rage as he grabbed her around her midsection. He didn't hesitate before dragging his blade across her throat, her blood fanning out through the air and splattering on the road. He let her drop to the road, discarded, and you heard him run back through the gate.

He collected you in his arms, sitting on the dusty ground and holding you close.

"Are you okay baby?" He asked, gently stroking your hair from your face. He looked down at your leg and winced, the first time you've ever seen him queasy at the sight of an injury.

You nodded, though your face was pallid and your fingertips felt cold.

"I… need a bandaid…"

Johnny laughed and nodded. "I'll get ya one. Come on." He picked you up easily, cradling you against his chest. Instead of taking you to his shack, he brought you into Nancy's house for the first time. Once inside he laid you out on the dining room table, much like the meals they'd served over the years.

He rushed to the bathroom and brought back gauze.

"This is gonna hurt sugar. Here." He unbuckled his belt and put it between your teeth. "Bite down on this, alright?"

You nodded, and he smiled. "Good girl. One… two…" He then yanked the bone scrap from your thigh.

You wailed, more thick blood oozing out onto the table. Johnny poured alcohol over the wound, making the pain almost unbearable. He then, as quickly as he could, wrapped your leg in gauze. You felt your vision getting fuzzy as you began to fade. But then, Johnny leaned over the table, took his belt back, and kissed you.

Your heart instantly picked up, and your eyes focused on him as he pulled back, his cocked grin on his handsome face.

"You showed your loyalty today, sugar. I knew you were special." He kissed you again, and even though your arms were weak you still wrapped them around his neck. When he pulled back, he looked happier than you'd ever seen him.

"Welcome to the family."

[noblebynura]

Baby, what was that?

Pairing: (Tom Holland) Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: More than friends, less than lovers.

Genre & warnings: Angst to fluff, mention of blood

Word count: 2.1k | masterlist

You weren’t expecting much when Peter asked if you’d be his plus one to the Stark Industries charity gala in the middle of chem lab. You were pouring potassium iodide into a beaker while he was measuring the lead nitrate.

“It’s just some boring event. Fancy people. Probably tiny hors d’oeuvres,” he said casually, eyes locked to the measuring line. “But… it’d be nice if you came.”

You had said yes. Because you always said yes to him.

And tomorrow is Saturday. Your book club cancelled your weekly meeting suddenly yesterday. Nothing better to do.

And as you stood next to him now, dressed in something you hardly recognized yourself in, you couldn’t help but hope that maybe this was something. Maybe this was more because this is the biggest event he had asked you to be his plus one.

Then came the moment.

“Mr. Stark, this is my…uh, my friend.”

The word hit harder than it should have.

Just twist the knife, why wouldn't you? It had already been there the first time it happened.

Friend. The word was small. Insignificant. Yet the rush of emotions it brought you…

You smiled through it, because you were used to being quiet in the spaces that mattered most. This was no place for you to burst out at him. Or anytime really. How long can you take this?

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark," you said, voice steady, a bright smile on your face as you shook his hand firmly, “Peter admires you a lot.”

He shifted beside you.

Tony cocked his head. "Friend, huh?" eyes amused behind his coloured glasses.

Peter’s laugh was awkward, and Tony’s smirk was knowing. Too knowing.

Bruce offered you a warm handshake and asked a few polite questions. But your mind drifted. Your smile grew thinner with every introduction.

‘Friend.’

You’d sat beside him on rooftops, knee to knee, eating late night takeout while patching up wounds he didn’t let anyone else see. You’d woken up beside him on that same couch in his apartment, legs tangled after movie nights that turned into mornings.

Some photos are on May's phone. She showed it to the both of you during breakfast to which, both of you groaned. But it made your heart flutter.

He’d held you when you cried, and you held his hand until his shaking stopped after things with his secret life went sideways.

Friends didn’t look at each other the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

Friends didn’t memorize the curve of each other’s hands that you held bloodied or scrapped.

But tonight, you stayed quiet. Because this wasn’t the place. Because maybe, maybe it was nothing. Maybe he didn’t feel it the way you did.

