#Keen Transport

[keentransport]

Trucking Company in Winnipeg

Are you in search of the best trucking company in Winnipeg? Look no further! In this comprehensive guide, we will walk you through everything you need to know to make the right choice. Whether you need trucking services for local or long-distance transportation, finding a reliable and reputable company is crucial for the success of your business.

With so many trucking companies in Winnipeg to choose from, it can be overwhelming to make a decision. That’s why we’ve done the research for you and compiled all the essential factors to consider. From their experience and track record to their fleet size and services offered, we’ve covered it all.

We understand that efficiency and affordability are key when it comes to transportation logistics. That’s why we’ll discuss the cost factors to consider and the importance of high-quality customer service. Additionally, we’ll provide tips on how to verify the company’s credentials and the benefits of reading customer reviews.

Don’t waste any more time or effort on unreliable trucking services. Let this guide be your ultimate resource in choosing the best trucking company in Winnipeg.

Factors to Consider When Choosing a Trucking Company

When it comes to choosing the best trucking company in Winnipeg, there are several factors to consider. These factors will help you evaluate the different options available and make an informed decision. Here are some key factors to keep in mind:

Experience and Track Record:It’s important to choose a trucking company that has a proven track record of success. Look for companies that have been in the industry for several years and have a good reputation for delivering goods on time and in good condition.

Services Offered: Consider the specific services offered by the trucking companies you are considering. Do they specialize in local transportation or long-distance hauling? Do they offer specialized services for specific industries, such as refrigerated transport for perishable goods? Make sure the company’s services align with your business needs.

Fleet Size and Equipment: The size and condition of a trucking company’s fleet can impact their ability to meet your transportation needs. A larger fleet may indicate better availability and flexibility. Additionally, consider the type and condition of their equipment to ensure it meets your requirements.

Pricing Structure and Rates: Cost is an important factor in choosing a trucking company. Compare the pricing structures and rates of different companies to find the best value for your money. However, be cautious of extremely low prices as they may indicate subpar service quality.

Licensing and Insurance: It’s crucial to ensure that the trucking company you choose is properly licensed and insured. Verify their licenses and certifications to ensure compliance with industry regulations. Additionally, check if they have adequate insurance coverage to protect your cargo in case of any accidents or damages.

Types of Trucking Services Offered in Winnipeg

In Winnipeg, there are various types of trucking services offered to cater to different transportation needs. Understanding these services will help you choose the right trucking company for your specific requirements. Here are some common types of trucking services available in Winnipeg:

Local Transportation: Local trucking services are ideal for businesses that need to transport goods within the city or nearby areas. These services are often used for same-day or next-day deliveries, providing quick and efficient transportation solutions.

Long-Distance Hauling: If you require transportation services for goods that need to be delivered across provinces or even to the United States, long-distance hauling is the right choice. These trucking companies specialize in transporting goods over long distances, ensuring timely and safe delivery.

Refrigerated Transport: For businesses dealing with perishable goods, such as food or pharmaceuticals, refrigerated transport is essential. These trucks are equipped with temperature-controlled units to maintain the freshness and integrity of the cargo throughout the journey.

Specialized Transport: Some trucking companies offer specialized transport services for oversized or heavy cargo. This includes transporting machinery, construction equipment, or other large items that require specialized handling and equipment. By understanding the different types of trucking services available, you can select a company that aligns with your specific transportation needs.

Researching and Shortlisting Potential Trucking Companies

Now that you know the factors to consider and the types of trucking services available, it’s time to start researching and shortlisting potential trucking companies in Winnipeg. This step is crucial in finding reliable and reputable companies that meet your requirements. Here’s how to go about it:

Online Research: Begin by conducting online research to identify trucking companies in Winnipeg. Look for companies with a strong online presence and well-designed websites. This can be an indicator of their professionalism and commitment to their business.

Industry Recommendations: Reach out to others in your industry who have used trucking services in Winnipeg. Ask for recommendations and feedback on their experiences with different companies. This firsthand information can be valuable in making your decision.

Check Online Directories: Utilize online directories or industry-specific websites to find a list of trucking companies in Winnipeg. These directories often provide details about the company’s services, contact information, and customer reviews.

Ask for Quotes: Contact the shortlisted companies and request quotes for your specific transportation needs. This will give you an idea of their pricing and help you compare the costs of different companies. By conducting thorough research and shortlisting potential trucking companies, you are one step closer to finding the best trucking company in Winnipeg for your business.

Evaluating the Reputation and Experience of Trucking Companies

When it comes to choosing a trucking company, reputation and experience play a crucial role. You want to work with a company that has a proven track record of delivering goods safely and on time. Here are some steps to evaluate the reputation and experience of trucking companies in Winnipeg:

Online Reviews and Testimonials: Read online reviews and testimonials from previous customers. Look for patterns in the feedback, paying attention to comments about service quality, reliability, and professionalism. Keep in mind that a few negative reviews are normal, but if there are consistent complaints, it may be a red flag.

Industry Associations and Certifications: Check if the trucking company is a member of industry associations or has relevant certifications. These affiliations indicate their commitment to meeting industry standards and best practices.

Ask for References: Don’t hesitate to ask the trucking companies for references from their previous clients. Contact these references to inquire about their experience working with the company. This direct feedback can provide valuable insights into the company’s reputation and customer satisfaction.

Track Record and Experience: Consider the company’s track record and experience in the industry. Look for companies with a long history of successful operations and a proven ability to handle various types of cargo. By evaluating the reputation and experience of trucking companies, you can narrow down your options to those that have a solid foundation in the industry.

Assessing the Fleet and Equipment of Trucking Companies

The fleet and equipment of a trucking company are crucial factors to consider when making your final decision. You want to ensure that the company has the necessary resources to handle your specific transportation needs. Here’s how to assess the fleet and equipment of trucking companies in Winnipeg:

Fleet Size and Availability: Consider the size of the company’s fleet and their availability to meet your transportation requirements. A larger fleet may indicate better availability and flexibility in accommodating your needs.

Condition of Vehicles: Assess the condition of the trucks and trailers used by the company. Well-maintained vehicles indicate that the company takes pride in their operations and prioritizes the safety of your cargo.

Specialized Equipment: If you have specific requirements, such as refrigerated transport or specialized handling for oversized cargo, ensure that the company has the necessary equipment to meet your needs.

Maintenance and Safety: Inquire about the company’s maintenance and safety protocols. Ask about their regular inspection schedules and safety measures to ensure that your cargo will be handled with the utmost care. By assessing the fleet and equipment of trucking companies, you can choose a company that has the resources and capabilities to transport your goods safely and efficiently.

Understanding the Pricing Structure and Rates of Trucking Services

Pricing is an important consideration when choosing a trucking company. While you want to find affordable rates, it’s also crucial to consider the value you will receive for your money. Here’s how to understand the pricing structure and rates of trucking services:

Transparent Pricing: Look for companies that provide transparent pricing information. They should clearly outline the cost factors involved, such as distance, weight, and any additional services required.

Compare Quotes: Request quotes from multiple trucking companies and compare them. Pay attention to the inclusions and exclusions in the quotes to ensure you are comparing similar services.

Value for Money: Consider the overall value you will receive for the quoted price. Evaluate the company’s reputation, experience, and service quality in relation to their rates. Remember that the cheapest option may not always provide the best value.

Additional Fees: Inquire about any additional fees that may be applicable, such as fuel surcharges, toll fees, or overnight stay charges. Understanding these potential costs will help you make an accurate cost comparison. By understanding the pricing structure and rates of trucking services, you can select a company that offers a fair balance between cost and quality.

Checking for Proper Licensing and Insurance

When it comes to choosing a trucking company, it’s crucial to ensure that they have the proper licensing and insurance. This ensures compliance with industry regulations and provides protection for your cargo. Here’s how to check for proper licensing and insurance:

Licensing Verification: Verify the trucking company’s licensing by checking with the appropriate regulatory bodies. They should be able to provide you with their license numbers and any relevant certifications.

Insurance Coverage: Inquire about the company’s insurance coverage and ask for proof of insurance. Ensure that they have adequate coverage to protect your cargo against damages, theft, or accidents during transportation.

Bonding and Liability: Check if the company has bonding or liability coverage that can provide additional protection in case of any unforeseen incidents or losses. By checking for proper licensing and insurance, you can have peace of mind knowing that your cargo is in safe hands.

Reading Customer Reviews and Testimonials

Customer reviews and testimonials provide valuable insights into the quality of service provided by a trucking company. Take the time to read through these reviews to gauge the experiences of previous customers. Here’s why reading customer reviews is important:

Service Quality: Customer reviews can give you an idea of the company’s service quality, including their reliability, professionalism, and communication. Look for positive reviews that highlight these aspects.

Consistency: Consistent positive reviews indicate that the company consistently delivers good service. Conversely, consistent negative reviews may indicate ongoing issues that should be a cause for concern.

Red Flags: Pay attention to any red flags mentioned in the reviews, such as complaints about damaged cargo, missed deliveries, or poor customer service. These can help you identify potential problems with a company.

Overall Satisfaction: Consider the overall satisfaction level of previous customers. If the majority of reviews are positive, it’s a good sign that the company is reliable and trustworthy. By reading customer reviews and testimonials, you can gain valuable insights into the experiences of others and make an informed decision.

Making the Final Decision and Booking the Best Trucking Company in Winnipeg

After considering all the factors, evaluating reputations, assessing fleets and equipment, and reading customer reviews, it’s time to make your final decision and book the best trucking company in Winnipeg. Here’s a summary of the steps to take:

Compare Shortlisted Companies: Review all the information you have gathered about the shortlisted companies, including their reputation, experience, fleet size, equipment, pricing, licensing, insurance, and customer reviews.

Consider Your Requirements: Ensure that the chosen company aligns with your specific transportation needs, whether it’s local, long-distance, refrigerated, or specialized transport.

Contact the Chosen Company: Reach out to the chosen trucking company and discuss your requirements in detail. Clarify any questions or concerns you may have before making the final booking.

Confirm the Booking: Once you are satisfied with the company’s responses and feel confident in their ability to meet your needs, confirm the booking and provide any necessary details or documentation. By following these steps, you can make an informed decision and book the best trucking company in Winnipeg for your transportation needs.

In conclusion, choosing the best trucking company in Winnipeg requires careful consideration of various factors. From evaluating their reputation and experience to assessing their fleet and equipment, every aspect plays a role in ensuring a successful and efficient transportation service. By conducting thorough research, reading customer reviews, and comparing quotes, you can make an informed decision that aligns with your business requirements. Don’t settle for unreliable trucking services when you can find the best company to meet your needs. Let this guide be your ultimate resource in choosing the best trucking company in Winnipeg.

For further inquiries or to initiate discussions with potential candidates, please do not hesitate to contact us. Our dedicated team is readily available to address your questions and provide personalized assistance. We look forward to collaborating with you and facilitating seamless transportation solutions for your business at Keen Transport & Logistics

[impeccable-blogs]

Trucking Company in Winnipeg

Are you in search of the best trucking company in Winnipeg? Look no further! In this comprehensive guide, we will walk you through everything you need to know to make the right choice. Whether you need trucking services for local or long-distance transportation, finding a reliable and reputable company is crucial for the success of your business.

With so many trucking companies in Winnipeg to choose from, it can be overwhelming to make a decision. That’s why we’ve done the research for you and compiled all the essential factors to consider. From their experience and track record to their fleet size and services offered, we’ve covered it all.

We understand that efficiency and affordability are key when it comes to transportation logistics. That’s why we’ll discuss the cost factors to consider and the importance of high-quality customer service. Additionally, we’ll provide tips on how to verify the company’s credentials and the benefits of reading customer reviews.

Don’t waste any more time or effort on unreliable trucking services. Let this guide be your ultimate resource in choosing the best trucking company in Winnipeg.

[carcarrot]

do i really want to make individual drinks again

[r0ugesun]

running with the wolves

Beta read by my wife @moonstruksandco ( ˘ ³˘)˘ᵋ ˘ )♥

Synopsis: Cregan Stark, the formidable Lord of Winterfell, eagerly awaits the arrival of his new betrothed, y/n, who has bewitched him since childhood. As winter sets in, he hopes to transform their arranged marriage into a union of love. However, y/n arrives with her own doubts, unsure if she can return his deep affection. Will their marriage blossom into love, or remain a cold duty? Cregan is determined to show her that their bond can be more than just an obligation on their wedding night.

Warnings: 18+ slow burn, smut, arranged marriage, loss of virginity, p in v sex (unprotected), breeding kink, rough sex, oral sex(both f/m receiving) missionary, mating press, doggy style lots of cum (I think all stark men cum bucket loads)

8k+ words likes and reblogs are highly appreciated ෆ/⟳ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

(Authors note: omg hayy I don’t know that much about Yorkshire accents aside from ackley bridge so I’m sorry in advanced if it’s not right :>)

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

The wind howled through the ancient halls of Winterfell, carrying with it the biting chill of the northern winter. Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North, stood by the great hearth in the main hall, his keen grey eyes fixed on the entrance. The time had come for the arrival of his new betrothed, y/n, the most beautiful amongst house Tyrell.

From the moment he first saw her, Cregan had been captivated. Even as a young lad, her grace and elegance had set her apart. Now, as a grown woman, she was even more bewitching, and Cregan's heart swelled with a mix of anticipation and determination. He was resolved to turn their arranged marriage into a union of love.

As Cregan stood by the hearth, he watched the window, the snowflakes drifting lazily to the ground, a distant memory surfaced, warm and vivid against the icy present. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be transported back to a time when he was just a young lad of twelve, visiting Highgarden with his family.

He remembered the journey vividly, how different the South had seemed compared to the North. The air was warmer, the colors more vibrant. He had wandered through the lush gardens, marveling at the flowers and plants that couldn’t survive the harsh winters of Winterfell. It was in those gardens that he first saw her.

Y/n had been around his age, a vision of beauty even then. She sat on a stone bench, engrossed in a book, her expression serene and detached. Her hair, shining in the sunlight, cascaded down her shoulders, and her delicate features were framed by the backdrop of blooming flowers. She seemed almost like a fairytale princess, so enchanting that he could scarcely believe she was real.

Without even realizing it his feet began to move on their own, he was like a moth being drawn to the flame that was her. As he approached her, His heart pounded in his chest, an unfamiliar but exhilarating feeling. She glanced up briefly from her book as he neared, her eyes meeting his for just a moment before returning to her reading.

“H-Hello” he said, trying to muster as much confidence as he could. “What are yeh reading?”

She responded without looking up this time, her voice calm and distant. “Hmm a collection of poems” she replied. “Do you like poetry?”

Cregan, caught off guard, nodded. “Aye. Though I don’t read much of it.”

She patted the space beside her, still not lifting her gaze from the pages. “You can sit if you want.”

He sat down slowly, feeling a strange sense of destiny in that moment. She continued to read aloud, her voice weaving the words into a tapestry of emotion and beauty. He listened, captivated not by the poetry but by her otherworldliness her grace, and the way she brought the words to life. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, completely in star struck, while she remained indifferent, too engrossed in her book to notice his adoration.

That was the last time they spoke just a few exchange of words. The rest of his visit to Highgarden was spent with his father and training with Y/N’s brothers and learning the ways of a lord, much to his chagrin. But whenever he could, he would steal glances at her from a window while she read in the garden, and across from her at dinner, for which his mother often scolded him.

"Cregan, it's impolite to stare" his mother whispered sharply during dinner one evening, nudging his foot under the table.

He tore his eyes away from y/n, his cheeks burning and crimson red. "I weren’t starin’, Mother.”

“Yeh most certainly were” she replied, her tone firm. “It’s not appropriate. Focus on yer meal.”

“But she’s… she’s so…”

“Enchantin’?” his mother finished for him, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Aye, she is. But yeh must remember yer manners, lad. Staring is unbecoming of a young lord.”

Cregan sighed, casting one last, fleeting glance at y/n, who was still in her own little world not casting a single glance his way. “Aye, mother….”

Despite his mother’s admonitions, his fascination with Y/N only grew, even as she remained blissfully unaware of his admiration.

Cregan opened his eyes, the memory fading as the cold reality of Winterfell settled back in. He sighed, turning away from the window. Some things, he mused, never truly changed.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

In the dimly lit carriage, y/n huddled under the blankets, trying to stave off the biting cold that seemed to seep through the very fabric of her clothes. Her mother sat beside her, wrapped in her own covers and trying to offer some semblance of warmth and comfort. The carriage jolted over the rough, snow covered road, and every bump made her shiver more.

Her brothers, true to their duty, were outside braving the harsh northern winter with their horses, though y/n could scarcely imagine how they managed. She, however, had the luxury of being confined to the carriage, a prisoner of her own anxieties and fears.

The stories she’d heard about Cregan Stark haunted her thoughts. The gruff warden of the north with a claymore sword so heavy it was said to be the size of a small man. To her, the very idea of marrying such a man was nightmarish. She couldn't remember much about him from his family’s previous visit to Highgarden all those years ago, but the tales of his fierceness and the imposing aura of the North made her dread the moment she would finally meet him.

The carriage seemed to creak with the weight of her mother's discontent. Her mother’s complaints, murmured under her breath but audible enough for y/n to hear, were laced with disdain. “I cannot believe we’ve had to send our only daughter off to marry a Stark”

“Their way of life, covered in stinking animal pelts, living amongst brutes who value strength over grace. It’s hardly the life for a Tyrell.” She said with disgust.

Her father’s stern gaze flicked towards her mother, his patience evidently wearing thin. "We’ve discussed this, Eliza. The match is made, and it’s for the good of House Tyrell. Stop lamenting what cannot be undone."

To him, this marriage was merely a strategic move, a means to secure more power for Highgarden. His daughter's feelings were of no consequence, his focus was solely on the political gain.

“Do you have to be so callous?” her mother’s voice broke through the gloom. “She is our daughter.”

Her father’s gaze remained unyielding. “The alliance with the Starks is necessary for the gain of our house. Y/n is to be a dutiful wife to a powerful lord it’s what she was raised for, if she does her duty right she’ll bear him many children further securing our power”

As her father’s harsh words continued to echo in her ears, y/n’s anger flared. She straightened up, glaring at him . “If you wanted to gift Cregan a broodmare, you should’ve gotten him one of the whores you visit in the brothels” she spat out, her voice trembling with defiance.

mother’s gasp of shock was barely audible over the creaking of the carriage. Her father’s eyes were wild, a hot fury flashing in them. Before y/n could react, his hand shot out, delivering a hard, stinging slap across her face. The sharp force of it made her head snap to the side, and she recoiled, stunned by the sudden violence.

“How dare you!” her father’s voice roared with anger.

y/n’s mother was frozen, her hand going to her mouth in shock. She looked at her husband with a mixture of horror and helplessness. “Henry, please—”

“Be silent!” he snapped, cutting her off. “I will not tolerate such insolence!“

He turned his icy gaze back to y/n, his face a mask of unrelenting severity. “You are about to become the wife of a powerful man. you are fortunate that I secured this arrangement, otherwise you would just end up being Cregans whore in some brothel anyway.”

Y/n’s heart sank as she heard the finality in his cruel words. She knew better than to argue with him—his decisions were made with an iron will that left no room for dissent.

as the carriage continued its slow journey through the snow, y/n's thoughts were plagued with anxiety and uncertainty. The grandeur of Winterfell loomed ahead, and with it, the reality of her new life as Cregan Stark’s bride. She could only hope that, amidst the cold and the gruffness of her new home, she might find a way to endure this new chapter of her life.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

As Cregan stood by the hearth, still lost in his own thoughts, the door swung open with a crash and his friends burst in, laughter and shouts echoing through the great hall.

“Cregan, ye dog! Heard the news, did we!” Jorah boomed, striding up to him and clapping him on the back with such force it nearly sent him stumbling forward.

“Aye, lad, congratulations!” Gendry called out, raising his tankard high. “A Tyrell, no less! Must’ve done somethin’ right to be landin’ a lass like that.”

Cregan, smiling, shook his head as he tried to make sense of the sudden uproar. “Cheers, lads. Bit early for a celebratory drink, ain’t it?”

Bram, always one for a jest, stepped forward with a grin. “Well, Cregan, we heard she’s real beauty, fairest in all the Seven Kingdoms. Quite the catch for a dog like you. Ain’t right, really, a face like hers and a face like yours.”

Cregan raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. “Oh, is that so? And what about ye lot, then? All of ye been lookin’ in the mirror lately?”

The room erupted in laughter, and Bram waved a dismissive hand. “Aye, we might be a rough lot, but at least we ain’t got to worry ‘bout our faces bein’ compared to a rose.”

Robb, always quick with a quip, leaned in with a wink. “Might be true she’ll forget all ‘bout yer ugly mug once she gets a look at what’s really under yer tunic. you’ve got more to offer than just yer sorry looks.”

Cregan’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he laughed along, trying to maintain his composure. “Ah, so ye’re sayin’ it’s all in the size of me… character, is it?”

“Aye, that’s right!” Robb said with a grin. “Best thing about ye, Cregan, is that even if your face don’t make the cut, yer other qualities surely will.”

Cregan shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Well, if it’s me ‘other qualities’ that’ll win her over, then I reckon I’d best be makin’ sure she gets a good look at all of ‘em.”

Jorah slapped him on the back again, nearly sending him reeling. “Look at ye, all flustered! Never thought I’d see the day. Don’t worry, lad. What lass wouldn’t want a strong Northman?”

“Aye, just keep it down a bit, or you’ll have me blushing so hard I’ll be usin’ me face as a lantern” Cregan said, his grin widening.

The friends continued their banter, the atmosphere warm with camaraderie and laughter. As they raised their mugs in a final toast, Cregan felt a renewed sense of anticipation and affection for the future, no matter the teasing jabs from his mates.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

The room was alive with laughter and chatter as Cregan and his friends carried on with their banter. Jorah was in the middle of a lively tale from a recent hunt, while Robb and Gendry argued over the best way to handle a particularly stubborn horse.

The door creaked open, and in walked Lady Gilliane Glover and Lord Rickon Stark, their presence immediately silencing the room. Lady Gilliane, a woman of dignified grace, and Lord Rickon, tall and commanding, made their way over to their son.

“Cregan, me lad!” Lady Gilliane called out, her voice warm but authoritative. “Got a bit o’ news for ye.”

Cregan turned, a smile fading as he saw his parents. He stood, brushing his hands on his tunic. “Mother, Father, what brings ye here?”

Lord Rickon gave a nod, his face a mix of seriousness and pride. “Your brother spotted Y/N’s carriage on the road. They’ll be arrivin’ soon.”

The room quieted, the friends sensing the shift in the mood. Jorah nudged Cregan with a grin. “Looks like the real fun’s about to start, eh?”

Lady Gilliane gave a small, amused smile. “Aye, that’s right. Thought ye’d want to know. They’ll be here within the hour, so best be ready.”

Cregan’s heart raced, and he glanced at his friends, trying to mask his nerves. “Well, no time like the present, I suppose. Best get meself sorted.”

Lord Rickon placed a reassuring hand on Cregan’s shoulder. “Remember, lad, first impressions count. Show her what a proper Stark man ye are.”

“Aye, Father,” Cregan said, nodding. He turned to his friends with a determined look. “Ye lot best behave yerselves when she arrives. Don’t be givin’ her any more trouble than need be.”

The friends raised their mugs, grinning. “Aye, aye, Cregan! We’ll be on our best behavior,” Robb said, winking.

Lady Gilliane’s gaze softened as she looked at her son. “We’ll leave ye to it, then. Just remember, Cregan, she’ll be as nervous as ye, if not more. Show her the warmth of the North.”

As Lady Gilliane and Lord Rickon exited the hall, Cregan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The anticipation of meeting Y/N was building with every tick of the clock, and he knew the coming hours would be crucial.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

Y/n sat in the carriage, the stark contrast between the verdant landscapes of Highgarden and the harsh, icy expanse of Winterfell weighing heavily on her. The snow-clad scenery outside felt alien and unwelcoming compared to the lush greenery she had left behind. Each jolt of the carriage seemed to deepen her sense of displacement.

Her mother’s hand, warm and steady, was a source of comfort amid her growing anxiety. Y/N clung to it, drawing solace from its presence as she tried to quell her rising fears.

“We’re almost there, dear” her mother said softly, her voice a gentle balm against the cold atmosphere of the carriage. “Remember, we’re in this together.”

Y/n managed a small, appreciative smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, Mother. It’s just… it’s so different from home.”

Her father, ever the pillar of stoicism, was peering out the window, his gaze fixed on the approaching Winterfell.

The carriage began to slow, the crunch of snow under the wheels signaling their arrival. As they came to a stop, y/n could see her father alighting first, his figure steady and authoritative as he approached Lord Rickon Stark.

“Lord Rickon” her father said, stepping forward with a formal nod. “It is a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

Y/n and her mother remained in the carriage, the cold air seeping through the cracks in the doors. Her mother's hand squeezed hers gently, offering a fleeting moment of comfort in the face of her overwhelming anxiety.

"Mother" y/n whispered, her voice trembling. "What if I can't do this? I-I’m scared"

Her mother turned to her, eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. "Oh, my dear, I know it seems daunting. But you have a strength within you that you may not yet realize. You have always been resilient."

Tears welled up in y/n's eyes. "I feel so far from home. Everything here is so cold, so harsh."

Her mother reached up, brushing a tear from

y/n's cheek. "I know, darling. Highgarden's warmth and beauty are hard to leave behind. But you must remember, you have the ability to adapt and thrive. This place will feel like home in time."

Y/n nodded, trying to take comfort in her mother's words, but the knot in her stomach remained tight. "And what of Father? He seems so determined, but... he never cares for how I feel."

Her mother's expression darkened momentarily before she masked it with a gentle smile. "don't let him weigh you down. Focus on yourself and your own strength. You are here to build a new life, and I believe in you."

The carriage door opened, and the cold air rushed in, a stark reminder of the world awaiting her. Her father was already engaged in conversation with Lord Rickon Stark, their voices carrying a tone of formality and mutual respect.

"It's time" her mother said softly, giving y/n's hand one last reassuring squeeze. "Show them the grace and strength you possess. You are more than capable y/n."

With a deep breath, y/n steeled herself and stepped out of the carriage. The cold air bit at her skin, but she walked forward, her mother following closely behind.

Y/n's mother nudged her gently, drawing her attention away from the imposing figure of Lord Rickon. "Y/n, dear" she whispered, "Lord Cregan is approaching you."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she turned to see Cregan making his way towards her. He was even taller and more formidable than she remembered, his broad shoulders and strong build making him appear larger than life. She stiffened, her body tensing with apprehension.

Cregan's eyes, a deep and thoughtful blue, met hers as he stopped before her. He could see the trepidation in her gaze, the way her hands clutched the folds of her cloak. Despite the fear evident in her demeanor, she managed to muster a polite greeting.

"Lord Cregan" she said, her voice steady but tinged with a slight tremor. "It is an honor to be here."

Cregan offered a warm smile, though he felt a pang of hurt and self-consciousness at the sight of her fear. He noticed the redness around her eyes, the telltale signs that she had been crying. The realization made his heart ache—she was far from home, surrounded by strangers, and faced with the daunting prospect of marrying him, a man she barely remembered.

"Lady y/n" he responded, his voice gentle. "The honor is mine. Welcome to Winterfell."

Y/n nodded, her posture rigid. "Thank you, my lord."

He could see her struggling to maintain her composure, her attempts to be polite masking the underlying fear and uncertainty. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that she was safe here with him, but he knew his words might not carry much weight given the circumstances.

"Ye must be tired from yer journey" Cregan said, trying to ease the tension. "I hope the accommodations we’ve prepared for ye are to yer liking."

She glanced around, her eyes briefly meeting his before darting away. "I'm sure they will be, my lord. Thank you."

Cregan's heart softened at her evident discomfort. He could only imagine how overwhelming this experience must be for her—leaving the warmth and familiarity of Highgarden for the cold and formidable North, betrothed to an intimidating stranger.

"Please, if there is anything ye need, do not hesitate to ask," he added, his tone earnest. "I want ye to feel at home here."

Y/N nodded again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Lord Cregan."

As the formalities continued, Cregan remained by her side, acutely aware of her apprehension. He could see the way she shivered slightly in the cold, her delicate frame dwarfed by the heavy cloak she wore. The vulnerability in her eyes struck a chord within him, igniting a protective instinct he hadn’t anticipated.

He knew it would take time for her to adjust, to feel comfortable in this new and unfamiliar place. And while her fear and anxiety might hurt him, he understood the reasons behind them. She was far from home, thrust into a situation beyond her control, and he was determined to show her that she had nothing to fear.

As the crowd began to disperse, Cregan leaned in slightly, his voice low and sincere. "I hope ye will come to find Winterfell as welcoming as Highgarden, Lady y/n. We Northerners may seem cold, but we are loyal and true. Ye have my word on that."

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes searching his for a moment before she nodded, a hint of hope mingling with her fear. "…I will do my best."

He smiled softly, hoping to convey his sincerity. "And I will do my best to make this place a home for ye."

With that, they parted, y/n retreating to her quarters with her mother while Cregan watched her go, a mix of emotions churning within him. He was determined to prove himself to her, to show her that beneath his intimidating exterior lay a heart of gold capable of warmth and compassion.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

The day of the wedding arrived, casting a serene hush over Winterfell. The godswood was adorned for the occasion, the ancient weirwood standing sentinel over the ceremony, its pale bark and blood-red leaves seeming to echo the gravity of the moment.

In her chambers, y/n adjusted her maiden’s cloak for the final time. The rich green of House Tyrell’s sigil contrasted sharply with the snowy landscape visible through the window. Her father, though distant and stern, was prepared to escort her. As they approached the godswood, y/n’s heart pounded in her chest, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on her.

Her father’s expression was somber, but he offered her a curt nod, signaling it was time. Together, they walked through the snow, the crunching of their footsteps the only sound breaking the silence. The guests had gathered, their breaths visible in the chill air, and they fell into a hushed reverence as y/n and her father approached the heart tree.

Cregan waited beneath the weirwood, his eyes fixed on the approaching bride. As she neared, his breath caught slightly, a mixture of awe and anticipation in his gaze. The grandeur of y/n’s beauty was amplified by the solemnity of the godswood, her presence seeming almost ethereal in the fading light.

When they reached the base of the tree, Cregan’s voice rang out clearly, cutting through the stillness. “Who comes? Who comes before the gods?”

Y/n’s father’s voice was steady as he replied,

“Y/n of House Tyrell comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Cregan’s response was filled with a fervent resolve. “Me, Cregan of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell. I claim her. Who gives her?”

Y/n’s father turned to her, his voice formal but lacking warmth. “I, Henry of House Tyrell, her father, gives her.”

He then addressed y/n, his tone clipped. “Lady y/n, will you take this man?”

Y/n’s voice trembled slightly but was resolute. “I take this man.”

With the formalities completed, Cregan and y/n joined hands and knelt before the weirwood. They bowed their heads, submitting to the gods in silent prayer. The moment was charged with a profound intimacy, the ancient tree bearing witness to their vows.

After a few moments, Cregan gently removed

y/n’s maiden’s cloak, revealing the intricate embroidery of House Tyrell on her dress. With great care, he draped over her shoulders a new cloak—the sigil of House Stark now displayed proudly.

The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers ringing out as Cregan and y/n stood together. The ceremony was complete, the ancient bond of the godswood now symbolizing the beginning of their shared life.

As they walked back towards the castle, Cregan stole glances at y/n, his admiration and anticipation palpable. Despite the harshness of Winterfell’s climate and the gravity of their new life, the day had marked a hopeful new chapter for both of them.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

Y/n's heart pounded as Cregan guided her through the cold, imposing corridors of Winterfell. The castle's heavy stone walls seemed to close in on her, amplifying her sense of isolation. Cregan's presence beside her was both comforting and intimidating, she couldn’t shake the fear that gripped her heart.

They arrived at Cregan's chambers, where a warm fire crackled in the hearth, casting a soft, inviting glow. He gestured for her to enter first, and after a brief hesitation, she stepped inside.

"Please, make yerself comfortable," Cregan said, closing the door behind them. His northern accent was thick, adding a rugged charm to his words. "Would ye like somethin' to drink? A bit o' wine, mayhaps, to help ye warm up?"

Y/n nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, thank you."

Cregan poured a glass of wine and handed it to her, his gaze lingering on her as she took a small sip. He could see the tension in her posture and wanted to ease her fears, to show her that he was not the monster she imagined.

"Y/n," he began, his voice low and earnest, the thick accent wrapping each word in a soft embrace, "I know this must be overwhelmin'. I want ye to know that I understand yer fears, and I swear I’ll do everythin' in me power to make ye feel safe and cherished here."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. "Thank you, my lord," she said, her voice quivering. "I… I don't know what to expect."

Cregan took a step closer, his gaze filled with a yearning that spoke of deep emotion. "Ye can call me Cregan" he said, the warmth in his northern accent making his words even more poignant. "And I need ye to hear me now, for it’s somethin’ I’ve carried with me for years. From the moment I first beheld ye, me heart was forever altered."

Y/n's breath hitched, her eyes searching his face for the truth behind his words. Cregan's expression was tender, his gaze reflecting a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to bare his soul.

"I remember the first time I saw ye in the gardens of Highgarden," he said softly, his voice weaving a tapestry of emotion. "I was just a lad, new to the beauty of the south. Everythin’ around me was lush and vibrant, but when I saw ye, it was as if my world fell apart. Ye were like a vision of ethereal grace amidst the greenery. The flowers and the trees—they seemed mere shadows compared to ye. In that moment, it was clear that ye were the true beauty of the garden."

Y/n's eyes widened, and a flush of color spread across her cheeks. She could hardly breathe as she processed his confession. "Since then?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Cregan nodded, his gaze steady and full of longing. "Aye, since then. Ye were a beacon of light in me life, and that memory has lingered, burnin’ bright in me heart. I’ve longed to be near ye, not merely for the sake of duty, but because ye’ve ensnared my heart in a way no one else ever could."

Her heart fluttered wildly at his words, the warmth of the fire mingling with the warmth of his confession. She had always felt like a pawn in her father’s game, never imagining that someone like Cregan could see her so profoundly.

"I didn’t know" she said softly, her voice catching in her throat. "I thought... I thought you would be distant and cold."

Cregan's smile widened, his eyes soft with pure affection. "Aye the North may be cold, but my heart is only filled with warmth for ye. I want ye to see the real me, to know that I am here for ye with all that I am."

She looked into his eyes, seeing a depth of sincerity and yearning that shifted her perception. Perhaps this marriage could be more than a mere alliance. Maybe it could be the beginning of something profoundly beautiful.

"Thank you, Cregan…." she whispered, feeling a newfound sense of calm and hope. "I... I want to try."

Cregan’s smile was full of warmth and relief. "Tha’s all I ask, Y/n. We’ll take this one step at a time, together."

As they stood there, hand in hand, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, Y/n felt a spark of hope ignite in her heart, seeing Cregan in a new light.

Cregan's eyes never left Y/n's as he took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted this moment to be perfect, to reassure her of his intentions.

"Y/n" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "may I kiss ye?"

Y/n's breath hitched, her cheeks flushing scarlet. She hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes, Cregan. You may."

Cregan moved closer, his hand gently cupping her cheeks as he leaned in. He pressed his lips to hers in a soft tender, almost hesitant kiss, his touch gentle and reassuring. Y/n responded, her initial nervousness melting away as she felt the warmth and sincerity in his kiss.

When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort. Seeing none, he smiled softly. "Ye're so beautiful, Y/n."

She blushed again, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Cregan."

He took her hand, leading her to the bed. As they stood beside it, he gently picked her up, cradling her in his arms. Y/n gasped softly, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carried her. He laid her down on the bed with the utmost care, as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

Cregan's gaze remained locked on Y/n’s face, his eyes filled with a deep, reverent admiration. He lowered himself beside her on the bed, his hand still cupping her cheek. “I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “I can’t believe yer finally mine. My wife.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice. The way he looked at her made her feel cherished, his admiration lighting a fire within her. Her apprehension melted away as she reached up, cupping his face in return. “And I’m grateful to be yours, Cregan.”

Their lips met again, this time with more fervor. The kiss deepened as Cregan’s hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. Y/n’s hands roamed over his shoulders, pulling him into the kiss with equal intensity. The warmth of his touch, combined with the gentle urgency of their embrace, made her feel as if she was floating.

Cregan’s breath mingled with hers as he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers. “I’ve wanted this so much” he whispered. “I’ve wanted ye.”

Y/n’s eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the sincerity of his words. She felt a new, desperate longing surge within her, her body responding to his touch with an eagerness she hadn’t expected. “Please, Cregan” she breathed out, her voice trembling with emotion.

Their lips met again, each kiss more passionate than the last. The world outside seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in the moment, their breaths coming in sync as their yearning for each other deepened with every touch.

Cregan's kisses grew more intense, his touch transforming from gentle caresses to an urgent, burning desire. He pulled back just enough to look into Y/n's eyes, his own dark with passion. "I want to see all of ye, to feel ye" he said softly, his voice rough with need.

With deliberate care, he started to undress, his movements slow and deliberate. He tossed his cloak aside, revealing his strong muscular frame. Y/n's breath caught in her throat as she watched him, his hardened form visible through his small clothes, making her heart race with a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement.

Cregan's hands moved to his shirt, sliding it off with a practiced ease. His gaze remained locked on Y/n as he undressed, his eyes filled with a burning intensity. His hands lingered on the waistband of his smallclothes, his hardness evident and stirring a deep, aching longing within Y/n.

When he was finally freed his cock, Cregan approached Y/n with a tender but determined expression. He reached for her cloak, slipping it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. His fingers moved deftly to her dress, his touch gentle but purposeful as he began to unlace it.

The fabric fell away, revealing her bare chest to his gaze. Cregan's breath caught at the sight, his eyes roaming over her exposed skin with a mixture of reverence and desire.

"Ye're stunning," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "I want to cherish every part of ye."

Yn's skin tingled under his gaze, her heart pounding as she felt both exposed and cherished.

Cregan's hands continued their exploration, his touch both reverent and possessive. He leaned in to kiss her again, his lips trailing hot, desperate kisses across her neck and shoulders.

His hands roamed over her bare skin, his touch igniting a fierce desire within her. She gasped, her body arching into his touch, as he pressed her into the bed with a controlled but eager force. His kisses became more fervent, his hands gripping her waist as he explored her body with a possessive urgency.

"I've longed for this moment" Cregan said between kisses, his voice rough with need.

Yn responded with equal fervor, her hands gripping his shoulders as she kissed him back with a desperate passion. "Show me, Cregan" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

"Show me how much you want me."

The room was filled with the sounds of their mingled breaths and wet sloppy kisses as they lost themselves in the moment. Cregan's touch was a blend of tenderness and raw desire, each movement and kiss building a profound connection that left them both breathless and yearning for more.

As the kiss deepened, Cregan's touch grew more urgent, his hands roaming over Y/n's body with increasing desperation. His kisses, once tender and exploratory, became more demanding, his breaths ragged as he tried to control his growing desire. Yet, despite the intensity of their embrace, Cregan seemed to hold back, his movements tinged with an inner struggle to remain gentle.

Y/n could sense his restraint and the tension in his body. She was overwhelmed by the fire burning within her, her own desire driving her to push past his tentative touches.

"Cregan" she gasped between kisses, her voice trembling with need. "I want you. I want you to claim me fully."

Cregan's breath hitched, his eyes dark with a mix of surprise and longing. "Y/n... I-I don't want to hurt ye" he murmured, his voice strained as he tried to keep his composure, he promised himself that he would be gentle, only touching her as if she were made of the most delicate glass and now he’d already been more rough than he intended.

But Y/n's voice was resolute, her gaze fixed on him with a desperate intensity. "No, Cregan. I want you to make me yours completely.” She whined, but she saw the look on his eyes he wouldn’t relent unless she pushed him towards his breaking point. “I want you to fuck a baby into me. I need you ple—“

Cregan didn't let you finish. His lips crashed against yours in a kiss that ignited a wildfire within. He held your face tenderly yet firmly, his touch a lifeline as you clung to him, desperate for more. His tongue explored the depths of your mouth, tasting every inch with a hunger that bordered on feral.

The clash of your teeth, the fervor of your kiss, it was a battle, a dance of dominance that you were willing to lose.

Cregan's tongue delved deeper, drawing a breathless moan from you. His scent enveloped you, intoxicating and heady, making your knees buckle with longing. It was as if the tether to your senses was fraying, leaving you to melt into a molten pool beneath his commanding presence.

The heat coursing through your body was a familiar sensation, yet it had never burned this intensely. It surged through you, tightening your nipples and pooling between your thighs, setting every nerve aflame.

Lost in the haze of his searing kisses, you scarcely noticed when he eased your back farther onto the bed, his body a solid, protective weight above you. Your eyes met, a silent conflagration passing between you, before he claimed your lips again with a gentler fervor, the same intensity simmering beneath the surface.

"Do you truly want this? With me?" Cregan's voice was a hushed murmur against your lips, a plea and a promise intertwined.

"Yes, husband" you breathed, the words a vow of your own.

His lips brushed your ear, his breath a tantalizing whisper that sent shivers cascading down your spine. "I am going to make love to ye now."

Your nipples hardened at his words, a raw moan of anticipation escaping your lips as he took in your form, the vulnerable softness of your skin a feast for his hungry gaze.

Cregan lowered his head, his lips tracing a path of fire down your neck, over your collarbone, each kiss a desperate silent vow. His hands followed, exploring, caressing, leaving no inch of you untouched.

"Yer exquisite" he murmured, his voice a reverent whisper against your skin. His touch was a balance of possession and adoration, a worship that left you breathless.

The cool air kissed your overheated skin as he continued to explore you, Every touch, every kiss, was a symphony of sensations, a crescendo of passion that left you aching for more.

his eyes drinking in the sight of you, slowly consumed with lust for him, with a reverence that made your heart stutter. "My wife" he whispered, the words a sacred incantation.

Cregan leaned in, capturing your lips once more in a kiss that was both fierce and possessive. His hands roamed your body with a fervent curiosity, memorizing every curve, every dip, leaving a trail of molten fire in their wake.

Your body responded to him, arching into his touch, a silent plea for more.

His kisses grew more insistent, his touch more demanding, as he made his way down your body. He worshipped you with every kiss, every caress, until you were trembling with need beneath him.

"Cregan," you breathed, your voice a soft plea.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense. "I'm here, Y/n" he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. "I'm here."

Cregan's gaze was fixed on your taut, aching nipples. He wasted no time, his heated mouth enveloping one of your tight, sensitive peaks. You gasped as your back arched in response, the initial shock of his touch quickly melting into a rhythm of pleasure.

Each time his cheeks hollowed as he suckled, your gasps turned to desperate pants, while his fingers teased the other abandoned nipple, pulling and twisting it gently.

Cregan's mouth pulling harder on your nipple, his tongue lavishing attention on the delicate bud. Every flick of his tongue sent waves of sensation through you, stirring a throbbing need between your legs.

The pulsing ache demanded more, and your hand, almost involuntarily, slipped between your thighs. The damp evidence of your desire left you breathless and mortified.

"Show me yer hand" Cregan's voice rumbled, his tone firm.

"It's... it's embarrassing-"

Without hesitation, Cregan parted your thighs and deftly removed your small clothes, leaving you exposed before him. His gaze settled on your glistening core, and a satisfied smile tugged at his lips.

"C-cregan!"

"Y/n" he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of adoration and hunger.

"Ye've got the prettiest little cunt."

his words made your entire face burn and turn a dark crimson. The raw honesty in his voice left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

“D-don’t look so closely!”

Without wasting another moment, he lowered his head between your thighs, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh.

your body trembling with need. When his tongue finally made contact, a moan escaped your lips, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

Cregan's tongue moved with practiced skill, each stroke and flick sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His lips latched onto your clit, sucking gently before releasing it with a soft pop, only to dive back in with renewed fervor.

The lewd slurping sounds filled the room, mixing with your breathless moans and the crackling of the fire.

Your thighs quivered, the sensation of his mouth on you pushing you closer to the edge. "Cregan" you gasped loudly, your voice shaking. "Please, don't stop."

He didn't need to be told twice. His tongue delved deeper, exploring every inch of your soaking wet cunt, his fingers joining in to tease and caress. The combined sensations were overwhelming, your body arching off the bed as you rode the waves of pleasure.

When you finally came, it was with a cry of his name, your body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through you. Cregan didn't relent though, his tongue continuing its relentless assault, lapping up your juices with a moan, prolonging your climax until you were a trembling, breathless mess.

Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening with your arousal, his eyes dark with desire.

He moved up your body, his hands bracing on either side of your head as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, the intimate act deepening the connection between you.

But it still wasn’t enough for you, gathering your courage, you whispered, "Cregan?"

His eyes opened, soft and warm as they met yours. "Aye, love?"

You bit your lip, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks. "Can I... can I touch you?"

A spark of interest flared in his eyes, and he propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you. "Touch me? Where?" He said teasingly.

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to where his cock lay, painfully hard and twitching. "There" you whined softly, reaching out tentatively.

Cregan's lips curved upwards. "Aye, love. Ye can touch me."

Your hand wrapped around his shaft, the heat of him searing your palm. You marveled at the feel of his skin, so smooth and yet so firm beneath your touch. Cregan's breath hitched, his muscles tensing as you explored him.

"Like this?" you asked, looking up at him for guidance.

He nodded, his voice rough with restraint.

"Aye, just like that. A bit firmer, love."

You tightened your grip slightly, your hand moving up and down his length in slow, deliberate strokes. The sight of him, so vulnerable and exposed, filled you with a heady sense of power and intimacy.

Cregan's hand covered yours, guiding your movements. "Tha's it, love. Yer doin' so well" he moaned, his voice laced with praise and pleasure.

As you continued to stroke him, you noticed a bead of precum forming at the tip. The sight of it, glistening and inviting, sparked a boldness within you. You couldn’t help yourself, you leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick it away. Cregan groaned loudly, his hips bucking

involuntarily at the sensation.

"Fuck! Y/n" he gasped, his hand tightening around yours.

"Do that again."

You obliged, your tongue swirling around the thick head of his cock, tasting the salty essence of him. The act felt both daring and incredibly arousing, each lick eliciting a new sound of pleasure from Cregan.

Encouraged by his response, you took him deeper into your mouth, your lips closing around his shaft as you began to bob your head.

You were still unaccustomed to his size though, what you couldn’t fit in your mouth you stroked with your hand.

Cregan's hand tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you pleasured him.

"Ye're so fuckin’ good to me, love" he groaned, his voice thick with need. "So perfect."

The praise spurred you on, your pace quickening as you took him deeper, your hand stroking the base of his cock in time with your movements. Cregan's breaths grew ragged, his body tense with the effort to hold back.

When he finally came, it was with a guttural moan, his release bursting in your mouth.

You swallowed eagerly, wanting to take all of him, to show him the same pleasure he had given you.

As you pulled back, you looked up at him, your eyes wide and full of adoration.

Cregan's chest heaved, his eyes glazed with satisfaction as he pulled you into his arms, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

But the night was far from over and the hunger in his eyes told you he was far from satisfied. You felt a renewed wave of desire wash over you, your body eager for more of him.

"Are ye ready for more, love?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. His hand trailed down your body, caressing your breasts and waist, finally coming to rest between your legs.

His fingers teased your wetness, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "Yer so wet for me."

You nodded, your breath hitching as he continued to stroke you. "Yes, Cregan. I want you. I want you to take me."

His eyes darkened with a primal need, and he positioned himself between your legs, spreading them wide. "I'll be gentle at first, love," he promised, guiding his cock to your entrance.

"But I won't be able to hold back for long."

You felt the tip of his cock pressing against you, and your heart raced with anticipation.

He pushed forward slowly, entering you with a smooth, deliberate motion. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and painful sting as he stretched you to accommodate his large size.

Cregan's eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with love and desire. "Yer so tight, love. So perfect" he groaned, pushing deeper until he was fully seated inside you.

The feeling of being completely filled by him was indescribable, a blend of fullness and heat that made you gasp. "Cregan," you moaned, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

He began to move, his thrusts slow and gentle at first, allowing you to adjust to the sensation. But as your moans grew louder and your hips began to move in time with his, his restraint faltered. His pace quickened, each thrust deeper and harder than the last.

"You feel so good, Y/n," he growled, his voice rough with need. "I can't hold back any longer."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he pounded into you.

The force of his thrusts drove you higher, making the bed hit the walls roughly, a testament to how greedily he was fucking into you.

Cregan shifted his position, lifting your legs higher and pressing them against your chest. The new angle allowed him to penetrate you even deeper, and you screamed his name as he took you harder.

"That's it, love. Take all of my cock," he urged, his eyes locked on your face, watching your every reaction.

The pressure built within you, the pleasure mounting to an unbearable peak. With a final, powerful thrust, you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Your body convulsed around him, gripping his cock as he continued to drive into you.

Cregan was relentless, his own release building. He flipped you onto your stomach, pulling you onto your hands and knees. He entered you from behind, his hands gripping your hips as he pounded into you with abandon.

"Fuck, Y/n" he groaned, his voice a rough whisper. "I'm gonna fill ye up. Every last drop."

Cregan's movements became more erratic as he neared his release, his breathing heavy and labored. You could feel the tension building within him, every muscle in his body coiling tighter and tighter. His thrusts grew deeper, more powerful, and you knew he was close.

With a final, powerful thrust, Cregan's hips stilled, pressing deep inside you. His entire body tensed, and he let out a loud, guttural groan, his face contorted in pleasure. You could feel the hot rush of his cum filling you, pulse after pulse, more than you had ever imagined. The sheer volume of it overwhelmed you, a torrent of heat flooding your insides.

"Fuck, Y/n," he groaned, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Take all of it. Every last drop."

He held himself inside you for a moment longer, his cock throbbing with each spurt of cum. Then, slowly, he began to pull out, the sensation almost too much to bear. As he withdrew, you felt a gush of his cum ooze out of you, warm and thick.

Cregan watched, mesmerized, as his release leaked from your entrance. The sight seemed to ignite something primal in him, and he quickly brought his fingers to your dripping core. He gently pushed two fingers inside you, making sure to plug the flow.

"Can't let it go to waste" he murmured, his voice a mix of possessiveness and tenderness. "Want every drop to stay inside ye."