Still, his hand never left the small of your back. And when you laughed too brightly at something Sam said, Peter’s fingers curled tighter against your waist, subtle but there.

Your heart fluttered again, and twisted.

Because he was saying one thing and doing another.

He leaned down at one point, his lips close to your ear, and brushed a stray strand of hair behind it. “Sorry about earlier,” he murmured. “You look… amazing by the way.”

You gave him a small smile but said nothing.

Later, at the bar, a man in a suit, probably someone’s assistant or overconfident nephew, offered to buy you a drink.

“This pretty little lady isn't all by herself isn't she?” An elbow propped onto the counter as he angled the spinning stool towards you. A too bright smile on his face, teeth showing.

You thought to yourself, scanning his stature before deciding, why not?

His compliments were easy and charming, and you smiled politely, trying to keep it friendly. That was all it was.

Was it?

You held in the feeling to turn your head because you knew he was watching.

And he did. Peter was watching you.

Will, the name of the guy who’s leaning into your personal space now, asked you “You know… after this, my friends and I have this private party we're going to. And I… I was wondering if you… if you want to come?”

Even when his eyes weren't on you, his ears were. Super spider sensing of his heard that proposal. You wouldn't agree, right? You were with him for tonight.

Also, he knew you were not that kind of person.

Right?

There was a beat of silence. Then you answered.

Or tried to. The word never left your mouth.

He appeared at your side within seconds.

"Hey," he said, placing a hand lightly on your lower back. “I was looking for you. Are you okay? ”

"Yeah. All good," you replied, surprised by the shift in his tone.

Will raised his hands. “Peter? You were the one who left her here?.”

Peter gave a tight smile. “I did not.”

Oh, so they knew each other.

He would argue that he was networking to save himself from looking like an asshole to you but chose not to make a scene.

“Come on,” He hooked his arm to your elbow and tugged you off from the chair and led you away from him.

You turned toward him, wanting to say something, to ask something, but he was already looking elsewhere, leading you as far away from whoever was bothering him while hiding whatever storm was brewing in his chest.

And you realized then that he was just as unsure. Just as afraid.

Because love, when unspoken, turns into tension. A rubber band pulled too tight, threads fraying little by little until it can bear no more. The kind that curls in your lungs like smoke and sits heavy in your throat. It made your heart ache. Not in heartbreak, but in restraint.

Throughout the night, Peter continued to do things that confused you. The little touches, small smiles, brushing invisible lint from your shoulder, reaching for your hand before pulling away.

Everything about him said more. Everything except his words.

You laughed when Sam nudged Bucky and whispered, “Just friends, huh?” loud enough for Peter to hear.

Peter’s ears turned red.

He glanced at you.

You sipped your drink. Pretended you didn't hear.

And you wondered how long you’d keep pretending that your heart wasn’t already his.

Maybe you need to stop wearing long sleeves for him to see where your heart is.

ִ ࣪𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ

The city blurred by the cab window as Peter sat beside you, unusually quiet. The soft glow of passing traffic danced across his face, painting him in flickers of gold and shadow. Your hands were folded in your lap, your fingers nervously tracing invisible patterns out of habit.

Neither of you said much on the way back. The silence wasn't awkward. It was heavy. Like both of you were sitting on the edge of something but refusing to lean forward. Falling into the unknown instead of tethering on the edge.

By the time you reached your house’s front porch, your heels were dangling from your fingertips and his tie was already loosened.

He walked you to your door, offered you a gentle smile, “Thanks for coming with me tonight.” You had nodded, still confused, still spinning with thoughts you weren’t ready to untangle.

“I'll… see you soon then.” The silence stretched for a bit, “Good night,” He said your name like it weighed something. There was supposed to be a continuation to his sentence but it dissolved at the tip of his tongue.

“Night, Peter.” Was all you managed after an emotionally eventful day.

ִ ࣪𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ

You hadn’t heard from Peter all day.

You thought maybe he’d text. Maybe say something. He didn’t.

So you spent your Sunday curled in your room, wrapped in the warmth of a soft sweater and the distraction of a book you didn’t really read.