His fingers moved within you, ensuring his cum was thoroughly spread.

You felt another wave of pleasure as he gently massaged your sensitive walls, the sensation of being so full and claimed by him overwhelming you. Cregan leaned down, kissing the small of your back, his breath warm against your skin. "Yer mine, Y/n. All mine," he whispered, his fingers still inside you, holding his seed in place.

You lay there, breathless and trembling, feeling utterly claimed and cherished by him.

Cregan slowly withdrew his fingers, ensuring that every drop of his cum remained inside you. He gently flipped you onto your back, his eyes filled with an intensity that made your heart race.

As he settled beside you, his strong arms wrapped around your body, pulling you close. His warmth enveloped you, a comforting contrast to the cool air of the room.

He pressed his lips to your forehead, a tender kiss that lingered. Then, he moved to your cheeks, planting soft, loving kisses on each one. His lips brushed your nose, and then he found your lips, kissing you with a gentleness that was almost reverent.

"Y/n" he murmured between kisses, his voice filled with emotion. "I'm so glad ye're mine."

You felt a swell of affection in your chest, the sweetness of his words and the tenderness of his touch filling you with a profound sense of belonging. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as he continued to kiss you.

Cregan's kisses were endless, each one a declaration of his love and devotion. He kissed your eyelids, your temples, your jawline, and your chin, his lips exploring every inch of your face with a loving intensity that made you feel cherished beyond measure.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "So perfect. I want to spend every moment of our lives together, showing ye how much I adore ye."

He held you tighter, his hands stroking your hair, your back, your sides. His touch was soothing, a balm to your still-racing heart.

The rough, demanding lover from moments ago was now a gentle giant, cradling you in his arms with infinite care.

Cregan pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Are ye alright, love?" he asked, his voice soft with concern. "Did I hurt ye?"

You shook your head, smiling up at him. "No, Cregan. You were perfect. I'm more than alright."

His expression softened even further, a look of relief washing over his face. "Good," he whispered, pressing another kiss to your lips. "I'll always take care of ye, Y/n. Always."

You nestled closer to him, resting your head on his broad chest. The rhythmic beat of his heart was a comforting lullaby, and you felt a deep sense of contentment wash over you.

A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground with no one around to see it. The thought lingered in your mind, a symbol of the unexpected beauty and love that had blossomed between you.

Cregan continued to kiss you, his lips never straying far from your skin, as he held you in a protective, loving embrace.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. Cregan's sweet, endless kisses and his tender words were a promise of a future filled with love, passion, and unwavering devotion.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

[ervotica]

i just saw someone talk about pornstar!patrick and my third eye opened up

shut up i’ll die actually

warnings; smut, 18+, fem!reader, pornstar!patrick, p in v sex, allusions to reader being eaten out, patrick is hot <3

a/n; i’m insane for this actually. pls send more pornstar!patrick asks i’ll beg for them 🥹

this is him <3

thinking of a self made pornstar!patrick, started off making solo videos of him jerking off in the dirty backseat of his car. utterly surprised when viewers couldn’t get enough of him and he earned enough money to make a living off of making porn of himself.

he starts inviting other men, women - anyone who shows interest in him and his videos - to shoot with him, and soon he has a plethora of people lining up for a chance to fuck him, even if it’s on camera.

he bypasses the entire queue when he catches wind of you, a soft little thing with a mean streak he so desperately wants to explore, and he’s running straight to your messages to set a date.

he pays for your transport and your stay — a five star hotel that is far more expensive than anywhere you’ve been in your entire life.

it doesn’t feel orchestrated when the camera starts filming. it doesn’t feel like an act as he works you up with his hot breath over your cunt and two thick fingers that sink into your weeping hole. it doesn’t feel fake when you bury your fingers into his hair and tug, relishing in the way he moans and ruts his hips into the plush bed beneath you.

and it certainly doesn’t feel fake when he makes you cum harder than you ever have before.

his viewers all envy you, want to be you, when he folds your legs to your chest and feeds you his cock inch by inch. it’s a tight fit, that’s for sure, but you’ve never felt more full, more stretched in your life, and you fucking love it.

the way the head of his cock, a visceral red, notches against your entrance as he sinks in in in, further than you thought possible until the weeping slit burrows against your cervix, the way you keen and clutch at his shoulders as he murmurs praises because you’re being so good, baby, just a little more now.

he’s barely one thrust in before you’re cumming around him with a shudder and a cry, and it’s stronger than anything you’ve ever felt in your life, so easy the way he takes you apart because he’s already memorised your cunt, already knows how to fuck it.

and he’s hooking his arms beneath the dip of your spine, dragging you up to meet his hot mouth in a greedy kiss, all tongues and teeth and fire and passion, and that paired with the way he’s fucking you - the filthy roll of his hips that never slows, never stops - is enough to have you cumming round him again.

he fucks like he’s in love with you and he hates you all at once, spears you open on his cock and keeps you spread out beneath him, teases and taunts until you growl with frustration and claw at him. it makes him laugh, a low, gravelly sound against your lips as he concedes and pistons his hips into you with more fervour than before.

once you’re well and truly fucked out, you crawl between his legs and wrap your mouth around him, and he’s sure he meets god.

and then the camera comes off, and a switch flips in him as he watches you laying on the bed, breathing heavily, eyes closed, a sleepy smile on your face.

patrick zweig might just be in love.

the video skyrockets in views and profits, climbing straight to the most popular he’s ever made. viewers beg him to keep you as a permanent fixture within his channel. and, well, who would he be if he didn’t give the people what they want?

-

challengers taglist; @diorrfairy @igotmajordaddyissues @xotwod-jade @imbabycowboy @cloudnitee @hobocatton

[seeingivy]

my kink is karma

satoru gojo x f!reader

**loosely based on my kink is karma by chappell roan

an: based on a request from gojo as taylor anon <3 this one is for u

--  

“hi honey bee.” 

you peer over the top of your monitor screen to find satoru gojo, the executive account manager whose murder you’ve been planning for the past few weeks, looming over your desk. his inhumanely long limbs are fixed behind his back, bright ocean blue eyes filled with glee. and you’ve been through this enough times to know exactly what’s going on. 

he’s caught yet another mistake that you’ve made. and he’s here to sick it to you, his favorite worker bee that he likes to irritate. 

satoru gojo is a nicely packaged sewer demon that arrived two months ago, replacing the little old lady who used to occupy the glass office at the center of the workflow. she was kind, a little bit confused here and there, but she got her job done without making a fuss and that was all that mattered to you. she made you blondies for your birthday. 

you didn’t realize how nice you had it until she was replaced with him. because satoru gojo was irritating, prancing in the way he always did – insanely tall and taking up too much space in your peaceful office – with a boisterous laugh, a strange sense of humor, and a tendency to be irritatingly perfect. 

a stitched and tailored suit,  designer perfume, and a sparkling rolex watch on his wrist. a pretty girlfriend that he bragged about at mandatory lunches, a shiny black mercedes, and a penthouse apartment in the center of the city. 

you hate him. you hate how you can feel him scorning at the worn down ballet flats that you wear to work, the vintage watch you snagged from the thrift store, and the narrowed look that he gives to your public transportation card as you tuck it back into your wallet when you walk into the office. 

“are you doing a sales report?” he asks. 

“i’m at my job. where i work in sales marketing. what do you think i’m working on?” 

you watch his eye twitch. the small movements – eye twitches, nose wrinkles, and the turning of his lip – you had been watching them, memorizing what exactly it was that pushed his buttons since he was so keen on doing it first. though, he would never show it upfront, at least not as openly as you do anyways. 

that was one of the nice things about satoru gojo. that he was intelligent and perceptive – enough for him to know that you were maybe the only person in this office who didn’t like him. that you could understand his niceness was masked in arrogance. that you had no intention of kissing his ass like almost everyone else in this office did. 

you loathed his very existence, the stupid jokes he made, and would rather hear nails on a chalkboard than the stories that he recounts from his weekends at his parent’s suburban villa. 

“i love a great sense of humor!” he responds, scooting his long legs over to the side of your desk and hunching over to get a view of your computer. 

he says it with a bright and sparkling smile, but you get the message clear and straight – i’d watch the attitude if i were you. 

the smell of his fancy cologne tickles your nose as he leans over, his face nearly cheek to cheek with yours as he places a little manila folder in front of you. you heave a sigh, opening it up to your sales reports from the last week, each one laminated and with a dark red mark in the center. 

“been looking over your reports. you’re getting a little sloppy with your math.” 

you scoff. 

“is that right?” you ask. 

“uh huh. just make sure you count your decimal points and your zeroes when you turn in this one. i know it can be a little hard sometimes, big numbers and all.” 

you bite down on your cheek, feeling the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. did he always have to be so patronizing? 

“now why would i do that? i’d put you out of a job if i did.” 

satoru clicks his tongue in cheek – one of the clear cut signs that you’ve hit one of his exposed nerves. that he’s a glorified calculator sitting in a fancy glass office with an arbitrary executive title slapped next to his name. 

satoru gojo hates that you always seem to make that point every time he corrects you. and you’ll take any chance to remind him. that he doesn’t do anything worthwhile. that he’s a pretty face and just that – nothing substantial underneath. 

“luckily for me, you’ve proven that you’ll be incompetent until the end. as long as you’re here, it seems that i will be too. i’d get back to it if i were you, honey bee.” he responds, the tone in his voice scathing as he walks back to his office, a glimmering plastic smile pressed to his face. 

--

you have mandatory team building lunches on fridays at twelve thirty. it’s one of the things that you appreciate – that you don’t have to wake up early to put together a lunch from the leftovers in your fridge. 

you cycle through every person in the office, rotating on picking up lunch that accommodates the budget and everyone’s dietary requests, and break bread to get closer to one another. satoru, naturally, goes over budget every time it’s his turn, and insists that it’s no problem – though he always seems to slightly mess up your order, while everyone else’s comes out perfectly. 

and on the days where he isn’t choosing the lunch, he’s so irritating – complaining of a sensitive stomach – and instead brings a nicely packaged lunch that his private chef makes for him every morning.. three courses, always packed with a dessert. 

one time you asked him if the chef wrote him little supportive notes in his lunchbox. you would be lying if you said it didn’t fill you with pride, that the small comment you made was enough to fill him with irritation for the rest of the work day. 

“what are your christmas plans, satoru?” 

you look over at your fellow sales associate, yuuji, and share a smirk with him. the two of you lean back, nursing your little sandwiches from the deli two miles down in your hands as you start the mental counter in your head. 

every day before lunch, you and yuuji make a shot counter of things that you expect gojo to say during team building. common phrases that fall out of his mouth like back at the villa, my custom tailor shop, and louis vuitton – the normal trust fund baby vocabulary, naturally – somehow always make their way into the conversation. 

you drink shots accordingly at happy hour after work. whoever’s word has the higher count has to pay for the entire night. 

your poison for today was private jet. yuuji’s was timeshare. 

“anne marie and i are heading over to her family’s timeshare in bali. they have a property over there – full pool, private beach and all.” 

yuuji snorts. you roll your eyes. 

“a private beach?” nanami asks, eyes raised as he neatly picks the tomatoes out of his sandwich and hands them over to shoko at his side. 

“a private beach, indeed. it’s right on the coast, equipped with boats for excursions and stuff like that. the timeshare comes set with all of those.” he states. 

“excursions.” you repeat, giving yuuji a wide eyed look as he fights the urge to laugh. 

satoru looks over at you, a clear distaste in his eyes, as he leans back in his chair, legs spread wide. 

“what are you doing for your vacation, y/n?” satoru asks. 

“i’m going home with yuuji for a few days.” you state. 

“right. that sounds exciting!” he states. 

you can hear the message laced in that one too – a clear and pointed diss that he’s going to be spending his time at a resort with his skinny legged model girlfriend and you’re going to be going home with the one gay guy that works at your office and get drunk in the bar in your hometown. 

“which airline are you taking?” satoru asks. 

you grin. 

“delta.” 

“never been. i use my private jet to get around.” 

you give him an exaggerated gasp. 

“a private jet? tell me all about it.” 

you’ve goaded him right into your trap – as satoru then says the word private jet a total of seventeen times, defeating the measly eight times he said timeshare – and delight in the fact that you’ll at least get to have a nice night out. 

--

on the first tuesday back from break, freshly minted into five days of the new year, your co-worker katie shakes your shoulder aggressively ten minutes into your shift. you note that four days into the week, satoru has yet to return to the office and you hope that it’s not just good luck – that maybe he fell off of his duffy boat in bali and lost all his memory, rendered incapable of ever returning to the office again. 

you pray that your new boss isn’t as much of an asshole as him. 

you look up to find katie’s eyes wide, an excited smile on her face, as she leans down into your space. katie is one of the few friends that you have in the office, the third person who finds satoru and his antics irritating. 

“did you hear about gojo?” she asks. 

“every thing i know about that man is against my will.” you deadpan. 

she giggles, leaning down to whisper. 

“oh my fucking god. come here. you’re going to love this.” 

she stands up, scanning the room, as she gestures for you to stand up, the two of you making your way over to the break room. you can’t talk so freely about him when his little lackey’s are still lingering around, who will most definitely tell him that the two of you were gossipipng. 

and god knows that would only make his head bigger – knowing that everyone talked about him even when he wasn’t there. katie strides into the room, taking residence over the coffee machine and shooting nanami a polite smile, as she starts absentmindedly brewing a cup of coffee. 

“he’s losing it.” 

“who?” 

“satoru. he’s going fucking crazy apparently.” 

you snort. as if. satoru’s definition of going crazy would be mixing and matching different designer brands – like wearing a gucci watch with a louis vuitton tie. 

“turns out that his glamorous vacation to bali with that raggedy anne doll never happened. she had a whole meltdown and broke up with him after his credit card got declined at a restaurant they went to a few days before the trip.” 

you nearly choke on your spit. 

“what?” 

“apparently it was just a fluke, his card got momentarily blocked since he bought some new car. but she literally freaked out on him and left him stranded.” 

you snort. 

“there’s no way.” 

“she told him that it was unacceptable. that she had enough.” 

“well, i’ll say. she milked an entire designer wardrobe out of him.” you whisper, earning you a giggle from katie. 

“i know! anyways, sharon from hr told me that he’s taken the past four days off because he doesn’t have transportation – he fucking crashed the mercedes when he was driving home from the breakup.” 

“you’re fucking kidding. the g-wagon?” 

“i swear to god.” 

it feels a little mean, but you can’t help but delight in all of it. 

that despite it all, karma’s real. and it’s finally satoru fucking gojo’s turn. six months of patronizing comments and arrogance has finally caught up with him. his pretty girlfriend is just that – a pretty girl who wanted to do nothing with him. the car he brags about has been demolished and at the very least his larger than life ego has taken some type of hti. 

“oh, look, look.” 

katie shakes your arm, the two of you peering through the glass window to see satoru climb out of the bus – the same bus that you take to work everyday to save money – with what you can tell from here is an unironed suit and messy hair. his tie isn’t even done properly. 

and when he walks in, all you smell is the fancy cologne, with the faintest hints of tequila lingering behind. a smell that you only catch, because it’s one that you’ve drowned out on a bad day. 

you and yuuji pick horrendous words for lunch – yours being luxury brand and yuuji’s being private chef – and much to your dismay, he says neither. he actually doesn’t say anything. just sulks in the corner and disappears as soon as he finishes the tacos. 

you leave a mistake in your sales report. he doesn’t even catch it. 

--

“can you close out my tab, toji?” 

toji, the bartender who’s well aware of your antics – and perhaps even more upset than you are that your hoity toity boss didn’t play along well with your game today – gives him a nod, wiping his hands with the towel as he looks over at you. 

“you too, doll?” 

“no, i’ll have another before i head out.” you state. 

he gives you a nod, shuffling off to the side to get yuuji’s bill, as you slump down on the bar, yuuji mimicking your motions as you both lean your heads against one anothers. and he leaves just as fast, pressing a loving kiss to the top of your head as you swirl the little ice cubes in your drink as you watch the bubbles fizz out. 

“rough day, y/n?” 

you shrug. 

“same old – can’t really complain. you?” 

toji smiles. 

“you see that guy over there, at the end of the bar? this is the third day that he’s drank up my entire supply of tequila.” 

you follow the line of his vision to see satoru – the satoru gojo slumming it in this rather disgusting bar, at least for his standards – his tie messy and the buttons of his shirt loosely undone sitting at the bar. 

“him?” 

“uh huh. broke up with like the only girl he’s ever dated, apparently. whoever she is, thank her fucking ass. he tips well over.” toji murmurs, giving you a smile as he rearranges the glasses. 

you give toji a weary smile, pressing the cash down on the bar, as you make your way over – noting that tequila smell is not masked at all this time – as you slide into the seat next to him, tapping on your shoulder. and he looks over, the rims of his eyes red and eyes squinting as he leans forward.  

“honey bee?” he slurs. 

the smell is overwhelming. 

“the one and only.” you respond. 

you reach forward, sliding the little shot glass out of his hand and placing it behind the bar. you turn back to find that his hair is messy, whatever mousse that he’s used to style it has clearly run fraught, and his cheeks flushed pink. 

“that’s enough for one night, gojo. let’s get you home, yeah?” 

“huh?” 

“home. the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or a household?” 

he glares. 

“i know what a home is.” he deadpans. 

“perfect! let’s get you to yours.” you respond. 

satoru turns over to you, blue eyes weary, before he shrugs and slumps down onto the bar. you roll your eyes, scooting your chair closer as you pull up your phone. 

“i’ll do you a liberty. i know you’re probably morally opposed to taxis, so i’ll call you an uber. what’s your address?” 

satoru reaches up, his fingertips brushing your wrist, as he snatches your phone and places it flat on the bar. 

“no thank you.” 

“toji will kick you out, you know. and he doesn’t even know you like that, he’ll probably be really mean since he has a wife to get back home to and all.” 

satoru snorts. 

“then i’ll just go to another bar. i’m not going home.” 

you groan, noting that of course he was going to be stubborn about this too, and that whatever it was in your chest – pity, you suppose – was making you so insistent on making sure he didn’t die from alcohol poisoning tonight. 

“what’s so bad about your pretty penthouse?” you ask. 

he huffs a sigh. 

“there’s pictures of anne marie everywhere. and i fucking hate that bitch.” 

you snort, hearing such choice words about the barbie doll that you never had the pleasure of meeting, as you hop off the stool. you figured he was going to be more of the emotional drunk – crying and whining – rather than cursing her very existence. 

“okay, c’mon. i know somewhere you can go.” 

--

you feel bad for him as the night goes on. because he’s so drunk that he’s sobbing the entire drive back to your apartment, a horrendous mix of drunk ramblings about how honda civics are actually nicer than he expected and how he didn’t even know that this part of the city existed. your previous thoughts about emotional drunks were completely revoked. 

he leans his entire weight on you as you drag him into the elevator, plopping him down on the couch, as you task yourself with making him a green smoothie before letting him pass out into the abyss. it’ll help with the raging hangover you’re positive that he’s going to have tomorrow – and you hope that it means he’ll spare you some kindness the following morning, for saving him from his imminent death and all. 

you change into your comfy pajamas as the smoothie blends – a loose old dartmouth t-shirt and shorts – and pour it into a glass. you take a deep breath, bracing yourself, as you make your way back to the couch where satoru’s peeled his sport jacket off and unbuttoned his shirt nearly halfway down. you make it a point to not ogle his perfectly chiseled body. 

“alright, satoru. this will help with your hangover tomorrow, just drink it really fast because it tastes horrible.” you state. 

satoru looks over at you, completely unfazed by the green drink you hand him, and decides that he’s very shamelessly going to check you out. you can see it in his eyes – the way they follow your bare legs and your mismatched socks, before he looks back up at you and frowns. 

“am i that fucking pathetic that you’re helping me?” he asks. 

you grin. 

“yes.” you respond. 

satoru appreciates the honesty, gulping down the thick and tart smoothie that you made him, and slams the glass down on the coffee table after the fact. he wipes the residue on the back of his hand and shrinks into the couch – and you can’t help but shiver at how normal he looks. 

it’s the first time that you’ve understood it, why everyone thinks he’s so attractive. he has soft and full cheeks, striking blue eyes that go perfectly with his snow white hair. a few freckles dot his nose. 

“well, let’s hear it. make all the fun you fucking want.” satoru murmurs. 

you roll your eyes. 

“do you think i’m a bitch? i don’t kick people when they’re down. something you’re wholly unfamiliar with, i’m well aware.” 

“you have no problem doing it in the office.” he states. 

you scoff. 

“you always start it. you can’t really get mad when i start dishing it back. and i’m a little bit better than you. i won’t make comments about you now that pretty malibu barbie’s broken your heart now because i have a shred of decency.” 

satoru scoffs. 

“you’ll just do it tomorrow, when i’m keen enough to fight back .” he states. 

you sigh, leaning back on the couch, as you look up at the wallpaper pressed to the ceiling. it’s slightly peeling and you make a mental note to replace it when you get the time – which knowing you, you probably never will. 

he was impossible. 

when you look over at him, his eyes fixed to the peeling wallpaper too, but with glimmering tears sprinkling out of his eyes, though they’re slower and quieter than the sobs that he was heaving in the car. you wonder how much he really had to drink. 

“you need to replace your wallpaper. it’s coming off.” satoru seethes. 

“okay.” you respond. 

you look back at the ceiling. you could give him some advice too. 

“you should stop dating gold diggers.” you state. 

he rolls his eyes. 

“how was i supposed to know she was a gold digger?” he asks. 

you laugh. 

“it’s not normal to buy your girlfriend’s entire wardrobe. and her car. and her..”

“okay, okay, okay. it was a gift!” he defends. 

“you know, normal people get a giftcard and call it a day. or a candle from target.” you respond. 

there’s a whisper of a smile on satoru’s face as he sighs, before pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“okay, well. i was trying to be sweet. her love language was giving gifts.” 

you snort. 

“shocker.” you deadpan. 

he reaches for the closest cushion, before smacking it straight across your chest. you’re quick to snatch it from his hands, holding it close to your chest, as the two of you stick back to the silence. 

“so what do i do?” he asks. 

“what do you mean?” 

“i dunno. never done a break up before. she was like my first girlfriend.” 

you would understand it. you would, you suppose, if that was something you could relate to. being so in love that you can’t be with anyone else. but then again, that lingering question would always come back to you – how could you know that this person was the one if you hadn’t tried anything else? 

in your very limited experience in your very short life, one thing always rang true – that the more time you took to learn, to experience, the better things seemed to get. you had a bunch of shit friends in high school and now you’re friends with yuuji. you had four different majors before you picked marketing because it let you be creative. you’ve dated four different guys but you’re still looking for the one. 

that’s why you didn’t understand it – how people could be so one and done, on something so serious. granted, that’s probably how they end up with gold diggers. 

“do you have anything of hers?” you ask. 

satoru gives you a strange look, before digging his hand in his pocket, and fishing out his wallet. he opens up the little zipper, yanking a little silver necklace out of the leather, and placing it into the palm of your hand. 

you feel your eyes widen a little bit, sparkling diamonds set in a little circular mother of pearl design, as you run your fingers over it. you shake yourself out of it, looking over at him resting his forearms against his knees, expectantly waiting for an answer. 

“real cute. go throw it out of my window.” you state, handing it back to him. 

“i beg your pardon?” 

“so a window is an opening in the wall or roof that…” you start. 

he lightly shoves you, before clutching the necklace in his fist. 

“i can’t throw it out. it’s fucking expensive.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“that means nothing to you. you’re not throwing it away because you still like raggedy anne.” 

“raggedy anne?” he asks. 

“yuuji, katie, and i call her that. red hair kind of set that one up for us but…” 

his eyes widen, as he leans forward. 

“do you guys not like her?” he asks. 

you shrug, as you stand up, wrapping your fingers around his wrist as you pull him closer to the window. the question catches you off guard – that he would care what the three of you would think. 

you peek your head out the window –  a few cars still milling on the street, the lights lazily changing, as he joins you and sticks his head out the window. 

“i can’t, honey bee.” he states. 

“yes, you can. it’s just a necklace.” 

“but what if she wants it back?” he asks. 

you fight the urge to slap him, as you stick your head back into the warmth of the apartment. he follows suit. 

“you would go back to her?” you ask. 

“i dunno. i –” 

“she would probably only want to get back together so she can get this fucking necklace back. because she’s a gold digger! screw her, surely you could do better than that!” 

satoru frowns, as he peaks out of the window again. and he makes the motion like he’s going to throw it before he looks back at you, nervously scratching at the back of his neck. 

“it’s limited edition. maybe i should sell it and –” 

“no. you’re going to throw it out of the window right now, on the count of three.” 

“i really don’t want to. we should do something easier first.” he whines.

“one.” you state. 

he panics. surely he couldn’t be serious. 

“this can’t be how normal people cope. i could hit someone and give them a black eye..” 

“two.” you scold. 

“maybe i don’t want to be a normal person. i think that this is all –” 

“three.” 

you snatch the necklace out of his open palm and throw it straight out of the window. it makes a little clinking sound when it finally hits the bottom, the two of you poking your heads out of the window to now see it tangled in the sewage gutter that’s been dirtied by the recent rain. 

“you threw her necklace.” satoru states, in exasperation. 

“when normal people can’t do it on their own, a trusted friend does it to keep them in line.” you state, pushing back into the apartment and wiping your hands. 

satoru follows behind you, his steps featherlike, as you reach for his phone and start scrolling through the contacts. he’s leaning his head over your shoulder, eyes wide as you pull up anne marie’s contact and hold it out to him. 

“you’re going to make me block her too?” he asks. 

“no. you should call her once and say some mean stuff and then block her.” 

satoru’s eyes widen. 

“mean stuff?” 

“call her. tell her she’s a gold digger. that you think her voice is annoying or something.” you add. 

satoru crosses his hands over his chest. 

“that’s not very mature.” 

“okay, but you’re back in dog years since you’ve been dating this girl forever. plus, i’d say it’s immature to be in a god knows how long relationship with someone just for their money. does she have any consideration for you?” 

satoru pauses, like he’s mulling the thought over. 

“if you don’t do it, you’re going to become even more weird and repressed than you are now.” you state 

“i’m not repressed!” he whines. 

“be immature! say a bunch of bullshit and then hang up! you’ll feel great – you…you’re supposed to do these types of things at least once. this is like a rite of passage.” 

satoru gives you a weary look as you lean forward, pressing the dial button. his eyes go wide as you start whispering, gesturing for him to do it. 

“hello? satoru?” anne marie says, voice confused.

there’s a considerable amount of sound behind the speaker, loud booming music making it very clear that raggedy anne is at the club while satoru’s moping it out in your apartment. 

“do it.” you whisper. 

“hi annie.” satoru murmurs. 

you roll your eyes at the nickname. 

“did you want something satoru?” she asks. 

“yeah. yeah, i just wanted to say…” satoru starts. 

“hold on one second.” she says. 

there’s a murmuring over the speaker, which she’s clearly covered, as you start whispering. tell her she’s annoying! she won’t even give you the time of day on a phone call!! 

“sorry, i’m back. i’m on a date right now so i was just trying to slip away.” 

satoru looks up at you. 

“you’re a bitch.” he murmurs. 

you fight the urge to laugh. 

“what did you say?” anne marie responds. 

“you’re a bitch.” he says louder. 

“good! say it again!” you whisper. 

satoru has the whisper of a smile on his face, the silent support goading him on, as he keeps talking. 

“you…you’re annoying. you have a really high pitched voice and every time you wake up in the morning, it gives me an ear splitting headache. and you…you look horrible in blue.”  

the choice of words is a little middle school, but you’ll give it to him. there was a first time for everything. 

“say something else.” you whisper. 

“is that a girl?” anne marie asks.

you both widen your eyes, before satoru quickly hangs up and start laughing. you note that for your standards that was horrendously tame, but the glint in his eyes seems to signify that it’s at least done something for him, because it’s the first time he properly smiles after entering your apartment. 

“how was that?” 

“fucking great! she sounded like an idiot!” he responds. 

“she sure did.” 

“now she’s probably wondering which girl i’m with and working herself over it.” he responds. 

you shake your head, pulling out the sheets to make the fold out bed for him properly, before you make your way back over to your own room. screaming middle school insults seems to sober him up enough, because he joins you in folding the sheets, a smile on his face. 

“have you done that before?” he asks. 

“done what?” you ask. 

“throw stuff out like that? call an ex-boyfriend?” 

you smile. 

“mhm. my first boyfriend irritated me so bad that i took everything he ever gave me – a dried up bouquet of flowers, a necklace, birthday cards and all that type of stuff – and threw it in a trash can outside of the bank i go to. and the calling, i did that once when my ex-boyfriend decided to go to san diego for a trip instead of meeting up with me. he made it pretty clear for a week that we were going to break up on that day and i had hyped myself up for it, just for him to not show up. so i got pissed and called him then and there.” you state. 

satoru’s floored.

“really? that’s such a dick move.” 

“i mean, s’pretty standard.” 

you’ve been on the carousel of assholes your entire life. but satoru shakes his head. 

“i can’t believe someone would even do that. that’s unusually cruel.” 

you forgot about that part. that with having experienced next to nothing, there’s a sense of naivety that comes with it too. 

or hope. whichever word speaks to you more – and at the current moment, it’s the latter, only because he seems so genuinely downtrodden by it – so genuinely believing that people are meant to be good and kind that he can’t fathom someone being mean and selfish just for the sake of it. 

you feel bad for him. 

“that it is. almost as cruel as dating someone just for their money.” you respond. 

satoru sighs. 

“yeah.” 

“that’s kind of the cool part now.” you respond. 

“what is?” 

you sit down flat on the bed, the sheets nicely tucked in and folded, as you pat the little spot next to you on the bed. he obliges, his legs stretching out a considerable distance past yours, as you cross your arms over your chest. 

“this is going to sound really weird, but some day you’re going to agree with me.” you state. 

“okay.” 

“you’re going to feel a lot of things in the next few months. and then after the fact, when you’re really truly over it, you’re going to realize how real all of that was.” 

“meaning?” 

you shrug. 

“you’re going to mope and listen to sad songs for a while. and those songs are going to hit like they’ve never hit before, you’re going to realize people have been writing about this exact feeling that you’re experiencing for years. you’ve just gone through a shared experience that almost everyone has, no matter who they are, of getting your heart shattered.” 

satoru’s never thought of it that way. granted, he’s only been thinking about it for three days, but still. 

“then you’re going to be pissed. you’re going to do a bunch of stupid stuff and you might even regret it a little bit, but that’s part of learning more about yourself. maybe you really do like to have the last word. maybe you can’t fathom it at all, seeing that person ever again. either way, you’re going to figure out something about yourself and it’s going to make it all the more worth it. that’s part of this entire thing – experiencing something new, doing things three, four, five times and fucking up each time, just to…get something out of it. figure out whatever you’ve got going on in this thing.” you respond, flicking at his forehead. 

satoru rubs the spot, glaring at you, as you shoot him a smile. 

“there’s no point in doing anything once. you’re going to live a really long life, were you really only going to date and love one girl the entire time? i know you must have more to give than that.” you state. 

“do you not believe in marriage?” he asks. 

you frown. 

“who said i don’t believe in marriage?” 

“i mean, you seem like so…hippie dippie. i get what you’re saying and…and i’m even inclined to believe you’re right…but where does that stop? you can’t go on experiencing things and people and loving forever?” 

you smile. 

“why do you think so little of marriage? do you really think all of that stops once you enter a relationship with someone?” 

satoru freezes. 

“you keep doing that stuff, but with the person you know is meant for you. clearly your relationship with raggedy anne must have been really, very boring, because getting to do new things together is the fun part. i’d argue that it’s even the point of even being together – growing into something new.” 

satoru thinks you're wise. he thinks that he’s still leftover drunk and whatever it is you’re saying is coming out like poetry to him, that it’s singing to the tune that’s been going on in the background of his head for the past year, because really – his relationship was very boring. 

it had gotten monotonous. maybe he stayed because he didn’t know anything different. maybe that’s why he was so obsessed with stalking your every move – making sly comments, finding mistakes in your reports - just because you were always so keen to give him a different answer, one he couldn’t predict, the only constant thing about you being that you were always different. 

“your brain looks like it’s working overtime. you should go to bed.” you state. 

“okay, yeah.” 

satoru is still drunk. somewhat drunk. maybe a little. 

it’s why he leans forward, to press a warm kiss to the side of your cheek. he notes that your eyes go wide, as you immediately lift your hand to press your fingers to the skin, your cheeks flushing pink. 

“i was hoping you were going to give me like a thousand dollars or something as a gift for being nice to you.” 

satoru grins. because again, it wasn’t the answer he was expecting at all. 

“i could do that too.” he states. 

you roll your eyes, before reaching forward to pinch his cheek. 

“shut up.” 

“you’re pretty.” 

you’re taken aback by the comment, leaning back to cross your hands over your chest, as you eye him again. messy hair, swollen eyes, and pink lips from the drinks. 

“you’re not that bad either. you look way better like this.” 

“like this?” 

“you know…no fancy mousse. creepy perfectly tailored suit. having a proper meltdown and all. not to be rude, but your distress might be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” 

satoru scoffs. 

“you’re just jealous that i look so great all the time.” 

you shake your head. 

“not at all. i’m not into that at all – the whole perfect, rich boy thing.” 

satoru leans forward, eyes wide. 

“what are you into?” he asks. 

you smile. 

“did you really crash your car?” you ask. 

he groans. 

“you know about that?” 

you laugh. 

“i’m into that. you being a real person. i think you’re very funny when you’re drunk and you have the insults of a middle schooler. your hair looks very good when it’s all messed up like this and your very genuine enthusiasm and curiosity is very refreshing.” 

“yeah?” satoru whispers, a glint in his eyes. 

“mhm. don’t lose sleep over it, okay?” you respond, pinching his cheek as you shuffle your way over to your room. 

satoru watches as you retreat, your mismatched socks riding up to your ankles, and he can’t help but wonder if you’re right. if he had missed out. 

he hadn’t done anything. anything at all. you were three feet away – with an entire life he knew nothing about. the little scars on your arms were all a story, maybe from pulling something out of the stove too fast or falling on the pavement, and he can’t help but wonder what it all was. 

if he could still gain it all, after years of falling behind. 

satoru was always an overachiever. he was going to do this, he was going to do this now. 

satoru stands up, legs carrying him to the door of your bedroom, as he firmly knocks on the wood. he hears something that sounds like a thud, before you swing the door open, your eyes adjusting to the brightness outside to find him standing there. 

“it’s been one minute.” you deadpan. 

“can i sleep with you?” 

“i beg your pardon?” 

satoru sighs. 

“i’ve never slept in the same bed as someone.” 

“huh? you and raggedy anne never…” 

he shakes his head. 

“i mean, like once, but it was by accident. my penthouse has two beds and i don’t know what it feels like to…sleep next to someone.” 

you pause. and let your curiosity get the better of you. 

“are you a virgin?” 

“i am not a virgin.” 

you laugh at the irritation in his voice, before holding the door open wider and gesturing for him to walk into the room. 

“my bed isn’t that big.” you state. 

“that’s okay. just…please? let me?” 

you assume that saying no would be equivalent to kicking a dog while it’s down. it’s what you reason to yourself as you let him in, watching as he giggles at your stuffed animals and your glasses in the nightstand before he wraps his arms around you, his embrace warm around you. 

you swear he kisses your hairline. 

“did you just kiss me again?” 

“hey. i’m experiencing new things. i’ve got tons of places i have to kiss you on my list.” 

you snort.

“you’re bold.” you state. 

“and you’re really very sweet. i really like you, you know that?” 

you roll your eyes, before leaning back into his touch. it’s so innocent, so unlike any other guy you’ve talked too – so excited about kissing you on the top of your head. 

maybe it’s a little bit less pity than you anticipated. 

“do you ever think i could do that?” he asks. 

“do what?” 

“what you’re talking about? doing things four, five, six times…growing with someone and all that?” he asks. 

you sigh, before placing one of your hands over his. 

“yes, satoru. of course you can.” 

--

the following monday, you’re greeted by a little box on your desk. you open it up to a giftcard and four target candles, accompanied with a little note and his horrible chicken scratch handwriting. 

honey bee,  heard normal people give gift cards and candles as gifts. but i’m indecisive so there’s four candles. also, they’re custom made and really expensive so don’t throw them out to sass me or make a point or something :O  satoru 

and you see him an hour later, a cup of the cheap office coffee in his hand, as he walks around talking to everyone in the office. his tie is a little bit loose and his hair is unstyled – and you think that it’s interesting, that he had taken what you had said to heart. and your previous thought stands. 

that he really does look better this way. 

he makes his way over after twenty minutes, leaning down and basically pressing his cheek to yours as he looks at your monitor. 

“did you check your math?” he asks. 

“do you want me to shove a pencil down your throat?” you ask. 

satoru laughs and you can’t help but smile. 

“did you like my gift?” 

“yes. but i have a few notes.” 

satoru stands up properly, leaning against your desk with his hands crossed over his chest, as he gestures for you to talk. 

“do tell.” 

“when i say candle, i really do mean one candle. and you know, i meant like an eight dollar candle. like the shit ones that give you allergies.” 

“candles can give you allergies?” 

“i get watery eyes when they aren’t soy or natural.” you state.

“noted. what else?” 

“when i say gift card, i mean twenty bucks. not two thousand dollars.” 

satoru whines. 

“so many rules. you’re so high maintenance, honey bee.” he whines, cupping your chin in his hand and squeezing once, before shuffling back to his office. 

--

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetnertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @timmytimmytuckyy @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga @skunabby @meisque @hoseokslefteyebrow @yoontaedotin

[chelseeebe]

and they said, speak now

18+. mdni. smut. mentions of cheating. femreader!xeddie. no use of y/n!

a little second chance romance story wherein eddie is invited to your wedding, though he’s hopeful that it’ll never actually happen.

a/n: wanted to get this finished so i could start writing a follow up for too sweet (bc i love it and i love mean asshole eddie) so i hope it bridges some sort of gap while i write :p switches pov a lil bit but it’s all marked out 4 ya.

“-gettin’ married to who?” eddie spits, barreling into the living room with a mouthful of cereal.

steve looks up from the paper invite and shrugs, “mark?” mouthing a quiet i don’t know as robin looks between the two.

“and i’m invited?”

“i mean.. it says all of us so..” he looks up at eddie, “do you even want to go?” dubious at eddie’s overly keen questioning.

eddie’s bewildered that he’d even ask, “‘course we’re fucking going,” shaking his head, still gripping onto his bowl of cereal, “i didn’t even know she was datin’ anybody else.. what the fuck.”

robin shares a look with her best friend, thinking eddie hasn’t seen. he knows exactly what they’re not saying. it doesn’t exactly need to be spelled out for him.

perhaps eddie hadn’t ever really gotten over it. it being you leaving to new york for college, breaking up with him in the process.

maybe they were justified in their judgemental glances, it’d been years since you’d left. he should be over it by now. evidently, you’ve moved on. why hadn’t he?

but he wasn’t and now he’s not sure if he’ll ever be.

-

the five of them shovel into jonathan’s car, robin squished between eddie and steve in the back with their bags piled high in the trunk.

eddie stares out of the window, he had started to regret agreeing to go. his ex-girlfriend, whom he wasn’t exactly over, was getting married to some fuckhead he’d never met and now he had to go and wear a suit and pretend to be happy about it all.

“i still can’t believe she’s getting fucking married,” he grumbles into his fist.

robin grins, nudging her elbow into steve’s ribcage, “oh this going to be so much fun,” elated at his misery.

jonathan sighs quietly, throwing his head back against the seat and slyly turning the volume up so as to not hear any more of eddie’s whining.

there’d been months of it, so he’s not surprised.

-

eddie is fucking elated to reach the hotel, gawping at the grand exterior as they get out of the car, stretching their legs after the long trip.

“jeez,” robin utters, staring at the tall building with her mouth hung open, “at least she’s marrying rich, hey?” wiggling her brows at eddie’s less than excited face.

he doesn’t rise to it, ignoring her obvious attempts to get him riled up.

it’s even nicer inside, gold plated ornaments decorate the walls, outdated paintings of old people he didn’t care to know, joining them.

they’re in the process of checking in when a familiar voice comes from behind, a small, meek, “hey guys!”

it’s you.

they spin, sharing tired smiles as you stand looking horrifically awkward. like somehow you hadn’t shared years and years of history with every single person here.

everyone else gets a short, half hug, exchanging niceties while eddie waits patiently for his turn. he doesn’t think you’ll even acknowledge him.

but your eyes lock, that same sinking feeling that he felt all those years ago as he watched your car pull out of hawkins plagues his stomach.

“hey,” you nod, tense as you open your arms for a hug.

it’s more than he’d ever expected, now finding himself stuck, unable to embrace the situation. you’re exactly the same and yet he feels like he doesn’t recognise you. barely touched by the graces of age, still the same girl he was sure he still loved.

eventually he pulls himself together, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you in.

fuck.

you even smell the same. the heavy vanilla scent of your shampoo wafts through the air, transporting him back in time to nights shared in his cramped room, talking about the future together and how you couldn’t wait to get out of hawkins.

it’s utterly ironic, and not to mention heartbreaking, to think about now.

“hi,” eddie musters, sounding as pathetic as he felt.

the others watch on in anticipation, expecting a screaming match only to be met with whatever the fuck this was. dancing around each other like two complete strangers.

“how.. uh, how was the drive?” you ask, fiddling with your fingers, the way you used to when you were nervous.

“long,” he smiles meekly.

there’s too much he wants to say, desperately wanting to just shake you and ask what the hell you’re doing getting married to someone who’s not him.

besides, four sets of eyes watch both of you eagerly, hoping for an argument or maybe the exact opposite.

“there you are!” a gruff voice bellows, coming out of the mouth of the most insufferable looking man eddie’s ever seen.

he walks over with his shit-eating grin, taking you away from eddie’s grasp, leaving an aching in his fingertips.

your brows shoot upward, sighing softly, “everyone, this is mark.. mark, these are my..” your eyes dip, unable to meet eddie’s gaze, “friends.”

mark’s hand extends towards eddie, grinning like a complete fool as he shakes it. “nice to meet you man! heard so much about you,” his grip tight, squeezing the tired bones in his hand.

eddie wonders if he’s asserting his dominance, if you’d told him who exactly he was. about all those years you spent as his girlfriend. about how he used to make you cum in two minutes. or perhaps all the times you swore that if you had to get married, it’d be to him.

eddie doesn’t count on it.

-

eddie waits. and he waits. and he waits.

pacing the floor of his room, contemplating if he truly had the nerve to stalk the halls to your room or if he’d have to sit here and regret it forever.

fuck it, he thinks. there’s no guarantee he’ll even knock on the door, he just needs to get out of here and at least try to.

eddie’s acutely aware that nothing he says to you will change your mind in fact, he thinks you’ll more than likely slam the door in his face.

but he’s gotta try.

- reader’s pov -

it’s a quiet knock, barely audible as you toss and turn.

you debate even answering, too caught up in your nerves to care about some bridesmaid complaining about her dress or your mother prattling on about the floral arrangements again.

but then they knock again, louder this time though it sounds more unsure, a hesitant wrap of the knuckles, pulling yourself from the comfort of your blanket to see what they wanted.

you hardly register who the person is before immediately wanting to slam the door in his face.

“what are you doing?” you hiss through the small gap in the door, noting that it was somewhere between 11 and midnight.

“i wanna talk,” eddie frowns, carefully wedging his foot between the door, as if you wouldn’t immediately notice.

“we don’t need to talk,” you refute, scowling at your batshit crazy ex.

he sighs, looking around the empty corridor, knowing he shouldn’t be here right now. “can we.. i just wanna talk.. that’s it,” his eyes wide and begging.

you take pity on him, you always did when he had that pathetic frown on his face. like a dejected puppy that needed you to cradle him.

something in your head screams out to just close the door, it’s a terrible idea and you know it.

alas, you pull it open a few more inches, giving him the chance to slide inside before it’s shut again, turning the lock immediately.

if anyone were to walk in, your relationship would be ruined, tomorrow would just be a waste of money and you’d be a social pariah in your circles.

“why didn’t you tell me that you were getting married?”

the nerve to ask that question like he deserved an explanation. you haven’t even seen the man in years and yet, he feels as if he’s owed something from you.

“i didn’t know i had to,” you shrug, standing a few feet away from him, hoping to keep the distance.

eddie scowls, brows knitted into a line across his forehead, “you don’t- i thought we were friends.. friends tell each other those things.”

“you haven’t seen me in years eddie!” raising your voice despite being surrounded by your friends and family. “what gives you the right to march in here and ask me that?” stepping closer with every word, taken aback by his sheer nerve.

his eyes harden, jaw tense, “you left me- you did that and then the next time i hear from you, it’s because you’re getting married? s’that not completely fucked up to you too?”

“i didn’t leave you! i went to college, like people our age are supposed to! it’s not my fault that you’d rather sit in jeff’s basement pretending to be a rockstar,” snarling your upper lip, hoping you’ll hit him right where it hurts.

if nothing else, it’s frustrating. eddie was always talking about his big dreams and how he was going to get out of hawkins once and for all, make something of himself and never look back.

but you got tired of waiting for that to happen. years and years of soon and i’m not ready’s had left you pretty hopeless for any kind of future with him.

he shakes his head, scoffing, “oh? so should i have followed you to new york? watched you change everything about yourself for some asshole?”

there’s a lump in your throat now and weirdly, not a speck of anger. at least not about his words for your fiancé. more so about his complete disregard of your feelings, the dreams you put on hold for him.

“i didn’t.. i didn’t change,” bottom lip trembling, “this is me eddie,” nostrils flaring as you skulk closer, “you just don’t know me anymore.”

“i know you better than he does,” he fires back, adams apple bobbing in his throat. a sincere, honest tone.

it only makes you more frustrated, the audacity to come here and act like this, the day before your wedding.

you laugh in his face, a maniacal cackle, “you’re deluded,” gathering all of your strength not to punch him in the face, “you should leave, before you embarrass yourself any more.”

he’s almost frantic now, grasping the air, “i’m not the one embarrassing myself here. the you i know would never want this.. what happened to that girl who promised to marry me? where’s she?”

“people change eddie! you clearly haven’t!” you hiss, prodding your finger into his chest, hoping you’ll somehow set him alight with your fingertip.

he grabs your hand, keeping it close to his heart as his frown sets in. “tell me- tell me that this is what you want, the big wedding and fucking mark and a coupl’a kids, tell me and i’ll leave,” downturned eyes, begging himself not to cry.

you want to scream, ferociously snatching your hand away from him before you turn away. sick to death of looking into his glossy chestnut eyes. loathing the feeling of your past flooding back into your brain.

a few years ago, you would’ve been certain that eddie was the one you were going to marry. marriage wasn’t something you were ever particularly interested in, your parents hadn’t been the best example. but if it had happened, it would’ve been nothing like this, maybe in the tiny chapel in hawkins, a couple years from now, a small, private ceremony with your friends and family. you’d be lying if you said you had never thought about it.

about what could’ve been.

somewhere, buried deep inside, you longed for it.

eddie doesn’t budge, hearing the sounds of his heavy breathing from behind. you can picture that stupid look on his face, pathetic and sullen as he waits for a fleck of hope.

you turn back, praying that you’ll have somehow found the strength to tell him to leave in the two seconds it takes to face him.

it doesn’t come, the lump in your throat dissipating only to be replaced with a fiery pit in your stomach.

and then a moment, where neither of you have the guts to speak any longer, in what feels like the most intense battle of eye contact you’d ever been a part of.

but it’s over as quickly as it started, both of you lurching forward at the same time, lips crashing together in a hungry kiss, finding the side of his head for leverage as his antsy hands grip your waist.

the rest is just a silent routine, one you two have been through a hundred times before.

your back crashes into the desk, pressed into the wood by his torso. a hand squeezing your thigh as you’re helped onto the surface.

the metal on your fourth finger aches, as if some higher power is attempting to intervene, to stop this mistake before it goes too far.

it’s dutifully ignored, spreading your legs to allow him between your soft thighs. the thin material of your shorts meant that you could feel everything. his cock jumping as it brushes against your heat, low grumbling into your mouth at the action.

his jacket slips from his shoulders and onto the floor, your soft hands running down the length of his arms, brushing against the tattoos you used to spend hours tracing.

eddie’s hands roam your body, between your thighs, tucking underneath the elastic of the shorts as your hips lift in unison, allowing him to pull them down.

his throat rumbles at your lack of underwear, rough denim pressed against your cunt, his erection demanding out of his jeans.

your fingers fumble with his jeans, hearing the low clink of his belt somewhere muddled between his grunting and your melodic pants.

the throbbing between your thighs becomes almost insatiable, finding your own release on the rough fabric of his jeans, sighing into his mouth, allowing his tongue to slip into yours instead.

cold fingers grip your thighs, lifting your legs so that they rest around his waist, clothed cock nudging against your heat, growling into your mouth.

your head jerks back, “my mom.. my mom’s next door..” you pant, fingers trailing over his lips, doing nothing to muffle his raspy groans.

“good,” eddie smirks, hurriedly tugging his boxers down beneath his balls, burying himself inside of your soaked cunt, “i never liked her.”

a strangled moan is all you manage in response, grabbing at the desk for a little leverage as his hips meet the back of your thighs. any anger you felt towards his insults towards your mother quickly float away, turning into static as he slides slowly in and out.

marvelling at the sight of your cunt once again envelopes around him. you’d missed that, his damn near infatuation with your pussy.

the wooden frame knocks against the wall, whatever shit you had compiled for the morning all comes tumbling down, clattering to the floor alongside your long mewls.

eddie near enough melts, fingers melding into one with your skin, filling your cunt to the hilt. a certain feeling that had never been replaced, only achieved by him and his undeniable love for your pussy.

your lips catch onto his, attempting to muffle his hoarse groans, hoping to to god that the walls were thick enough.

“missed you,” he murmurs, half into your mouth, the other vibrating against your chin as your lips connect in the most careless manner.

your eyes flutter shut, chest heaving, pressed to his as your fingers begin to loosen their grip on the desk. his pace unfaltering with utter desperation, an exhilaration he had chased for years, to no avail.