The words blurred. Your mind wandered. Replaying every look. Every touch. Every time his hand had settled at the small of your back like it belonged there.

He had called you his friend.

But friends didn’t look at each other like that. Friends didn’t get jealous. Friends didn’t make your heart race like it was trying to sprint out of your chest.

How long has this been going? Two summers ago? This one will make it three.

How pathetic. Maybe it was just all in your head.

And he wasn't actually into you.

That would hurt more.

You ate dinner with your family, quiet. Smiled where you needed to. And went back to your room. Book in hand. Still thinking of him. Always him.

You don’t remember falling asleep. Just the weight of the pages on your chest, the hum of the ceiling fan, and the ache of something left unsaid.

Until—tap tap tap.

You stirred slowly, blinking awake to the dim light of your bedside lamp and the sound again—tap tap.

You sat up. Heart jumping a little.

There he was.

Peter. At your window.

Were you dreaming again?

His hoodie was soaked from the drizzle outside. A cut sat just below his brow, blood still fresh. He looked like he hadn’t slept either.

You rushed to unlock the window. Concern lacing your voice, “Peter? Are you okay?”

“Hi,” he said, voice low. He tried to smile but it turned into a wince, “Sorry— I didn’t want to wake you but…”

“I wasn’t really sleeping,” you lied, pulling him in gently. “Come in. Sit down.”

He dropped his bag by the wall and sat on the edge of your bed as you grabbed your little first-aid kit from the drawer. You'd have to change your sheets later but ignored it.

A perfect routine took over your muscles as you kneeled in front of him, you gently cleaned the wound with practised hands.

His eyes never left your face.

“I’m fine, really,” he murmured.

You didn’t answer, too focused on the cut. But you felt the silence between you tighten. It's the rubber band again. Pulled too far.

“You could’ve called,” you finally said, barely above a whisper. “Yesterday. Today.”

“I know.” He sounded… guilty. “I wanted to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

He exhaled. “I didn’t know what to say.”

You looked up at him now. “So you decided to show up bleeding on my window instead?”

He cracked a small smile. “Seemed like the easier option.”

You didn’t smile back.

And that’s when his expression changed. “Hey,” he said gently, hands flexing in his lap. He didn't know if he was allowed to touch you right now, “What is it?”

You swallowed, sitting back a little, still on the floor.

“I want to know what we’re doing,” you admitted.

The last thread of elasticity finally snapped.

Peter went still.

“I know how I feel,” you said, finally, “but I don’t know if it’s just me. Last night, at the gala… it hurt, Peter,” You face fell towards the bloodied cloth in your hand, and the cotton in the other, “You introduced me as your friend, and then spent the whole night holding me like I was something more. Like I was yours.”

His throat bobbed. “You are. Mine.”

“Then why didn’t you say it?” You looked up at him, head tilted in confusion. “You never said anything.”

“Because I was scared,” he said, no hesitation now. “Because… because I didn’t want to push you into something… into something you weren’t ready for.” He held your eye contact, “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Your eyes stung.

“I didn’t want to ask too much,” he continued, “so I asked for nothing. But I wanted to give you everything.”

You blinked back the tears.

Peter leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. The hands that were fidgeting in his lap now wound its way around your waist. Like it did the night at the gala. And the many times before that. But now he gripped you with purpose. Like he didn't want you to fall from his fingertips.

“I don’t know what we are,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to mess this up by saying the wrong thing or stepping over a line.”

You meet his eyes. “But you want this?”

He swallows hard. “I want you. Every version of this. The friendship, the late nights, you patching me up.” Your eyes glanced at the cut, “The hard ones. I just…I didn’t know if you wanted it too.”

You nod slowly, breath catching in your throat. “I do.”

Peter shifted, “Then... what are we?”

You smile faintly, heart thudding. “I don’t know. Something.”

He grins. “Something sounds good.”

And when he leans in, when he kisses you, it was soft, tentative, like he’s still asking permission.

You gave it with your arms looping around his neck.

Every piece of you says yes.

And this time, when morning comes, your heart wasn't on your sleeve anymore. It was in the hands of Peter Parker when he held you under him that night.