“fuck,” you whine, regretting the shaky word the second it slips out. one arm hooks around his neck, forehead resting against his as his hair begins to stick.

it’s so disgusting, so wracked with desire that you’re sure you’ll be thinking- feeling it for months.

eddie’s cock nudges against against the spot only he could ever find, his pubic bone catching against your clit. fuelling the inextinguishable fire in your stomach, only making it rise into your throat.

with every fervent thrust he’s grumbling something;

fuck, shit, love you, love you.

your legs tremble, exhausted as they sit around his zealous hips. naturally, they tighten, drawing him in closer, an incessant need to feel all of him all at once.

“you can’t.. not inside,” you pant, opening his eyes to meet his though they’re not on yours. staring starry eyed at the space between your bodies, watching as they collide in ways your heart had longed for.

he’s close, you can tell. choking on his breaths when you squeeze around him, signalling your own orgasm.

“fuck, i can’t-,” eddie howls, desperately pounding his cock into your quivering cunt, giving everything away for the last thirty seconds.

you cry out, toppling over the edge as your stomach all but bursts, the pleasure reaching every last nerve in your body. clinging to his neck with a white knuckle grip, clutching his clammy skin as your body turns to mush before him.

eddie just about manages to pull out, sliding between your slick folds before his stomach lurches, shooting thick ropes of cum onto your stomach, thighs and the desk.

your foreheads remain as one, gasping into the hot air that surrounds you.

finally, his eyes trail up toward yours, meeting with the most sorrowful look that a man who has just cum, could hold.

it’s as if reality sets in, untangling your legs to shove him away. harsh and untoward as he stumbles back, still reeling from his own orgasm.

“oh my god,” you mumble incoherently, “oh my god, i’m getting married tomorrow,” clenching your fist, shouting as if he were somehow unaware.

his silence is deafening, his release still clinging to your body as you jump from the wooden table, marching into the bathroom, swallowing the urge to cry.

eddie stands with his head hung low, belt still undone as you sanctimoniously barging back past him to redress yourself, muttering ferocious whispers to yourself.

“i’m getting married tomorrow,” you repeat, unwavering anger in your voice. undecided on whether you were telling him or yourself that fact.

“so you’re still gonna marry him?” eddie asks, a slight hint of optimism in his tone. he had reason to be, you suppose. anyone else would assume the same.

you swallow, “what else is there for me?”

getting married had been the next logical step. you had the job, the house, the sweet, timid guy that wouldn’t hurt a fly. why wouldn’t you marry him?

his face crumples, brows stitched together in confusion, “me?”

almost on instinct, your head shakes, smacking your palm into his shoulder, “no. not you. it’s not supposed to be you,” a certain sadness plaguing your tone, “it was never supposed to be you,” palm slapping into his chest.

eddie’s face falls, holding his jacket in his hands wishing you’d take it back, tell him you were lying and that you really did still love him.

buried somewhere under years of regret, you probably still did.

tears weep out of the corner of your eye, quickly wiped away with your trembling finger. “you need to leave,” eyes pointed to the floor, refusing to look at him any longer.

he sighs, hesitantly stepping around the mess you both had made and out of your peripheral view. slow steps, willing for your mouth to open and those three words to dance out of it.

the door clicks shut and you’re alone again. nauseous and wishing you had just let him stay, wanting nothing more than to be held in your insurmountable feelings of remorse.

-

you’ve barely slept, overwhelmed with a sense of guilt and indecision.

six years of work and making something of yourself had come horrifically crashing down in one night, one stupid, moronic mistake.

but was it really a mistake when your heart still aches and your lips still feel the traces of his.

a short knock breaks you from your trance, the noise you’d been dreading all night.

sarah. bright-eyed and stupidly excitable nature, ready for your wedding day.

“woah,” she remarks, eyes darting around the room you’re just now realising you forgot to clean, “crazy night?” she smirks, eyeing the bottles and pens that had fallen from the desk to the floor.

“oh,” you smile, bile rising in your throat, “i’m just..” clambering for an excuse, “clumsy.”

she scoffs, dumping her bag on the unmade bed, “you don’t have to lie to me,” smile growing, “if you and mark wanna.. break traditions then i’m all for it.”

her wilful innocence makes you feel all the more worse. you’re supposed best friend was none the wiser, bouncing around with a proud smile, ready for your wedding day.

- eddie’s pov -

steve notices something’s up immediately.

dark rings accompanying eddie’s eyes after he had gone missing for hours last night.

“you good?” steve’s hand thwacks against his back, assuming eddie’s manner was all to do with the fact that you were getting married and not that only a few hours ago, he was telling you that he still loved you while you were having sex.

the ride to the venue is quiet, which everyone appreciates, having prepared for a litany of complaints and whining.

the church is even more extravagant than the hotel, resembling one of those castles he’d seen in a fairytale book.

he wants that to make him feel better, that at least he wasn’t the one wasting all of this money on a stupid wedding, but it doesn’t.

because irregardless of how much money you were spending, you were still marrying someone else.

sure, it wouldn’t be a particularly honest nor holy marriage but it’d be a marriage nonetheless. something he would never have with you. no matter how hard he tried.

they file into the pew, sitting slumped against the varnished wood as everyone chatters around him.

concerned heads fly around, the groomsmen rushing up the aisle as they’re beckoned by your bridesmaids.

eddie sits up, looking around at the frantic bridesmaids who were desperately trying to get the pastor’s attention. something’s wrong. he can feel it in his bones.

he throws up a quick two with his fingers to steve before sliding out of the pew, ducking his head down the aisle as he searches for you.

slipping past the worried wedding party, opening a multitude of doors in search of you. hoping that you’d at least made it to the church, that you were okay.

he doesn’t expect to find you in here, holding onto your mouth, mascara stains dripping down your cheeks, curled into the corner with your shoulders shaking. eddie slips in, shoving the broom in between the door handle, ensuring that no one else could find the pair of you.

you spend a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes until you squeak, “what’re you doing?” the most soul crushing tone that makes his heart ache.

“i came to find you,” he says, simply.

because he would, he’d do it in every life.

your palm smears the black stains around your cheek, scoffing at his words. “you shouldn’t have.. i’m fine,” trying to convince yourself more than you were him.

“you don’t look fine.”

your bottom lip trembles, threatening to spill over again. evoking a harsh stab of guilt through his chest. eddie surges toward you, placing his palms over yours, “you don’t have to do this.. we can leave right now,” he assures, searching your eyes. he’d whisk you away in a heartbeat, you didn’t even have to ask. just give him that look.

your nostrils flare, a wail constricted to the back of your throat, trying hard not to alert the hundreds of wedding guests sat just a couple hundred meters away. the dark light of the closet does well to accentuate your tearful eyes, his heart aching with every sniffle, every quietened sob that falls from your lips.

then, you growl, rather forcefully slapping his chest, “this is your fault,” fingers grabbing onto his suit jacket, “why couldn’t you just leave me alone?” frustration seeping out of your words.

eddie doesn’t have an answer, at least not one that would make you feel better.

so he stands in silence, letting you treat him like your verbal punching bag.

“i can’t do it,” you cry, burying your face into his neck, “i can’t.. marry him.”

he nods, stood just before you in this cramped closet, “you don’t have to,” assuredly grabbing your sodden cheeks, streaks of black stain his palms, “we can go.. anywhere you want, right now.”

promising the world because really, it was all he had to offer.

he wasn’t rich, hadn’t figured out how to get the fuck out of hawkins yet but he did know that he loves you and he’d do anything to prove that.

you swallow, averting your eyes to the sparkling ring on your hand, curled into the fabric of his jacket. “okay,” flicking back to his eyes, it’s so simple and yet it knocks the breath from his lungs.

nothing really registers, eddie had planned for more bargaining, certain that regardless of his pleas, you’d still end up walking down that aisle, promising yourself to another man.

“really?” he asks, clarifying for both himself and for you. there was still time for you to pull yourself together and go get married, he wasn’t going to deny you that.

“really,” you nod frantically, “i’ll go anywhere,” tugging at the collar of his shirt, “anywhere with you.”

[shotmrmiller]

y'all know davy jones who can only step on land once every decade?

right, make that Simon, but he's something else.

He shows up hours before someone's passing. An inky nondescript shadow that blends into the background, unnoticed by most. But to those whose final specks of sand trickle through their hourglass?

They see him.

An entity condemned to a lifetime of servitude. A wretched, pitiful existence. Something that saps the life out of everything it touches. Something that can't feel the warm rays of the sun seep into his skin, can't smell petrichor in the dewy morning, when the world begins to wake.

He lives yet he doesn't. An eternity of suffering, of wishing he never begged for a way out of the braided strands of hemp that had tightened around his neck for his crimes so long ago.

His freedom forfeit the moment he pleaded for it.

With a lantern that glows an eerie green, he leads deceased souls to their final destination, even the ones who resist, who cling futilely to life, to what is no longer theirs.

Some might call him death, others Hermes. The only name he's ever cared for is his own, the one that his mother had given him back when men still sailed the seas in search of treasure, when men and women alike were hung at the gallows.

But now he is a nameless servant of the natural order that guides them all.

However, he was also given a boon. One single day, out of every ten years, the tight collar around his neck comes off, and he turns human.

A man of flesh and blood.

His lungs fill with the crisp, biting air that he never feels. Cheeks sting from the cold. Fingertips numb without gloves.

For one blessed night, the heart in his chest beats. For one blessed night, his body is warm, flush with life.

And it's been this way for as long as he can remember. He would roam the docks of back then, the briny air stinging his nose, the dulled thumping of hooves resounding in his ears. The chants of drunken men coming from inside lit taverns.

He roamed when cars began to be a form of transportation, when children, boys, began marching to war.

He had been so busy, then.

And he roams now, in the modern age, where medicine forestalls the inescapable.

But then, you. Blood rushes to his face the moment he lays eyes on you. His throat dries, turns to the paper that's used to strip paint.

He's never seen something so beautiful. So plump with vitality, life coursing through your veins. A sweet little thing, whose dulcet voice makes his knees weak.

And when you shake hands with him, palm engulfed in his much larger one, as you ask him for his name, his tongue feels as if it's coated with tar, swollen and heavy. But he garbles out his response anyway.

"Simon."

The way you breathe it back, like a sigh from a lover, could still his heart.

Everything else is a blur, his eyes only ever focused on you when he ends up in your arms, in between your spread thighs, inviting him where no creature such as he belongs.

But he's always yearned for what was never his, and so with fervor, he takes. Grabs at soft skin, and whimpers at the fact that you're not dead with his touch. Surrenders himself to you, completely; makes the little dove under him sing until the short arm on the clock gets close to 12.

This is where he departs, with a promise he swears to never break, and wrenches his heart out of his own chest, placing it in your gentle hands.

He swears to come back for it, once every ten years.

Whenever Simon turns back to whatever he's cursed with being, he keeps a keen eye on you. And then the one time he passes by, feeling like nothing but an artic breeze to you, he sees your life is close to an end.

Simon, for once in his pathetic existence, saves a human life. The car that crashes into you at a lethal speed, does nothing but total your vehicle. It is considered an absolute miracle to everyone, except you.

That should've been your demise. That should've been it.

His little dove, too smart for her own good.

The time will soon come again, and when his head rests on your chest, listening to the lulling sounds of your heart beating, will he tell you what he is.

(maybe, or not idk)

"It's a heady tonic. Holding life and death in the palm of your own hand."

[visit-new-york]

Exploring Brooklyn's Icons: A Guide to Empire Stores Dumbo and the Brooklyn Bridge

Brooklyn, New York, is a treasure trove of iconic landmarks and historical sites. Among these, Empire Stores Dumbo and the Brooklyn Bridge stand out as must-visit destinations. Whether you're a local or a tourist, here's everything you need to know about getting to these attractions, navigating the Brooklyn Bridge, and discovering the rich history that surrounds it.

How to get to Empire Stores Dumbo?

Empire Stores, located at 55 Water Street, Brooklyn, NY 11201, is easily accessible by various modes of transportation. If you're using public transit, take the subway to the High Street-Brooklyn Bridge station (A, C trains) and enjoy a picturesque stroll toward the East River. Alternatively, several buses serve the Dumbo area, providing convenient options. If you prefer driving, parking facilities are available in the vicinity.

Are there any restrictions for cyclists on the Brooklyn Bridge?

Cyclists are welcome on the Brooklyn Bridge, and there's a dedicated lane for them. However, it's important to be aware of any restrictions during special events or maintenance periods. Adhering to traffic rules and being mindful of pedestrian traffic ensures a safe and enjoyable ride across this historic bridge.

How many lanes does the Brooklyn Bridge have for vehicular traffic?

The Brooklyn Bridge boasts six lanes for vehicular traffic, with three lanes in each direction. The outer lanes accommodate regular traffic, while the inner lanes are reversible, changing direction based on the time of day to optimize traffic flow.

What is the current condition of the Brooklyn Bridge?

As of the latest available information, the Brooklyn Bridge is generally in good condition. Regular inspections and maintenance work are conducted to preserve its structural integrity. For the most up-to-date information, it's advisable to check with local authorities or official sources.

Are there any interesting events or stories related to the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge?

The construction of the Brooklyn Bridge, spanning from 1869 to 1883, is a tale of engineering marvels and human determination. Notably, Washington Roebling, the chief engineer, faced decompression sickness during construction. His wife, Emily Warren Roebling, played a pivotal role in overseeing the completion of the bridge, a testament to her resilience and dedication.

How many years did it take to build the Brooklyn Bridge?

The Brooklyn Bridge took a total of 14 years to build, showcasing the dedication and perseverance of the individuals involved in this historic project.

Has the Brooklyn Bridge ever undergone significant renovations?

Over the years, the Brooklyn Bridge has undergone significant renovations to ensure its longevity. Preservation efforts focus on maintaining its historic elements while incorporating modern engineering standards to meet safety requirements.

Are there any guided tours available for the Brooklyn Bridge?

Immerse yourself in the history and architecture of the Brooklyn Bridge by taking a guided tour. Several local operators offer insightful tours, providing a deeper understanding of the bridge's significance. Check with local tour providers or visitor centers for the latest information on available tours.

Can you see the Statue of Liberty from the Brooklyn Bridge?

While the Brooklyn Bridge offers breathtaking views of the Manhattan skyline, keen observers can catch glimpses of the Statue of Liberty from certain points along the bridge. The panoramic vista makes the bridge a unique vantage point for appreciating this iconic symbol.

Are there any special events or celebrations held on the Brooklyn Bridge?

The Brooklyn Bridge occasionally hosts special events, celebrations, and festivals. Fireworks displays, cultural events, and charity walks are just a few examples of the diverse activities that take place on or around the bridge. Stay updated on local event listings for information on upcoming activities.

In conclusion, exploring Empire Stores Dumbo and the Brooklyn Bridge is a journey through history and modernity. Whether you're fascinated by the engineering prowess of the bridge or captivated by the events surrounding its construction, Brooklyn's iconic landmarks promise an enriching experience for every visitor.

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids 👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and whatever prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

[Here's part one or whatever. If I feel like making more I'll make more and/or post it to ao333333.]

💚👻👽👻💚

The world is on fire, and Danny is burning.

The GAV is in shreds; wherever he’s crashed, there’s no way to determine up or down. He’s entombed in wreckage. Everything is on fire and everything burns, and it takes Danny all his strength to peel himself from where he’s contorted around the driver’s seat chair, to drag himself through the twisted metal and shards of glass with nothing but his hands and his tears.

He hurts.

It hurts so badly.

He crawls, because he can’t tell if he has legs or a tail right now, and is too afraid to find out he can’t walk by injuring one of his legs permanently. It’s hard to see through the smoke and the tears. He can’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe even if he wanted to.

There are instincts unique to being dead. Danny can’t tell up or down, and he can’t tell where he is or remember how he got here, but his core tugs him towards somewhere dark. Somewhere cool. Somewhere enclosed, even—even better, so Danny can curl up and sob in peace.

Danny wedges himself into a dark corner, curls himself up as much as he can, and lets himself drop into his core.

*

Something is touching him somethingistouchinghimsomethingistouchinghim—

Danny pops out of his core with a scream. No words. No coherency. Everything hurts, and all he can do is scream.

Someone is touching him. The thing touching him is body-shaped. Human-shaped. Danny screams higher, louder—some part of his hindbrain knows that if he screams for real then there won’t be a human but there will be guts and gore and blood, but Danny’s too tired to scream for real, and too weak. His scream is only enough to send the human sprawling back instead.

More humans take the place of the first. Danny keens, fights back a sob—when another tries to rouse him from his hiding spot with an exposed hand, Danny flashes his teeth.

The human flinches, but doesn’t go away.

Danny feigns a fanged bite. The figure jumps back. Good.

He’s too weak to run. He’s too weak to walk through the walls of his hiding spot and dart away. His visibility flickers—probably how a human found him in the first place. He’s so tired. Everything hurts. But if he looks dangerous and acts dangerous, maybe they’ll leave him alone. They have to leave him alone.

Please, please leave him alone.

They don’t.

There’s something in his face. Danny doesn’t recognize the shape immediately, but eventually something clicks: a loop on a stick is a catchpole. The strangers are trying to capture him.

He’s so afraid of something else around his neck. His whole body racks with shivers. He can’t run. He can’t bite. Please, please, please—

It doesn’t latch to his hand. It latches to his wrist.

Danny is only peripherally aware of being dragged onto his knees, of being dragged into a container. By the time the doors shut in around him, his mind is empty of anything that isn’t fear and pain, pain, pain.

He drops into his core.

*

Danny wakes up in a container.

It’s not the same container. But all containers are the same.

Danny screams. The soundwaves vibrate the glass until it shakes, slamming against the floor until cracks form in the concrete beneath him.

Still, no cracks form in the container. When he wails a second time, there’s no strength behind it. He just sobs.

He’s alone. He’s alone and he’s contained and no one is coming to get him. His transportation is in pieces. He’s injured and he’s scared. He’s so scared. Everything hurts. He wants to hide in his core and he wants to run away and he wants to slither through the wall and he doesn’t have the energy into any of it.

Danny curls up in a corner, hopes he’s left alone—or better, released—and hides.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he hears a click.

…But he hears a click. Danny peeks open an eye.

There’s…food. He thinks it’s food, anyway. Oatmeal? It’s in a bowl and it’s beige and it’s on a tray on the ground.

Danny sniffs. …The last captors hadn’t offered him food. They hadn’t thought he’d had needs, or that they ought to feed him.

It’s a miserable, aching feeling when he thinks this is a step up.

There’s a flimsy plastic spoon on the tray. When Danny jumps on the bowl, devouring the contents as quickly as his body will let him, the spoon goes down the hatch with the gruel.

Danny falls back asleep in the far corner of the container miserable, cold, in pain, and injured. But he falls asleep full.

It’s a luxury to not be hungry.

*

There’s a click.

Danny ignores it. He’s not hungry. He’s sleepy. His body is trying to conserve calories and metabolize new ones. He doesn’t want to wake up.

The oatmeal goes uneaten.

*

There’s a click. Danny’s eyes crack open.

Apparently he’s been asleep for a while, because there are three bowls of uneaten oatmeal on the ground, waiting for him. All are in varying stages of crusting over.

Whatever. Free food. Danny wolfs it down anyway, and tucks himself back into his corner. He’s almost him-shaped again. His human traits are slowly returning, cell by cell, piece by piece. He can almost feel the fractures he knows he’ll have in his legs!

…Wait. Wasn’t his container opaque?

It’s…not anymore. The walls are clear. Danny can see—or, well, until he gets his eyes back, can sort of feel—the room around him, and the trace presences of the beings who occupy it.

It’s a lab. Danny knew it would be, but his core still drops down, down down. He had been praying he’d never see a live specimen lab ever again. He certainly hadn’t wanted to see yet another one from inside the cage.

Humans come and go from the lab. Most are in white coats and pants, but they’re not GIW. Or, well, they’re probably not GIW, anyway, considering that they’ve been feeding him. The guys in white never think of his needs, since they don’t care if he Ends or not. There are monitors that fuzz and warp in his not-vision with details he can’t make out on screen, but knows instinctively that the monitors pertain to him.

And to his capture.

There are some visitors in odd colored suits. They talk. The colorful ones don’t approach him, but they…watch.

No one approaches. Good. Danny will bite them if they do.

With the see-through window, Danny can see the bright-suited blob shove a tray of food through a slot in his container.

It doesn’t fall to the floor, though. There’s a little mechanical thing that brings the oatmeal and flimsy spoon to a safe rest on the steel floor.

…Alright. Bone appetite. Danny’s hungry, and food is food. He pours most of the bowl straight into his stretched mouth and scrapes the rest in with a spoon.

More of his wounds are sealing. Healing. His core doesn’t throb so horribly with pain. The cracks in his soul are smoothing out. With consistent food and rest, Danny will be able to actually mount an escape.

Good. Danny licks the flecks of meal from the edges of his mouth. Good.

When he naps, this time, it’s on purpose.

Soon he’ll be healed enough to leave.

*

The clear window doesn’t go away. Danny’s poor sight doesn’t improve, but he can see people come and go. Danny’s never truly left alone. There is always at least one brightly-colored human around (or one dark, silent human), and an assortment of white-coated scientists milling about.

The clear window lets them see him, presumably. If Danny wants to escape, he’ll have to be careful not to be seen.

Quietly, so quietly. Danny slo-o-o-owly amps up the resonance of his core.

There are cameras. There must be. There are always cameras. Disrupting the electrical flow in and around his container is essential to getting himself out of sight.

The lights flicker. The human milling about all flock to monitors, silent voices coming muffled through the see-though walls of the container. Danny reels in his resonance just a touch—whoops.

But no one is looking.

Something twinges in Danny. Well…no one is looking.

Very, very quietly, Danny peels a relatively safe amount of ectoplasm away from his core. A Danny-shaped shadow forms, and, yeesh, does he really look that bad?

Whatever. There’s no time.

Danny turns himself invisible. He slips through the walls of his container, and leaves the lab to explore the base.

[adorehyyuka]

cutie!hyuka <3

smut mdni

warnings: the dom & sub dynamic is a bit less prominent in this drabble, Kai's a virgin and reader is not, readers gender is not talked about and neither is their specific genitalia, dacryphilia ? praise, penetration, friends to ? big dick Kai, belly bulge, I don't really like how this turned out just because I fussed over it so much :/

your best friend was a virgin. huening kai was a virgin. he told you so himself, with flushed cheeks and teary eyes from embarrassment. he looked so deliciously pathetic you almost felt some sympathy for him. the only thing that was stopping you from feeling that sympathy was the sudden and overwhelming urge to fuck him into the couch.

and he was just so appreciative that you'd help him out, like the sweet best friend you'd always been.

kai was breathless after you pulled away from his lips and started kissing down his throat. every sensation felt like euphoria to him. his skin under your fingertips burned like nothing else ever had. every time your lips touched him he felt like he was being transported to heaven. nothing could ever beat this feeling.

"y/n. . ." kai whimpered as your knee brushed against his crotch. you chuckled against the skin of his neck, grinning like a cheshire cat when you felt his hips lift up in order to feel more of you.

"gotta be patient baby" you whispered in his ear whilst your hands continued to run all over his body, gripping and groping places you knew he'd keen for more of. and just as you expected your words were met with eager nods and cute little whimpers.

god he looked so pretty. his brown eyes filled with lust pleading up at you, begging for you to just touch him already. and his glossy lips that were parted just right, they were practically demanding to be kissed until bruised.

"so fucking beautiful. . ."

you'd never really felt this way about your best friend before. he'd always just been huening kai to you, huening kai your goofy best friend. but now as you stared at each other, hips pressed desperately against one anothers, you couldn't help the way your heart fluttered. (or maybe it was just the horniness getting to you)

"please, need you to touch me. . . it hurts" Kai mewled out and started to squeeze the flesh of your plush thighs, hands feeling anywhere they could reach. you shivered under his touch and quickly gave in, pulling his sweats down along with his boxers which he gladly helped kick off.

it was a little perverted but after having those words whispered in your ear and a kiss pressed right below your jaw you couldn't help but hurry along with your movements, you'd never tell Kai but you were desperate to have him.

to say you were stunned when your eyes landed on Kai's dick was an understatement. he was fucking massive. you unconsciously bit your lip and felt yourself clench around nothing, would it even fit ?

you shamelessly stared down at his crotch, thirsty eyes drinking up his fat mushroom tip that just looked so yummy. you could only imagine how heavenly it would feel to have him poking that good spot inside of you. "fuck. . . you're so big Kai"

your words alone had him twitching against his stomach, he swore he could come right then and there. but he decided to hold out once he noticed you pulling down your trousers and undergarments.

the next few minutes were a blur. there was so much teasing and touching that it made Kai's mind numb, all he could do was sit there prettily and huff out high pitched mewls into the crook of your neck whilst you did what you wanted with him (which was mostly just fondling and worshiping everything above his hips) but you made sure to bring him out of his daze once you started bouncing up and down on his cock.

it was loud to say the least, your ass smacking against the meat of his thighs every time you came back down, the sound of slick and sticky skin rubbing against each other, and of course the sound of both of your whimpers and moans mingling in the air. you wouldn't blame your neighbours if they came knocking at your door tomorrow.

Kai's head rolled back against the sofa and his lips parted in a silent moan, the way you were squeezing so tight had him borderline delirious, god why hadn't he done this sooner ? he cursed himself in his mind and prayed to god that his dick was good enough to have you coming back for more, now that he'd felt your velvety insides there was absolutely no way you could have an innocent friendship anymore.

"you're making me feel so fucking good" you groaned out in-between curses and moans. he was rubbing up against you so well, his fat cock stretching out your greedy hole which was more than pleased to swallow all of him.

he stared up at you, hips bucking and quivering once he saw how blissful your face was, he had no doubt he probably looked the same. " 'm so close, gonna come. . ." Kai whimpered and scrunched the cushions between his balled up fists.

you took note of his words, how he twitched inside of you and slowed your movements, taking to grinding yourself against him instead.

"not yet, baby. you've been so good for me, just a little longer yeah ?"

your halt in bouncing and your words had him shaking his head and whining out. "can't ! you feel too good, please don't stop !" at this point your languid movements were bringing tears to his eyes, his delicate lashes clumping together with the liquid, but he knew you liked that.

he knew because of the way he felt you flutter around him. and because of the way you let out a gutteral moan, lifting your body to start jumping up and down on him again.

"shit, your dick is absolutely perfect,, can practically feel you in my stomach." you whispered before slamming your lips onto Kai's and letting your mouths swallow each other's shameless sounds.

the last straw for Kai was when you grabbed his hand and pressed it against the bottom of your stomach, making him grope the small bulge he was creating. he let out a choked wail and bit down on your lip, stomach twisting in pleasure as he spilled inside of you. he knew for sure you would be doing this again.

series mlist

© hyyukas

tag list is open ! @cinnikoi @zzstar @mini-mews

[hongjoongspoetry]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Part 4 – Know It's For The Better

⛸️ Summary: Coming back with his tail tucked between his legs and an apology resting on his tongue wasn't something Mingi was keen to do, but witnessing you fall and hurt yourself on the domain you called home, all precautions were thrown out the window as he carried you to the nearest hospital.

⛸️ Pairing(s): Hockey Player!Mingi x Figure Skater!Reader, Figure Skater!Hyunjin x Figure Skater!Reader

⛸️ Genres/Tropes: College AU, non-idol AU, rivals to lovers but it's more like one-sided resentment, hockey AU, figure skating AU, angst, fluff

⛸️ Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), explicit language, mild sports injury, hospital scene, one idiom referencing blood, crying, brief make out session (everything is consensual btw)

⛸️ Current wordcount: 12.4K

⛸️ Author's note: So sorry for the late update! I was out with my friends and completely forgot I should've posted the fourth part of Cold Hands, Warm Heart! It's also the last part that I've written before hand, so that means I don't know when the next part will be up, hehehe. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard Click on me!

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is NSFW and not appropriate for minors as it contains explicit scenes, not just sexual content but descriptions of both physical and verbal fights,  as well as adult language. Minors and ageless blogs, please, refrain from reading or interacting with this work or my blog!!!

There wasn’t an instance in life where you thought you’d struggle with finding the motivation to figure skate again. The sport was your everything. It was like breathing, a natural part of your life, so to experience that blockage was quite suffocating.

In the meantime, your friends sufficed as oxygen masks, giving you support in their own ways. But the one to help you the most was Hyunjin, because at the end of the day, he was the one to get you out on that ice again. That was weeks ago, and you agreed to have more practices together as you both had things to achieve; you to reclaim the love for ice skating and he to win the pair division of the Spring Championship with Iseul. Thereon out, Monday mornings were reserved for skating as neither had classes until the afternoon.

You were already out of bed at seven AM and had a little time to spare. Turning on the TV in your living room, you listened to the weather channel announcing an unexpected snowstorm that hit overnight and showed no signs of stopping, creating havoc in the city. Transportation lines were being put on paus and traffic hit every street in Seoul. The misfortune of not having a vehicle turned into luck as you were the first to arrive on time to the practice, but Hyunjin was still stuck in his car a few minutes away from the arena. The usual five minute drive would at least take him thirty minutes as read in his text.

Trying to make time pass faster you decided to start early with the warm up. Already clad in your training attire, all you had to do was fix your hair, put on the skates and stretch a little. As you were securing the ties the doors opened and the shifting sound had you turning around.

“I thought you said you’d be thirty minutes la–” The words died in your throat at the sight of Mingi. 

As your eyes locked, the air grew thinner until you thought your lungs were playing tricks on you and not pulling in the air you were so desperately seeking. Taking him in, you couldn’t help but hate how calm and collected he looked. His chest rose gently with each intake of oxygen, taunting you like usual.

“Is the rink yours?” He finally asked and the invisible ball resting in your throat vanished but even then you opted with a non-verbal reply, just a little nod of your head. 

You had gone great lengths to avoid him, hurtful words stored up in the back of your mind waiting patiently to catapult at the first encounter with him and now that he was a mere three meters in front of you, there was nothing in your head, it all went up in smoke, ceased to completely exist! 

“Okay.” 

“Fucking hell,” you cursed after he disappeared into the locker room. 

Cold to the touch, you covered your blazing cheeks with your hands and dragged the skin in a downward motion exposing the hidden part of your eyeballs. Everything was fine, you were fine, completely-prima-perfect, you thought and tried to calm down. You just had to imagine he wasn’t there, he was still in the snowy mountains doing stupid stunts and drinking his liver away, yeah!

Sitting down on the floor, you started with some light stretches, nothing too explicit but enough to get your body going until Hyunjin arrived. Moving from one position to another your muscles were slowly warming up and you decided to finish it off with a groin stretch. 

Maneuvering your legs into a V position, you slowly inched closer to the ground, arms stretched out and head facing the floor. You felt a burning yet nice feeling in your inner thighs and kept the position a little while longer. It felt so nice you didn’t notice Mingi coming back. A black compression shirt tucked into his sleazy gray sweatpants that were hanging dangerously low on his hips, sneaking looks at you for a good five minutes. The sight of you folded in half had his mind wandering down the slippery slope of sin and he almost forgot why he was resisting the need to pester you. 

“What?”

The squeaked question brought him out of his daze and he was quick to avert his gaze on the ice, praying you’d think nothing of the tint on his cheeks and accusing it as a side effect of the low temperature.

“Nothing.”

“The rink is mine,” you quickly snapped.

“Don’t worry I’ll wait til you’re done.”

You hated everything about him. You hated how he turned hot and cold with the flip of a switch, how he made your insides explode with butterflies, and how he set fire to your veins. Most importantly, you hated how you kind of missed him.

“You’ll be waiting a long time, bud,” Hyunjin answered and sent you a quick smile. Neither noticed the figure skater sneak in, all dressed and almost ready to go. In a matter of seconds he got rid of his outer clothing and secured the skates on his feet. 

“Shall we?” He held his hand out, palm upward and calling for yours. 

With a lump in your throat, you ever so gently allowed his soft hands to hold yours and guide you to the slippery floor. Mingi huffed and slumped down on the bench right outside the board doors. Anyone walking by would think he was too engrossed in his new stick to notice the beautiful performance taking place right in front of his eyes, but in reality his attention was on you. He wanted to bash his own head in.

Of course you weren’t going to be there alone and of course that asshole had to be there too. Why wouldn’t he? You two were a thing now, a couple with a popping ‘P’. 

You dominated the ice together. Hyunjin’s hand rested on your waist and traveled to your arms and legs, and other placements that had Mingi’s temperature rising. Oh, no one would understand how much he wanted to storm the rink and separate you two. Throw the male figure skater around like a cat playing with its toys, but he couldn’t. He fucked it up all those weeks ago.

So Mingi sat and did what he said he’d do. He waited.

If only Yunho hadn’t harassed him to leave their apartment, then he wouldn't be forced to watch the pair twirling with imaginary hearts and stars floating around them. That also meant he wouldn’t have crossed paths with you which seemed to be impossible considering you turned into a ghost since the explosion of an argument. Mingi heard nothing and saw nothing of you throughout the whole winter break and it continued into the first couple of school weeks too. It was nice, at first. Having enough time to think about other things than the girl who occupied his mind every waking hour, but after a few days there was nothing more to think about and only then did Mingi realize how deep of a hole you carved into his heart.

Taking the white tape beside him, he tore a small piece of it and stuck it to the blade of his stick, right in the middle. He contemplated whether to write something or just leave it blank. Mingi was always the guy who snickered as his teammates wrote the initials of their partners and not once did he imagine a day where he’d replace his signature ‘fix on’ — he came up with it during middle school and thought it was cool — for some random letters, but there he was, scribbling down the first acronyms of your full name. 

Shifting his gaze from the poor handwriting to you, his heart skipped a beat as Hyunjin grabbed you by your hips and raised you up in the air all while skating backwards. It looked magical and so professional, as if you were ready for the Olympics. Mingi knew the crowd would go wild at the two of you and a subconscious smile graced his face as your arms extended horizontally. You looked happy and despite the feud that took place right after his game, Mingi liked that glow on you. 

Dread overtook the glee on your face and Mingi watched as every athlete’s nightmare came to life. Hyunjin’s grip slipped from your waist and your abdomen crashed against his shoulder, the gravity dragging you down. The figure skater managed to wrap his arms around your thighs saving you from going head first on the ice and suffering a concussion, but your body weight threw him off balance and you both went down either way. On instinct your arms shot out to welcome the ground with your palms yet somehow your right forearm took the first blow. On the ice, Hyunjin quickly turned you over on your back, careful not to cause more harm. 

Blood rushed to Mingi’s ears as he realized you weren’t standing up and instead squirmed around, clutching your elbow closed to your chest with hot tears cascading down your cheeks. His new stick was thrown to the ground and he was by your side in seconds. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” Hyunjin repeated over and over again and Mingi had half a mind not to punch him across the face until his teeth left trails of crimson on the ice, like a spilled strawberry slushie.

Not wanting to think of the hundred different ways he could obliterate the handsome figure skater, he focused on you. The more important matter at hand. 

“Move if you’re not going to do anything,” he snapped and pushed Hyunjin with his shoulder.

As gently as his big build allowed him to, Mingi picked you up which earned teary winces from you that nearly had him pressing his lips against your temple.

“I have a car I can drive her to the ER,” Hyunjin said in panic. Poor guy couldn’t think straight, all he wanted to do was help and calm the bubbling guilt inside.

“The streets are packed, you’d help nothing by stuffing her in a car.”

“And what, you think you can just carry her wherever it is you’re going?”

Trying to keep his composure and not deck the pretty boy right in the face, Mingi replied curtly, “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”

“I’m not just going to let you take her like th–”

Mingi was really starting to regret his decision of playing the good and understanding guy. “No one is fucking asking for your permssion now get the fuck out of my way!” 

In another circumstance Mingi would jam his shoulder into Hyunjin’s, but not right now. Not with you in his arms, silently crying with each little movement of his.

“I gotchu, it’s alright. Just hang on a little longer, yeah princess?”

Before he pushed open the doors with his hips, Mingi glanced out of the window and winced at the snow. It wasn’t anywhere near as hectic as earlier, but it was still reaching minus degrees and your thin clothes would do nothing to keep you warm.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. 

His options were few and it wasn’t like his car was parked around the corner (he didn’t have a car nor a driver’s license). On the bright side, the hospital was just a ten minute walk, although you’d manage to freeze to death by the time you’d arrive.

“You with me?”

You quickly nodded.

“Okay, good. It’s cold out so I need to fetch you a jacket. I’ll just put you down on the bench, yeah?” 

“Okay,” you sniffled and wiped at your cheeks with the uninjured arm.

Mingi ran to the locker room, feet carrying him quicker than ever, snatched his jacket from the rack and ran back out. He put it around your shoulders, the material eating you up, and guided your healthy arm through one hole while the other was still up against your chest. After zipping it up he gently put one arm on your lower back and the other beneath your knees, carrying you like a bride to Seoul Hospital.

“Where are we going?” You asked as the cold snow petals landed on your face and hair. 

You couldn’t find it in you to feel bad for taking Mingi’s jacket and leaving him with nothing, the pain flaring in your elbow held all your attention and you weren’t even thinking of anything really, just hoping your bones hadn’t shattered at impact.

“To the hospital.”

Mingi breathed out a cloud of hot air. His nose, ears and hands were already turning red, but he didn’t mind. Light snowflakes landed on his hair and you wanted to run your fingers through it. 

“By foot?”

“Yes, like a true knight in shining armor.”

Your bottom lip wobbled and you started crying harder. The hot tears started to freeze on your cheeks, and you could only imagine what a horrifying view Mingi had. As if the guilt in your stomach wasn’t enough, now you were feeling self conscious too.

“I’m– I’m sorry. That was stupid.”

Shaking your head because you couldn’t get the words out that; no, you weren’t crying for his teasing (if that were the case then they would be tears of joy because hell, did you miss it) you were crying because everything was so wrong. You had been in the arms of the perfect guy for weeks and yet you felt nothing. No heart going crazy, heat rushing to your cheeks or stomach fluttering with pretty butterflies, just static. 

It wasn’t anything compared to how you were feeling now, warm, comfortable and content despite the ache in your arm and the whooping breezes slapping your face. Swept off your feet in Mingi’s embrace.

In the hospital you were immediately assigned to a room and told to wait for the doctor who’d run some tests. You weren’t the biggest fan of hospitals, it was something about their atmosphere that made you queasy. The overly white walls, the faint smell of disinfection and just eriness of people walking in cloaks and hospital masks covering their faces. It didn’t matter how much resources went into decorating the place, it was still nauseating and it didn’t help that you were supposed to sit alone for God knows how long until someone came to check on you. 

An orange blanket covered your legs and a pack of baby wipes were in your hands that you used to remove the mess of tears and make-up on your skin. They didn’t give you anything to ease the pain and your phone, along with all your other stuff, was left at the arena, leaving you with no entertainment. Your skates were by the floor leaning against the bed and Mingi’s jacket was returned to him the moment you settled into the room. Mingi was probably long gone too, and the thought left a lump in your throat. Just when you thought life couldn’t get any brighter the door slid to the side and in came the person you were thinking of, a mini-bag of chips falling from the mountain of other snacks in his arms.

“Uh, they had a vending machine out front and I–uh, didn’t know if you were hungry and they also had a bunch of stuff but I don’t know what you liked so I just grabbed a bit of everything.”

You watched tentatively as Mingi clamped his mouth shut and shuffled to the hospital bed, gently letting the snacks fall on your lap. You didn’t say anything, not entirely sure what to make of the whole situation and looked at the different snacks he brought. The bag of choco-chips really looked appetizing. From the corner of your eyes you noticed he was balancing on the balls of his feet and realized this must have been as awkward for him as it was for you. Trying to play if cool, you grabbed the choco-chips and held them, finding them working as an anchor. 

“Thank you.”

Mingi bit his lower lip, hiding the grin daring to come out, and took a bag for himself and sat down on the chair left of the bed facing you, feet extended and elbows propped up on the armrest. 

“Ah, I almost forgot these.” Out of the pocket of his sweats, he handed you a carton of banana milk. “They were out of the strawberry ones.”

Snapping your eyes up to his which were set on the drink in his hand, you couldn’t hide the surprise on your face.

“How do you know I like the strawberry ones?”

“Because you drink anything with strawberries in it,” he replied nonchalantly as if it was a common fact known worldwide.

Mingi made himself comfortable and munched away on the shrimp chips. You were confused. The longer you tried wrapping your head around it, the more questions popped up. He was aware he didn’t have to sit there with you, right? Sensing your eyes staring at him, he met your gaze and cleared his throat.

“What?”

“You don’t have to sit here.”

“I know.” Another piece was thrown into his mouth. “Do you want me to leave?”

Parting your lips to answer the doors opened again. This time a man with a white cloak draped over his blue scrubs stepped into the room, a paperclip in hand and a stethoscope around his neck. With little to no small talk and after asking Mingi to step out, the doctor began his examination.

“There is some good news and some bad news,” he revealed and adjusted his glasses. “The good news is that nothing in the arm is broken, however you’re suffering a rough case of an elbow contusion which can take up to four weeks of healing time depending on how much stress you put on it. There’s no prescription for such injuries and the biggest advice we can give is to rest for a few days. You can pick up painkillers at the pharmacy and if there are any further complications then you are to immediately return.”

Mingi waited outside — almost hovering over the door hadn’t the three passing nurses told him to take a seat — as he wasn’t family or an immediate relative to you. The impulsive idea to lie about being your boyfriend crossed his mind, but it would be rather awkward to explain why the doctor suddenly had a change of heart. 

“Mingi-ya!” Yunho jogged down the hallway wearing mismatched clothes, eyes wide and blonde hair unkempt. Your sneakers were in his hands, adding onto his already rowdy outfit. He immediately crouched in front of Mingi and took hold of his arms, scanning them for injuries and moved up along his head. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, it's not me who got hurt.”

The tension in his shoulders relaxed at the admission and he allowed himself a breather since the unexpected phone call woke him up. Yunho didn’t know how he managed to get there without causing multiple accidents, the boy was driving on sole muscle memory. 

“Dude, you can’t just tell me to come to the ER without an explanation. I thought you got a concussion or someone was dying!”

“Sorry, I just panicked and you were the first on my recents… Nice outfit you got going on,” Mingi teased and caressed his non-existent mustache to hide a smile.

Glancing down at his attire — black shoes with yellow socks, a red hoodie, gray sweatpants and a black coat — Yunho let out the biggest sigh Mingi had ever heard in their fifteen-something-year long friendship and plopped down on the empty chair beside him. Yunho looked ridiculous and would fit right in a skittles commercial.

“Don’t say anything, I just threw on random shit and left. I don't even know if I locked the door or not… Who’s in there anyway, couldn’t BM or Jungkook pick you up?”

What Yunho didn’t expect was for you to come out with your arm in a slingshot and puffy eyes distracting him from your friendly smile. Both boys stood up, shoulders bumping and floor squeaking beneath their feet.

“Uhm, hey, I’m Yunho. Mingi’s friend.”

You recognized him as the guy in Mingi’s Instagram posts. Offering him a handshake, which he mistook as you reaching for your shoes, you introduced yourself.

“I know who you are, Mingi’s been talking abou–” 

“What did the doctor say?” Mingi abruptly interrupted Yunho and stepped closer to you, mouth pursed and brows slightly curved downward. 

His eyes were set on the slingshot supporting your arm, and you liked to think it had something to do with what Yunho was saying. A tingle sparked his fingertips, ordering him to reach out and gently caress your skin, but he withheld, afraid you’d crumble at contact.

“It’s just an elbow contusion.”

And at that moment all the air was knocked out of Mingi’s lungs. You spoke of it as if it was a minor inconvenience. 

As if his heart didn’t jump in his throat or stomach didn’t tie itself in knots.

As if he couldn’t breathe for the torturously slow seconds you fell to the ground and only moved at your pained wailing. 

As if the chewed skin around his thumbs were out of boredom and not concern for your well-being.

Having known Mingi since Yunho could remember, it was easy to read between the lines of his small habits: biting his lip to keep from laughing, getting physically clingy when jealous or wanting something, touching his hair when nervous and like now, growing stiff when at unease, and other traits that strangers wouldn’t bat an eye at. 

“How are you doing now?” Yunho asked from behind Mingi and shot you a tightlipped smile.

You shrugged. “Nothing’s broken.”

A beat of silence later, Mingi spoke again, “Come on, Yunho’s driving us to grab your stuff and then to get you home.”

With the touch of a ghost on your shoulder, he guided you outside with Yunho right behind. Exhausted and wanting to go home, you didn’t try talking them out of it by insisting to just let you take a cab. You hated the fluttering thing your heart did as Mingi walked beside you like a scary dog ready to bark at anyone crossing the invisible circle of your personal space. Soft music played from the speakers and the two guys occasionally got into some small talk, Yunho trying his best to include you in it with questions of your major and hobby. To your relief the drive didn’t take long.

“Wait here, I’ll get your stuff.” Mingi unbuckled his seatbelt, but you were already out of the vehicle.

“There’s no need for that. I still have two functioning legs.” Gaze shifted to the driver, “Thank you for the drive, Yunho-ya. You don’t have to wait, okay? I’ll call my friend to pick me up.”

“You sure? I don’t have anything to do, I can take you home.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I promise.”

With one last ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, you gently closed the car door and hurried inside. In the haste of getting out of the vehicle, you forgot your skates and Mingi wasted no time snatching them up and running after you. Staring through the window, you noticed the empty ice was now full of hockey boys doing drills. All traces of you and Hyunjin were erased, as if you were never there to begin with. It didn’t surprise you that he left either, who’d wait almost two hours for you anyway?

“Yo, Mingi!”

You jumped at the loud smack of a puck colliding with the board and stared impassively at the hockey player that skidded to a stop on the other side of the plexiglas. He raised his head gear — the facade behind was someone you were unfamiliar with — and smirked at Mingi who nearly clung to you like a mosquito thirsty for blood.

“Coach reserved you ten suicides for being late.”

The stranger banged on the translucent surface and returned back to practice, and if it weren’t for your hurting elbow or downturned mood, you’d say something smart and give him one of your glares, but you didn’t. The faster you got your stuff, the quicker you’d get a hold of Keeho and be on your way home. 

Continuing down the familiar path to the changing rooms, you halted in the entryway as you saw Jungkook locking a door behind him. His eyes trailed over your figure and then let his gaze jump between you and Mingi (he was still persistently sticking to your side). Although Jungkook was known for being dirty minded and quite foolish, the boy wasn’t oblivious to the tension presented in the room. It also didn’t stop him from being his shitty-self.

“Bringing your girlfriend and being late,” Jungkook whistled. “Coach’s not gonna like that, Song.”

The remark was aimed to prance on Mingi’s nerves, yet your insides fluttered at the term. Maybe it didn’t sound that bad. Being Mingi’s girlfriend. You mentally slapped yourself for allowing your mind to wander.

“Piss off, coconut head.”

That he did and snickered as he tauntingly patted Mingi’s shoulder, and whispered an encouragingly, “Go get your lamb.” Pun wholeheartedly intended. 

Mingi leaned against the wall and waited as you disappeared into the changing room. He realized there was a lot of waiting when it came to you, but he wouldn’t really have it any other way. You eventually came back out wrapped in your own outerwear and Mingi’s jacket in your hold. The leather one was still neatly thrown over your chair in your bedroom, waiting to be returned to its rightful owner. You both stopped idly by the door and just stared at each other. Now that no one was there — no Yunho, no Hyunjin, no doctors, nurses or annoying teammates — the atmosphere returned to a thick and awkward silence. It’d sure be handy to have some mind reading abilities, you’d do anything for even a speck of insight in Mingi’s mind.

He silently handed you the skates and in return, you gave him back his jacket.

“Thanks.” 

It came out as a whisper and you weren’t even sure he heard it. The overwhelming feeling of not wanting to be in debt, especially not to Mingi, who clearly said he didn’t want anything to do with you, had you opening your mouth again. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” 

He pushed off the wall, hands buried deep in his sweats, and his gaze finally landed on you. Fiddling with your fingers and suddenly growing nervous, you explained yourself.

“Wait at the hospital. I could’ve walked home or caught a cab.”

“I wasn’t about to let you walk home barefoot. It’s not a big deal and Yunho loves to help. I'm pretty sure he’s already grown fond of you.”

“Mingi-ya–” 

It was the first time you called him by his name since the (one-sided) fight and God did he love it. Starstruck by the way it rolled off your tongue, he nearly tuned out on the rest of your sentence.

“–you've never missed practice and you definitely shouldn’t start doing it for some girl.”

“Stop talking like that.”

The command was firm, yet lacked the heat you remembered from that night, and came out far more tender than you expected. As if your statement physically hurt him.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re just some girl. I wouldn’t do half the shit I did if you were just some girl.”

You parted your lips to speak, but nothing came out and you closed your mouth only to open it again. 

“Yunho’s waiting for you outside and don’t argue, he’s taking you home because he wants to and because I need to know you’re safe.”

As you walked out together, a little too close for there not to be anything between you, immature cheers sounded from the practicing group of boys.

“Fucking ignore them, lousy assholes, I swear to God.” Before Mingi could make sure you got into Yunho’s car and wouldn’t bolt, an older and gruffer voice called for him.  

“Shit,” he whispered and closed his eyes, the reality of where he was and what he missed, sinking in. He faced you again, staring at you as if he was holding back, but from what you didn’t know. “I’ll… see ya around?”

You nodded, knowing that you’d do everything and anything to not let that happen. It irked you how he could ignore you and then turn back to normal as if nothing was wrong. Who said you even wanted to see him again? Definitely not your aching heart. 

Glancing down at your phone, you immediately filtered through the hundred texts waiting to be opened. A few from Dasom wondering where you were and if she should bring take out for dinner. Next was Keeho talking about some movie and recommending it for the next sleepover, then calling you out for quote-unquote ghosting him for hours, and most recently were the texts from Hyunjin.

Hyunjin [9:04 AM] im so so sorry

Hyunjin [9:04 AM] fuck i swear i didnt mean to, idek what happened but im so sorry

Hyunjin [9:15 AM] did you go to the hospital? 

Hyunjin [9:15 AM] what did the doctors say? 

Hyunjin [9:16 AM] please dont let it be anything serious

Hyunjin [9:55 AM] text me when you see this please

The snow had stopped falling by the time you responded to Hyunjin’s texts, quickly agreeing to meet up with him in a park not too far from your neighborhood. Dasom, reluctant to let you out of her sight, forced her pinky around yours with the promise you wouldn’t be gone for long, as if you could ever go against her puppy eyes. Wearing a thick jacket covering you from head to toe and a beanie and scarf, you ventured out into the Korean version of Antarctica. The short-lived walk was spent replaying the accident. The feel of Hyunjin’s hand slipping from your hip, the painful collision, and the sudden yet comforting and quite confusing appearance of Mingi. 

Recognizing you from meters away, Hyunjin hastily stood up from his seat on the wooden bench and jogged towards you. He quickly, but very gently, closed the distance between you, his arms coming around you with utmost care, not to cause you more harm, and you reciprocated the hug with your healthy arm slinking around his waist.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered into the side of your head and shakily inhaled your scent, as if to calm down. You looked alright, but he was still quite shaken from the incident.

The timber in his voice pierced your heart. It wasn’t his fault, and you didn’t blame him for it. 

Taking hold of your shoulders, his fingers shook as they curled around your body and carefully pushed you back. He stared at you with waves of remorse and guilt. You didn’t like those emotions on him; they made his eyes somber and his charming lips bland in that down-curved form.

“It’s okay, Hyunjin. It’s nothing serious.”

“Don’t say that. You put your trust in me and I dropped you. My most important task, my only task and I fucked it up. It could’ve ended so much worse.”

Clasping one of his hands in yours, you gave it a comforting squeeze. “But it didn't, and I’m fine. It’s just a bruised elbow. Nothing serious, alright? Athletes get it all the time, you of all people should know that, you absolute prodigy.”

The attempt to lighten the mood worked as his mouth curled up in a wobbly smile. You weren’t lying when you said it wasn’t anything serious. You still had movement in your hand and fingers, and the rest of your arm wasn’t hurting, unless you walked into a cabinet or door, but that would hurt with or without an elbow contusion.

“I’m still sorry.” 

“And, although I never harbored any resentment, I forgive you.”

You understood where Hyunjin was coming from; heck, you’d be feeling the exact same in his shoes. The base for pair skating was built on a sturdy foundation of trust and comfort. A flicker of doubt was enough to chip at the cement, turning it unstable and weak, eventually leading to its collapse. Mistakes were a part of the figure skating experience, and although you poured your whole trust in Hyunjin, it didn’t mean you were an exception to them.

“Does this mean we can no longer practice together?” You asked with a pout and Hyunjin could melt on the spot, like a popsicle forgotten on a summer day.

“No, I’d love to continue our sessions, preferably after your elbow’s all healed up.”

“What?! But I already cleared my schedule for you tomorrow.” The deadpanned look he shot you had you bursting with laughter. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Of course you’re.” 

Somewhere between the chatter, you occupied the bench again. Talking to Hyunjin came more naturally now. No stuttering or a heart threatening to pop out of your chest, or a face burning hotter than the seven rings of hell. You warded off the replay of your and Dasom’s conversation for the time being and just enjoyed the comfortable air surrounding you. 

“Remember when I asked if you and Mingi were friends?”

You snapped your head to the side, brows high on your face and eyes curious as to where he was going with that. Of course you remembered. After all, it was the first time you did anything outside of figure skating together and your weak heart could barely process it without going into palpitation. 

With an affirmative nod, Hyunjin continued. 

“And you said that you were far from it?”

Another nod. 

“I have a feeling you’re wrong about that.”

“What do you mean?”

Hyunjin sat in silence, contemplating whether he should take back his words or just tell you what he saw. It wouldn’t be fair to act as if the worry stretched across your features was just a speck of Hyunjin’s imagination.

“When I dropped you he was right there.”

“Yeah, well he watched us practice–”

“No. I mean, he came out of thin air. I’ve never seen someone move so fast in my life, like I didn’t even get to react before he had you in his arms and barking orders at me. For a second there, I thought he was going to bite my head off,” Hyunjin chuckled, but the humor was swept away with the cold wind. 

Of all the things he could say, that wasn’t what you expected and all you could offer him was a blank stare. At a loss for words, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was he even talking about the right Mingi? The Mingi who’d been ignoring you since forever, the Mingi who dumped all his hatred on you and didn’t even explain why?

Hyunjin took it as his memo to keep talking. “And the look in his eyes whenever they land on you…” 

You pictured your grave being dug with an empty casket beside.

“It’s the only thing he and I have in common.”

The feel of someone tearing a hole in your ribcage hurt like fire burning your skin, and a thousand needles prickled your heart as the hand tightly wrapped around it.

“You don’t have to say anything. I already know I’ve lost the chance I had with you a long time ago.”

And as the beating organ was yanked out, you flinched and fell to your knees.

“Hyunjin–”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted, a sad smile taking over his beautiful face, and your lips wobbled in return. “You, too, have that look when you see him.” 

“What look?”

You sounded desperate, as if you were forcing yourself not to understand his words, even though somewhere deep inside you knew what he was hinting at. But playing a fool was easier than accepting reality. Blinded by your own sadness, you couldn’t stop mourning the idea of what could have been and it stung to know that the guy you’d been pining over for a good year or so liked you back, but the timing wasn’t on either of your sides.

“It’s the one you have when you’re on the ice. Relaxed, happy and… at home.” 

You wanted to deny it. Tell him he was wrong. To tell him Mingi was nothing but a pain in your ass. A nuisance you hadn’t been able to get rid off since your first day in college, but you couldn’t. As you once again had nothing to say, Hyunjin stood up.

“Let’s go. I’ll walk you home.”

You stayed seated like a kicked puppy not wanting to leave its sick owner or family that was about to abandon it. With a soft call of his name, he turned and patiently waited. No remorse or grief on his perfectly sculpted face.

“I’ve noticed the things you’ve done for me, when I was bummed out because of the preliminaries… and I just wanted you to know, that I appreciate it and… and that I’m sorry.” 

“I never harbored any resentment, but I forgive you.”

Hyunjin’s words tormented you for days on end, although it wasn’t his confession that you couldn’t get out of your head, but rather his odd observation. There was no way it could be true. One drive to the hospital didn’t suddenly mean Mingi was head over heels for you. If you went by that logic, you’d assume his friend liked you too, considering the tall man was right beside you. It didn’t matter that five, ten or fifteen people told you the same thing, until Song Mingi himself didn’t come out and say it, then it simply wasn’t true. 

If anyone asked why you ate in empty classrooms on the other side of campus or studied on the rooftop, you’d come up with a good enough excuse that sounded believable. Because you’d never admit to be hiding from a certain hockey player who held the fearful answer to your doubts.

Everything was surprisingly playing in your favor which was about time. Your days on campus were never spent alone as Dasom or Keeho kept you company, even if it meant running late to their own classes or missing out on lunch with their classmates. The injury that was bad luck turned to good luck as you had no reason to go to the ice rink, the one place you knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him or a very attractive figure skater for that record either.

It was the fifth day of Operation avoid Song Mingi at all costs and so far everything was going as planned. The lamppost was nowhere in sight and you willed yourself to relax on the walk home from a late night study session with Keeho and Dasom at the library.

“You can’t run from him forever,” said Dasom from beside you, arms locked and shoulders touching.

The red head disagreed with your tactic the moment you explained the plan. In great old Dasom fashion she hit you with a quote of some poet you couldn’t bother to remember the name if, it went something like; all that is hidden in snow, comes out in thaw.

“Good thing I’m not running, now am I?”

Keeho walked behind you guys and chewed on a strawberry twizzler. A loud snort cut through the air.

“Hiding, running, fleeing, you name it, babes.”

If it weren’t for Dasom’s hold on you, you’d deliver a punch to his stomach or kick his shin.

“Oh, fuck you, horseface!”

Dramatic as his zodiac sign, he gasped loudly and called for reinforcement. “Did you hear that, sugar? She just cursed at me!”

Dasom giggled at Keeho’s banter but her expression fell at the figure outside your apartment complex.

“What’s your plan then? Because I’m certain that’s him,” she pointed at Mingi who leaned against the brick wall, “leaning against our apartment and oh– is he looking at us?”

Fast as lightning, you whipped your head forward and immediately met eyes with the man you had been trying so hard to evade. 

“Mm-mm, not at us, Dae-Dae. He’s looking at her which reminds me, Jiung said he needed help with his essay. You coming?” Keeho asked, not giving her time to answer or you to protest as he snatched Dasom’s wrist and began walking in the direction of his friend’s house.

The call of their names died in your throat and as you moved to follow them, Mingi quickly pushed off the wall and stopped before you, jaw set and eyes hard, staring daggers at you behind his fringe.

He looked different, was your first thought, but there was no literal change to his appearance. His hair was still that two-colored tone and the clothes were the same — a jacket thrown over his team hoodie and baggy pants — the rings on his fingers didn’t look new and you even recognized the skull shaped one. He had a matching bag slung over his shoulder that was half-way open and full of hockey equipment, the only thing missing was his stick.

Glancing back at him, the  black horn rimmed glasses perched on his nose caught you off guard. Such a small detail that made him look so different yet the same and it was enough to send your heart soaring, badum-ing a tenfold faster than usual. The sudden change in temperature felt as if the seasons were filtering abruptly, jumping from winter to late-summer in seconds, and the thick sweater beneath your jacket was starting to itch. You didn’t care if it was minus ten degrees outside, you needed it off.

“Aren’t you going to run?”

Mingi quite literally snapped you out of your daydream. “I– Uhm… I’m sorry, what?”

“No, I just thought you’d be bolting the second you saw me as you’ve been doing the past week.”

Mingi raised a brow at your lack of response, and chuckled out a dry laugh. It dawned on you that your five day streak of avoiding him was only successful because he let it happen. Mingi was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew you were hiding from him the moment he couldn’t find you in any of your usual spots and even more so after Intak — a mutual friend of Mingi and Keeho — couldn’t get any answers out of the English literature major. Deciding to be kind, he didn’t pressure you at first. Acknowledging the fact that you maybe needed time, just like he needed weeks ago, he granted you that as it was the least he could do.

He eyed the slingshot around your arm, and his exterior softened as he remembered the last time you spoke.

“How’s your elbow?”

Never the one to keep up with his hot and cold behavior, you sighed at the switch from passive-aggressive to worrisome questions.

“What are you doing here?” You demanded, completely disregarding his concern.

“I’m here to see you.”

As much as your body tingled at the sight of him, you really didn’t want to talk. No matter what he had to say, you didn’t want to hear it. How silly of you to think he’d let you slip by after a week of radio silence.

“Move.”

“I know everyone bends at your command, princess, but not me.”

Pink and red camellias bloomed in your stomach at the title, but you refused to let them grow out on your skin and mirror your internal feelings.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you,” you gritted through your teeth.

“Then what do you call it when you do an one-eighty whenever we lock eyes across the school yard, princess?”

“I’m not up for this, Mingi.”

Once again you tried to move past him only for Mingi to step in your way.

“And you think I am? I wouldn’t be freezing my ass off on a Tuesday night for fun.”

The guy treated you like shit since the first time he saw you skating, always finding new ways to get under your skin and turn your day from good to bad with just one word. Mingi knew he wasn’t worthy of your time and the least he could do was grant you the wish of leaving you alone. But he also knew if he did that, if he walked away, he wouldn’t get another chance to say what was on his mind.

Giving up wasn’t something Mingi was used to and even in the toughest of times, he always gave it his all, be it on the rink or daily struggles. Yet seeing the options of running or staying tear you apart had him considering doing just what he’d never done. With an almost defeated sigh, he stuffed his frozen hands in the pockets of his jacket. 

“If you really want me to go, say the words and I’ll leave.” 

You licked your lips and when Mingi thought you’d cave in, you walked past him and unlocked the door to the building. He closed his eyes and mentally cursed his stupid mouth for offering such stupid ideas. Of course you’d choose anything beside hearing him out. It was quite funny, you were always running when it came to him, weren’t you?

“You coming?”

The question startled him out of his disappointed thoughts and as he turned around, you were still there, arm holding the door open and lips pursed as if you were second guessing your decision. Just in case that was true, he quickly muttered out an affirmative response and scrambled through the opening.

The awkward silence followed you on the elevator ride up to your floor and into the apartment. Everything about this was awkward, thinking back to the party, the declined kiss, your fight, and the trip to the hospital.

“Nice place,” he said and whether it was to cut through the silence or a genuine compliment you’d never know.

“Dasom’s in charge of the interior.” 

A vague image of a girl with red curls crossed his mind and the cherry curtains, and the identical fruit pillow told him as much. 

“Yeah, I can see that.”

You dropped your bag somewhere between the multiple shoes by the doorway and leaned against the wall in the living room, arms crossed and face stoic. Mingi stood in the middle of the living room, his jacket still on and ears visibly red from the cold outside.

“You wanted to talk, right? Then talk. Explain why you’re here.” 

You didn’t bother sitting down, the faster you got the conversation started, the sooner he could leave and you could jump in bed, hopefully forgetting the whole interaction. Mingi copied your stance and raised both of his brows, the stupidly handsome smirk coming through.

“You already know… why have you been ignoring me?” 

“Not this again. I’m not, when will you get that through your thick skull?”

“Tell me what I did.”

You remained silent at his persistence. Blood slowly boiling and heart slamming against your ribcage. It was hard to keep your composure, especially when Mingi knew all the right buttons to press. If you didn’t keep your jaw shut it would just be a reenactment of the hockey game and you were not up for another screaming fit. 

“Was it the snarky comments?” 

He took a step forward. 

“I doubt it’s because I call you princess…” 

He advanced again.

“Maybe you’re angry I crashed your date with Mr. Perfect?” 

You could feel the buzzing heat from his body as he almost closed the distance between you. Slowly and as gently as his limbs allowed him to, he trapped your chin between his thumb and index finger, slightly pushing it upward to peer into your eyes. As if searching for discomfort or disgust at his touch on your skin. You could feel his warm breath over your face and you forced yourself not to glance down at his plump lips.

His voice fell barely above a whisper. “Or was it because I didn’t kiss you at that party?”

It snapped you out of the daze and you pushed at his chest with all your might, and he voluntarily moved back, content with breaking through your strong facade and mindful of your elbow.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

“An asshole who doesn’t run away from his problems. Someone who goes out of his way to help others. Who puts his pride aside to see what the fuck is going on with you!”

“You want to know what’s wrong, huh? Fine! I’ll fucking tell you.”

Now you were the one moving towards him. Eyes burning and tongue twitching with each syllable rolling off it.

“I’m not mad you didn’t kiss me, I’m mad I allowed myself to be led on by you.” 

You dug your finger in his chest, hard enough to sting and leave a crescent mark beneath.

“Giving me your jacket and walking me home, not once but twice, like a gentleman-wannabe.” 

Another jab to his body.

“Saying you’d come to my competition which you obviously couldn’t care less about!” 

And another.

“Only for you to blow up in my face and call me shallow and selfish over something I still don’t know what! But that’s not all, no, because after new year’s you come back a completely different person. Being polite and nice as if you don’t hate me, scooping me up like a damsel in distress, brushing past Hyunjin who was more than capable of helping me, acting like a saint in front of your friend and the cherry on top! Claiming you wouldn’t do all that if I was just some girl! 

“But I’ve already been over this once, Song, and I’m not about to be fooled twice, you hear me?” An obnoxiously big smile stretched across your lips. “So no, I’m not mad you didn’t kiss me.”

So much for not throwing a screaming fit.

Mingi wrapped his hand around your wrist closest to his body and the grip was the complete opposite of his face. Soft and warm, and delicate while his jaw was clenched, and eyes hard and piercing. The awkward silence from before transformed a tension you could feel with every fiber of your body. You breathed heavily and your heart worked rapidly compared to Mingi, who didn’t seem to be in need of extra air.

“You think I led you on?”

Out of all the things you said, that was the only thing he remembered?

“This was a waste of time–”

“Did you think… I led you on?”

His hand on your wrist was cold compared to your boiling skin.

“I know you did,” you finally breathed out. 

The admission was like a hockey puck catapulted straight into his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. Swallowing thickly, Mingi flicked his attention down to your wrist, not once daring to meet your eyes. He huffed out a laugh of disbelief. 

“I didn’t give you my jacket to win you over or walk you home to get in your pants. I did it because I’d go batshit fucking crazy if anything happened to you.” 

It didn’t matter that five, ten or fifteen people told you the same thing because no amount could measure with Mingi’s final word. The air in the room thinned out and your throat ran dry. Your pulse was louder than your thoughts and the angry heat settled on your cheeks in a warm embarrassment. His hand slipped up to your hand, thumb locking in your palm while the rest of his fingers wrapped around the back of your hand.

“And I went to your competition,” he finally said. “I dressed up and bought you flowers and I sat through the whole number and when you fell down, I just wanted to scoop you up in my arms and tell you…” He paused, seemingly catching himself on something you weren’t supposed to know.

“I waited til you were done. I’ve never put that much time and thought into my appearance before, not on dates or big events. The only reason you didn’t see me was because you were too occupied with him.”

He took a deep breath and you realized while you were anxious of running into him at campus, Mingi was anxious of never getting the chance to share his side with you. 

“And I didn’t like it. I didn’t like seeing his hands on you or how you turned to him for comfort and I fucking hated how good he was at it, so I left…”

Mingi slid his hand further down so your palms were glued together and you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You know, it took me a year and something to make you smile, and you weren’t even sober for it, but I know that prick probably made you feel better in five seconds just by showing up. No flowers or anything and well, I already lost then and there, so I could only think of taking my shit and running.”

His fingers moved between yours and your whole body calmed down at the intimate contact. Hot and boiling blood simmered out into steady waves. 

“I was angry, completely livid, for letting myself think I even had a…”

You waited for him to finish but the rest of the sentence never came out. Taking matters into your own hands, you steered the conversation towards a topic you were far more interested in than whatever it was he couldn’t tell you.

“And you yelled at me for… what?”

“I never expected you to show up. I didn’t even know you knew there was a game, I mean, you never showed up to all the other thirty matches so, yeah.” Mingi looked away as the guilt took over his entire being. “I was told that it was the most important game of the season and that there’d be a dozen scouts watching. My nerves were skyrocketing from the get go, and please believe me when I say that seeing you made everything silent. And I mean everything.

“But then I got so, so angry when I saw him beside you holding that stupid sign and the memories from your competition rolled in and like the cherry on top, Chan knew what to say to tip me over the edge. The last thing I needed was you acting smart with me, too.”

You could handle a lot of things; like unimportant people being jealous over your achievements or praying for your downfall. What you couldn’t stand, on the other hand, was when people who were in the wrong took out their frustration on you (or when Keeho and Dasom were being targeted to get to you, but that’s a story for another time). 

Not to say Mingi was as important as Dasom or Keeho, but at some point, you considered him something akin to a friend. To hear him speak to you in that way hurt equally as much as when your mom made that one backhanded comment about your appearance or when your dad forced you to stop being emotional and then saying something along the lines of it being in your nature because of your gender. The hurt and sadness you buried all those weeks ago resurfaced in the form of red-scorching anger, and it would take a lot more than a pathetic story to make up for it. 

Tearing your hand from his, you hissed. “It doesn’t explain where you think you got the right to call me things.”

Mingi stayed quiet, appalled at your switch in behavior and you were happy giving him the taste of his own medicine.

“Got nothing to say? Is that it? You make such a big deal out of us not talking and now that you’re here, there’s nothing else to say. What? Did you think I’d just forgive you and go on with us being whatever the fuck we are? Talk is cheap, Mingi, has no one ever fucking told you so?”

As he kept his lips sealed, you sighed in disappointment. He came all the way and stayed in the freezing cold to spew his bullshit, but when push came to shove he’d rather be silent.

“You know where the door is.” 

You barely managed to get three steps in when his hand clasped around your healthy elbow, literally pulling your body against his and hands maneuvering to hold you by your waist. Noses almost touching and eyes reflecting a thousand emotions, you nearly caved then and there.

“I came here to make things right,” he said calmly.

“Fuck you. You can’t come running with coffee every time you fuck up.”

A strawberry frappuccino slid in front of you and popped your thoughts like a dart would a balloon. Mingi hung his jacket around a chair opposite you and sat down, much like in the library. He avoided your gaze and took a long sip of his green tea mocha. You didn’t touch your drink despite it being your favorite — you pushed the thought of it being a coincidence or not to the back of your mind — and continued staring at him. He eventually faced you and nearly choked on the beverage. 

“Why are you staring at me?” 

“I’m admiring your act.”

“What act?”

“This goody-two shoe thingy you’re trying to pull off.”

He chuckled and looked down at his drink, fingers tracing circles on the paper logo. 

“You’ve really got your head way in on that. There is no act. I said it earlier, I just felt bad for getting you thrown out.” The cup was left alone and his eyes found yours. 

“I’m sorry.”

You huffed at the half assed-apology and tried to break free from him. That was an immediate failure as Mingi didn’t let up on his hold.

“What do you want me to do? What can I do to make everything good between us?”

“Maybe start with a real fucking apology.”

Eyebrows drawn together and lips in a pout, he searched your face for any sign of sarcasm. “I just said I’m sorry. So what is it you really want of me?”

Your eyes fixated on the wall behind him as you roared at him to get out. It was one thing to insult you outside, but doing it while inside your apartment? That was just right out disrespectful and you were done with that behavior. Apparently, Mingi was too, because he didn’t budge and forced you to look him in the eyes.

“What I want from you? Last time I checked you came to me, not the other way around, bastard. Now see yourself out.”

You were surprisingly calmer than you initially thought you’d be and all throwable objects in the apartment were still in their original place. The anger you locked away for this specific moment didn’t come out in an explosion, but more like a controlled fire, growing bigger and bigger the more oxygen it inhales.

Would it be anyone else, they’d respect your choice and be on their merry way, but Mingi rarely did what told. All the softness in his features disappeared and he tried a more sharper approach.

“Look at me and say it again. Tell me to leave, to fuck off and I’ll never bother you again.”

The words were right there, waiting to be flung out in the open, but you just couldn’t spit them out. It was something Mingi took notice of and immediately used against you.

“You can’t do it, can you? Got that boyfriend wrapped around your finger and it isn’t enough, you need something more. Princesses are never satisfied.”

Through your gritted teeth, you growled, “What fucking boyfriend?”

That was all Mingi needed to hear to smash his lips against yours. His large hands pushed against your lower back and pulled you against his front. In return your hand squeezed his biceps and frantically made its way up to his neck where your fingers got tangled in the multi-colored strands. It was enough for Mingi to know you wanted this as much as he did, because there wasn’t a doubt in mind that you wouldn’t knee him in his balls if you truly felt anything but desire and lust. 

The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was dirty and messy and unexpected with teeth clashing and tongues hungry for dominance that neither of you wanted to give up. Compared to all your prior make outs, this was by far the most pleasurable one yet and as much as you screamed at yourself to let go, you thrived feeling his chiseled body against yours. The moment cut short as Mingi rested his forehead against yours, a string of saliva connecting your bruised lips. To keep himself sane he tore away from the sight and stared into your eyes.

“I need to know… I need to know you want this… want me as much as I want you.”

“Mingi-ya.” Your breathless moan sent shards of pleasure to his cock. “I want you.”

He wasted no time in hoisting you up and you complied by wrapping your legs around his slim waist, a perfect position for his hands to rest on the curve of your ass. The feel of your breasts pushed against his had him humming in delight that vibrated down your throat as you met for another kiss. This one was a lot less violent, but as feverish and needy as the first. The unexpected squeeze of your ass surprised you and your lips parted to let a gasp out to which his tongue entered to explore your hot mouth. Mingi’s eyes rolled to the back of his mind at the thought of your beautiful lips wrapped around his member, choking and drawing tears as you struggled to take him all the way.

“Bed–ruh, bedroom,” you moaned through the kiss and tugged at his hair to catch his attention.

Mingi realized he didn’t know where your room was and parted from you although every non-rational thought in his head told him not to.

“Where?” 

You took the chance to press butterfly kisses against the side of his neck, working your way up to his jaw, nipping, licking and sucking on his soft skin. The sighs of pleasure resonating through the empty apartment boosted your ego and you couldn’t suppress the smirk at the thought of Mingi, big bad Song Mingi, sounding so flustered beneath your touch.

“If you don’t stop that, I’m going to bend you over the couch and take you right here.”

The threat was more of a reward than a punishment, but a vague image of a certain red hair popped by and you loved Dasom too much to put her through potential trauma of seeing her best friend getting — what probably would be — the best pounding of your life. 

“First door on the left.”

Mingi struggled with finding your room as your mouth decorated his neck with beautiful plum covered marks and worked as a great distraction. Eventually — after walking into the bathroom and then the small pantry — he stepped into the correct space and plopped down on the bed with you seated on his lap. If it weren’t for aching dick he’d have you on your knees and hand behind your back as you took his length. As a response you grinded against him and his palms found your ass again, but this time instead of squeezing, he guided your movement and it extracted long moans out of you both. In the hazy mist of pleasure and lust the faint yet heated voice of Mingi echoed in your head.

“As if you don’t know what you’re doing. Acting all nice and cutesy like we are friends, like you’re interested in ever befriending me which now that I think about is so stupid because you and I? What a joke. We’re a fucking joke!”

“What are you even talking about?!”

Mingi scoffed again. He looked to the side, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. There were so many thoughts going through his head and all he could think about was what words to use to hurt you the most. To make you feel the hurt he did.

“First, you invite me to your stupid competition and then you come to my game sitting with him! Was this all a game, huh? To get back at me for all the dumb shit I did to you because if it is then wow, you’ve really proven yourself to be more shallow and boneless than I ever thought. I mean, you’re really going out of your way to get under my skin and act like a fucking–”

Mingi closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut, the veins on his neck were more prominent than ever and his face was almost identical to the color of his jersey.  He really needed to calm down before he said something he’d regret. Not that it mattered, the damage was already done and he knew the aftermath was already biting him in the ass. Shit, the look of your glossy eyes was quick to make his inside burn in pain.

Each insult was a poisoned arrow aimed at your heart. The words physically hurt you more than ever before and you weren’t aware just how mean Mingi could be. Your previous bickering never stooped on a level this low before and it brought tears to your eyes but even that wasn't enough to stop his rant. Not wanting to be caught vulnerable in front of the guy who was practically stepping on you with his shoes, you quickly wiped away the tears that managed to escape.

Mingi knew he was taking his frustration out on you and he knew it wasn’t fair because you hadn’t done anything wrong. It all kept piling on his shoulders. All the instances he saw you two together; the joint practices, your embarrassed giggles any time Hyunjin breathed, watching him console you in the hallways like a poor reenactment of a romcom, sitting so close together at his game, shoulders touching a little too close for Mingi’s liking… If that stupid piece of cardboard was a bomb waiting to be activated, then Chan was the flame that set everything off. 

“Oh, great. This is really great now you’re fucking crying too. You think some tears are going to make me feel bad? They won’t, I don’t care anymore okay? I’m done with you and your fucking shit. So go back to your prince fucking charming and don’t even bother looking at me, you hear? I’m fucking done!”

As if burned by his touch you pushed against his chest with enough force to knock him down on the mattress. Mingi grew stiff at your sudden outburst. The fear of having done something wrong, something to upset you, crawled up his throat in the form of bile and the feel in his legs was abruptly cut off. 

On the other side of the room, your heart was beating hard against your ribcage. Mingi was dangerous, you realized. The moment his lips were on yours, you surrendered to the satisfying feeling of bliss and it wasn’t like you were new to the act of intimacy, but with everything that happened between you, you needed time to collect your thoughts. Because getting tangled in bed with Mingi while you were still hurting wasn’t going to help you in the long run and you needed something more than kisses to make up for it all.

Mingi slowly sat back up and breathed out an air of relief as you looked anything but panic stricken. He ignored your slightly bruised neck and spit covered lips, and kept his eyes glued to yours.

“Are you– Did I– uhm…” 

He took another breath to collect his thoughts. Anxiety attacks weren’t foreign to him and if you were having one now — or a panic attack — he’d rather approach it with ease than scare you up even more.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah… I just… I can’t, uh– I can’t stop thinking about what… you said back then. After the game. It’s been like, what? Weeks and I’m still hung up on that and I–”

“Please, stop.”

The soft plea was enough for you to clamp your mouth shut. Words poured out of him quicker than he could form a coherent sentence in his mind and he was sure he was making a fool of himself. 

“It’s right, I mean you’re right. We should talk about that or, well, I need to talk and you listen, if you want.”

At your nod, Mingi gently patted the space beside him and while you made your way over he took one of your pillows and perched it over his groin. Your legs were crossed in a pretzel position as you faced him with your whole body. The anxious tap of his foot against the floor was slowly driving you crazy, but you still kept silent, realizing the conversation was probably as hard for him as for you.

“I’m sorry,” he started and wrung his hands together. “For everything. I’m sorry I yelled at you and I’m sorry that I made you cry and most importantly, I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Mingi looked up at you and if the raw sincerity woven with his voice wasn’t enough, then the watery shine reflecting in his eyes made up for it.

“I… I’m sorry for a lot of things and I know… I know that– I know that my words aren’t nearly enough to make up for what I said, but I need you to know that everything I’ve said, from start to finish, I never meant any of it and if I could, I’d take it back in a heartbeat.”

The cracking sound of his heart echoed through the room at your dejected expression. 

“You really hurt me, Mingi.”

“I know and I’m so, so, sorry, princess.”

The pet name made your throat grow tighter, and you blinked back tears, but they were persistent and eventually trickled down your cheeks. 

All those sleepless nights spent with thoughts occupied by your future confrontation weren’t anything like you imagined it to be. It was supposed to be explosive, harsh, and filled with pain, where you’d get to hurt him back tenfold and leave him in tears. Instead, it was the complete opposite and Mingi couldn’t think of a more agonizing punishment than to see you cry. Each shake of your shoulders was a slap to his face while your small sniffles probed at his cochlea. What really tore his insides apart, were you trying to stifle your sobs, your uninjured hand clamped over your mouth as if you were embarrassed to be vulnerable in front of him. 

“Come here,” he said, to which you shook your head and covered the rest of your face as the tears multiplied. 

Mingi swallowed, but it didn’t help the tightness in his throat. It felt like he’d eaten buckets of sand for breakfast, lunch and dinner. His hand itched to reach out and anchor you back to him. He wanted to reassure you with gentle pats to your head and slow caresses of your knee. Feeling completely helpless, he just watched until your cries were nothing more but soundless hiccups. As much as he wanted you in his hold, he also didn’t want to cross your boundaries, something he was apparently very good at. You were already hurting enough as it was, you didn’t need him pressuring you into things you didn’t want or felt uncomfortable with.

“Please,” he whispered out in a last attempt to offer you some solace in the form of physical contact and you, not knowing better than to defy him, shook your head in retaliation.

“I… I think… it’s best if you leave,” you barely made out through sniffles and a dry throat. “I just– I, uhm… I need time to… think– or well, process all of this and you being here. It won’t– I can’t think properly with you here so please, just…”

As you trailed off, leaving the sentence with an open ending that was self explanatory, Mingi physically felt his soul fade to nothing, leaving him hollow like an empty seashell. 

“You need some time,” he finished for you with an understanding tone and you didn’t know whether to feel relief or angst. 

Being in his arms brought a sense of security and the kisses he planted along your skin made you feel wanted. The universe would deem you a liar if you said you didn’t want to crawl back in his lap and fall asleep to the gentle sound of his beating heart. You knew very well that if you caved in to your desire, your heart and your pride would meet in a joust.

“Yes.”

Mingi didn’t dare to ask for how long, being well aware everyone functioned differently and moved at their own pace. The non-existent hourglass could stay upside down with its endless sand pouring for all eternity and while Mingi was willing to wait for however long you needed, he was scared your feelings for him would never go past the friendly mark on the thermometer. Left with no other choice, but to give you exactly what you were asking for, Mingi listened to your wish.

“I’ll give you all the time you need.”

Wolves were known for their fierce loyalty and being the symbol of freedom, resourcefulness and adaptability. When in danger, they flee. When in battle, they fight. Other than the fact that both choices began on the same letter, they also had another thing in common. Neither was an act of surrender. Like a wolf, Mingi wasn’t familiar with yielding and he sure as hell wasn’t going to get a taste of it now. He was done with handing out empty apologies, it was time to show you what he truly felt, preferably so before someone else beat him to it. Mingi wasn’t going down without putting up a fight, and he wasn’t one to back down from getting a little dirty if needed. 

“But don’t think I’m giving up on you, princess. You can use your time thinking and when you're ready I’ll be there. Till then, I’ll show you exactly how sorry I am.” 

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2024 - All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[justalittleficsideblog]

Your fics of the obey me boys protecting mc from a creep are so amazing!!

If it's okay, could you write a similar one for Barb and Sol please?<3

anon I see you’ve been sitting in my inbox for a millennia, but I feel like I’ve finally now can write this fic! Barbatos in my mind is a bit unhinged, so like TW for those undertones! This went on longer than I intended, I hope you enjoy !

Barbatos

I could see this happening in the later hours of a ball that his king decided to host, caught unawares with a human he decided to invite had inevitably gotten lost in his crowd.

Considering that your usual guard dogs were preoccupied with their official business, Barbatos took it upon himself to keep a keen eye on you as you made your introductions.

Some of the demons lingered longer than necessary, but the majority quickly moved on due to the presence of the brothers all together somewhere in the room. Despite that, one particular demon cozied up to you a bit more than he found himself caring for.

“That’s very flattering thank you, but I think I’ve had plenty this evening,” you waved your hand towards the demon, gesturing politely in refusal of his offer to a drink.

You weren’t stupid, taking drinks from strangers in the human world was hardly safe, the devildom was no exception.

The demons mouth curved down slightly on the side, but he quickly recovered as he sauntered closer to you. Your back now against the pillar, your eyes scanned the crowd for an escape.

“Those brothers must be boring such a thing like you.” An elongated finger dragged lazily along your temple as he pushed a stray hair out of your face.

“The brothers are wonderful, now if you’d excuse me—“ you grimaced as the demon side stepped your attempt to skirt around him. Now pushed farther back, your irritation was plain across your face.

“C’mon. Hear me out here—“

“I do believe the lady has kindly rejected you multiple times.”

The snarl startled you, a familiar back facing you as Barbatos stepped in between you and the demon. He held a serving tray in his arm, the other arm was across his chest as he politely angled his body towards the male in front of him.

His tail gently urged you to his left, its length curling protectively around your frame.

The formerly mentioned demon scoffed, clearly irritated about the kings servent interrupting him.

“Listen Barbatos,” the demon grabbed a wad of somthing from his lined pocket, placing it discreetly in his hand. “Look the other way with the kings pet, and keep this between us.”

The chill that descended the ballroom was near paralyzing.

You didn’t dare breathe.

“Out of respect for Diavolo,” Barbatos spat, rising to his full height, his back shifting into a lethal calm. “I will not cause a scene because of this disgusting conversation. You must be unwell, considering your intellect is so skewed that you believed I could be bought out for such an act.”

The demon tensed, his foot sliding back slightly.

You’d never seen Barbatos so eerily calm. He could be unnerving in his role, but the aura he was giving off was that of a predator.

“Lord Diavolo will see to you later,” a swish of his wrist and the demon was transported instantly.

The rush and noise of the crowd and music came back immediately, and Barbatos turned to face you, bowing deeply.

“Are you harmed?”

“Uh… no. No not at all, thank you Barbatos.” Your hand reached out to take his out and make him rise.

You were at a loss for words, the lethality you had felt from him was gone, replaced with a relaxed atmosphere.

This guy gave you whiplash.

Extending his arm, he offered, “Come. Let’s get some fresh air.”

All you could do was nod.

Solomon

Honestly, the reason that you hadn’t encountered any suspicious demons was because this wizard watched you very closely. When he determined the brothers were around, he tended to let off.

But, anytime you were without one of them and he was around, he tended to ward off many a demon (he may had cast a sort of mirage around you if any ill-intended demons looked to long).

Deciding to have a bit of fun without the brothers, you had begged him to check out a new club scene that had opened up. All the students were talking about it! I’ll go anyway even if you aren’t with me!

Leaving you unprotected wasn’t an option, but he decided to play coy and tag along.

Solomon immediately disliked the air of the nightclub. The thick haze and skewed magic surrounding it instantly made him on edge. Seeing you so excited to be there, seeking out some friends from class, made him bite his tongue.

The crowd itself made him uneasy, some demons lingering looks made him grind his teeth as he steered you towards a booth to get a break.

“This place is kind of… dense.” He ground out.

“I think this’ll be fun! Oh! Let me go to the bathroom quick, one of the girls from our sorcery course needs some help fixing her look.”

You skirted off quickly. Solomon reassured himself it was fine, you had a trace of his magic he could track. He reached out to feel the tug, only—

There was nothing there.

————-

Having fixed up your friends hair, you made your way back to Solomon. Unfortunately you were intercepted, a large demon glancing down at you with wide eyes.

“So you’re the human they’ve been talking about.”

You attempted to move around him, huffing when the press of bodies halted you from doing so.

This demon was clearly intoxicated, his uneven gate and slight sway told you that much.

A grip on your arm made you flinch, moving quickly to detach the large hand from your bicep.

“Let me go, man.”

The demon flung his arms up in surrender. “Are you here by yourself? You know, this place is full of creatures that would—“

“I’m with my friends, now if you’ll excuse me.” You shouldered your way past him, ignoring his intimidating height. You looked around for the booth that Solomon and you were at previously.

Your heart thundered, where the hell was it?

“Are you a bit lost?” A grin split across his face as he leaned down, the smell of demonous reaching your nostrils. “I could help you find your friends…”

The look in his eyes told you something entirely different. Panic began to work its way up your chest and the noise and flickering lights made it hard to see against the crowd.

Suddenly, a heavy arm wrapped around your shoulders. Jolting from the contact, you looked up to see Solomon, staring down the demon in front of you.

“I do hope that you weren’t giving my human any trouble here.”

Realizing who was in front of him, the demon blanched, leaning back into a few others that were crowded behind him.

“N-not at all man, just trying to help them out is all.” He waved his claws in front of his face, eager to turn and part the crowd as he made his exit.

Satisfied, Solomon looked to you.

“What happened to that bracelet you always wear?”

Furrowing your brows you spoke. “What are you talking about? It’s right here—“

You grabbed your empty wrist in alarm. Shit! You must’ve undone it when you were helping your friend.

“It’s probably in the bathroom, here, let me go grab it quick!”

Solomon grabbed your shoulder and spun you in close to him.

“Forget the bracelet.”

“But that was a gift! I’m sure it was expensive.”

You saw his jaw tick. “I’ll get you another, you’re not leaving my sight after that.”

Clasping your hand in his, he made his way to the exit.

“How do you feel about takeout?”

A smile burst across your face.

“As long as you’re the one paying.”

Solomon laughed, grasping your hand a bit tighter.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Perfect Score - Chapter 4 - Thin Ice | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: Moving on to Casterly Rock for the next round of the tour, Aemond has some explaining to do | Word Count: 7.4k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: Aemond being a general raging dickhead, classism, sexual tension 😘, swearing, heavy petting

A/N: I feel like apologising for long chapters is beyond me at this point. But ohohoho we getting into itttt~

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

It turned out that alone, never really meant alone.

Alone in the sense that Aemond and yourself would be carted around by the various staff at Hightower Management, put into various hotels and expected to keep up with training, without the keen eyes of Otto nor Alicent watching over either of you.

Part of you was excited about the notion of a tour. But the more dominant part was immensely nervous. Without Helaena or Aegon to take the edge of Aemond’s personality, it might be silent torture or it might be entirely indifferent, as you and Aemond had been throughout the match and after-party well over a week ago and, as well as the time in between.

It was sort of routine now, the way you both trained. Only speaking to one another if you had to.

Even then, he did seem a little chattier. But it was a miniscule difference.

He’d not said a thing about his ex-dinosaur-girlfriend (as Helaena so carefully put it) being at the after-party. Not like he would say anything to you anyway, but still, what was that all about?

Helaena had told you as much as she could really, given all she knew being on the outside. Alys was twenty years Aemond’s senior, now in her mid-forties you surmise from the timeline. Besides grossing you out mildly, Helaena had bestowed her knowledge that as soon as Alicent found out about the supposed relationship, it was immediately put to an end.

Enter. The pregnancy scandal. Alys had approached Otto in a very business-like manner, breaking the news she was pregnant and that it had been Aemond’s, despite the timing of it clearly not matching up. Alicent was absolutely beside herself, which knowing her now you’re not sure if you could picture it, and insisted that it was entirely not true and that Alys had just wanted money.

Aemond’s or not, she was paid a handsome sum to keep quiet. And in the end? It turned out she wasn’t pregnant in the first place.

“I wouldn’t have told you if you hadn’t seen her at the party, as it’s not really my story to tell”, Helaena had said.

It left a bad taste in your mouth when she finished explaining. If that was all true, why the hell would she turn up to the after-party with the necklace Aemond had gifted her all those years ago? Why would she even get involved with a man twenty years her junior? It reeked somewhat of grooming, etching a permanent frown into your features at the memory of Aemond at the party, his shoulders rolled forwards, looking down and shrinking in her presence.

He looked so small then.

That’s all you could think about as you both sat in the back seats of the car driven by a man called Arryk Cargyll, who would be transporting and looking after you both since Criston was attending to Helaena and Aegon on the other side of the tour. He was significantly chattier and less stone-faced than Criston, which you chalked up to him being probably younger.

But even then, he barely spoke a word the entire way to your first stop of the tour. Casterly Rock, hosted by Jason and Johanna Lannister, representing the Westerlands.

At least the hotel was nice. You and Aemond had separate rooms next to one another. And aside from the odd light switch and the hum of the shower, he didn't make himself known.

Even now, as you sat on the bed, clad in black sweatpants and a sports bra, having visited the hotel gym, you listened to the shower through the walls in the quietness of the late evening. Staring off into space. The intrusive thought of Aemond showering briefly zipping through your brain and not at all imagining-

Incoming Video Call from El 🦌

Thank the gods for that.

You swipe the screen, greeted with the smiling face of Ellyn sat on what used to be your shared sofa.

"There's my hoe" she lovingly calls, stuffing a crisp into her mouth.

You hum a laugh, "Charming El" you smile, moving to lay on your front so you can prop the phone up, "What's the occasion? Do you miss me that much?"

She rolls her eyes, "Fuck off. I always miss you" she smiles brightly, "Forgive me for wanting to check in on my amazingly successful figure skating queen"

"Amazingly successful, huh?" You joke, "High praise coming from Floris' sister. How is she by the way?"

"She's fine. Getting discharged soon they think, she messed it up pretty bad" Ellyn shrugs, "hey, you might see Maris when you're out there"

"I'll give her a big sloppy kiss for you" you smirk.

Ellyn pulls a face, "Don't do that she'll punch you in the face"

You laugh. She absolutely would as well. The Four Storms indeed.

"I saw your Instagram pictures. You look fit" she says with a mouth full of crisps, "Anyway, who you dressed up for in there?"

You look down at your outfit, furrowing your brows, "A sports bra?" You joke, "Hardly dressed up, El"

She smirks, "How are things with Aemond?"

"Oh for fucks sake…" you roll your eyes, hearing her cackle through the phone, "Well, we didn't start the greatest"

"Tough crowd?"

"He may have insinauted I wouldn't handle it because I wasn't from any notable house"

Her mouth drops open.

"Death. He deserves death"

You laugh loudly, covering your mouth, "El!"

"Did you put him in his place?"

"Tried to!"

"I bet he went real quiet after you showed him up at that match!"

You smile at her, "Oh you watched that?"

"Course I did!" She returns, "not fair you looking like a snack on the ice like that. You could tell you didn't like each other though"

Ooft. "Yeah…" you trail off, "...it's a work in progress"

"I take it you haven't smashed yet then?"

"El!"

"What!" She shouts back, making the phone crackle due to her volume, "Just cos he's a dick doesn't mean he's unfuckable"

El, you're making it really hard to deny it right now by confirming my exact thought process.

You sigh, "I'm not fucking him, El. He hates me"

"Do you hate him?"

You bite your lip, "I tolerate"

"Fucking liar" she sneers, "anyway I gotta go, I'll watch your next match. Slay all day, love you!"

You sigh, dropping your phone, listening as the hum of his shower stops, and the bedroom light switch clicks against the wall.

How did you end this conversation thinking about Aemond having a shower more?!

Stop that. Bad girl.

You could hear him plug in what you assumed was a phone charger into the wall, something akin to bed slats cracking a second later with the weight of him slipping into bed.

His bed was right next to the wall, the same as yours.

You tapped your phone anxiously, biting your lip as if something were on your mind.

But you didn't have the heart to even tell yourself what you were thinking about.

Or rather who.

The bitterness of hotel coffee never fails to make you wince as you sit in the fancy hotel foyer, dressed in your usual all black sportswear while the space around you looks indicative of a Greek palace, all cream and decorated with keen detail.

Casterly Rock is unnaturally hot right now, so all you’re able to manage is a sports bra and a thin crop top on your torso, with of course, leggings on your bottom. Your foot taps impatiently, waiting for Aemond to come out of his room so Arryk can drive you to the ice rink for morning practice, raising an eyebrow when you look at the clock on the wall and see it’s already 6am.

He’s never usually late.

Arryk walks towards you with an unnatural spring in his step to say how early in the morning it is, smiling beneath his facial hair, looking entirely put together in the suit he wears. Does he wear that everyday?

“Aemond will be a while yet, shall I get you to the rink first so you don’t lose out on practice?”

You nod, downing the rest of the coffee to give you some semblance of life, standing up to follow him, “Sure, thank you”

You follow him to the car, sliding into the passenger seat, rubbing your eyes.

“Is he alright?” you ask, as Arryk pulls his seatbelt on.

He nods, putting the car into gear and setting off, “He’ll be alright. Just a small headache. The eye sometimes gives him some bother”

You drive in silence for a bit, the roads mostly clear from how early it still is.

“Have you been with them long? Working for them I mean?” you ask, trying to fill the silence with something.

“A while. I joined after Aemond’s accident”

You swallow.

The accident.

Sensing your silence, Arryk looks over briefly, “You don’t know?”

You shrug, shaking your head, “I figured if he wanted to tell me he would”

Arryk nodded and turned away again, clearing his throat with his eyes back on the road. He didn’t say anything else until you arrived at the ice rink, obviously not wanting to let slip any sensitive information that Aemond wouldn’t have wanted to share. But it was clear he knew.

It felt like everyone around you knew some kind of secret, and you were purposefully being kept on the outside, but just within reach.

This ice rink was by no means large and you’re thankful at least that it’s empty, so that you can do the pre-practice stretches in relative peace. You just stick your airpods in and play whatever you have on shuffle, using the free time Aemond isn’t here to start on the ice.

It’s nice every once in a while since starting training with Aemond, to have everything to yourself, music in your ears, hair down, the breeze of the air conditioning through your locks. Sometimes you find yourself just gliding, eyes closed and inhaling slowly and purposefully through your nose, letting the smells around you fill your senses.

After doing countless laps and trying certain jumps you know you’d be doing with Aemond later, you look at the clock. 45 minutes have passed and still no sign of Aemond.

Feeling entirely too hot from the exertion of practising, you huff and tug the shirt you’re wearing off, leaving yourself in only the sports bra.

Modesty be damned, I’m too fucking hot for this.

Tugging it over your head, adjusting the sports bra underneath, you don’t even register the double doors opening with the airpods blasting in your ears. It’s only when the flash of white hair passes as you slide along the ice, that you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Fucking hell” you mutter quietly, pulling out your airpods quickly.

Aemond shucks his bag onto the floor, not making eye contact as he slips onto the bench with his skates in his hands. He looks more irritable than usual, dropping his skates with a sort of carelessness you wouldn’t usually associate with him.

You watch his face, tense and irritated, looking down as he ties them, his eyebrows drawn together.

Skating up to the edge, you bite your lip, wondering if you should say anything at all. Would it just make him more difficult? Would he just stay quiet?

“Are you okay?” you ask, coming out more weakly than intended.

“Yes” he answers harshly, unconvincing, “Fine, clearly”

Woah, okay.

You lean over the edge on your elbows, watching as he fails to tie his skates the first time, cursing to himself at having to do it again, irritably looping them once more.

“Arryk said you had a headache”

Sighing once he’s double tied his laces, he leans on his knees, finally looking up at you, his whole body tense and rigid. He doesn’t say a thing. He just stares, as if he’s shocked you had the audacity to even talk to him, his glass eye reflected in the sharp blue tone of the lights.

It's like all the air has been sucked out the room. And the world only has you two left in it. The way he stares makes you both uncomfortable and breathless at the same time.

And you're unsure if you think it's a good thing.

A glimpse of what he acted like when you first met is there, watching the way his grip is tight, his forearms taut and shoulders hunched.

He opens his mouth, but you beat him to it.

“I have some ibuprofen…if you want it”

His mouth closes instantly. And his brow softens somewhat, although not unwinding entirely. His gaze falls to the floor for a moment, and he nods, looking completely resigned, much like he did on the night he talked to Alys Rivers.

Like a child in pain.

Hopping off the ice, you rifle through your bag that’s seated next to him, eventually extending the pills to him. He moves his head, his good eye starting at your legs and running over the entirety of you, before looking at your eyes. It makes you go all warm, watching the way he pauses at your middle, where the slightest bit of skin shows beneath the sports bra.

“Thanks” he says quietly, taking the pills from you and popping some out the foil. His fingers graze yours only slightly, and you press your lips together, turning away from him quickly to get back on the ice.

Your chest feels all hot and tight. Must be the hotel breakfast. That bacon did taste funny.

Something inside tightens as you turn to watch him swallow some water, watching the muscles of his neck. And then his large hands palm at his hair, pulling it to the back to tie it haphazardly, with no real care as several strands fall out from his grasp.

Why is that kind of hot.

What is wrong with me.

This is Aemond we’re talking about.

Despite knowing that there is no way those pills have kicked in yet, he tugs at his shirt as he gets out on the ice. He has one hand occupied with his phone as he meets you in the middle.

“Fuck. Speaker’s not working” he murmurs, fumbling with the settings on his phone.

“Oh”

You move from right leg to left leg, anxiously. Pulling at the fabric of your leggings while you think of a solution.

“We could uh…use my airpods” you respond, pulling the case out, “one each?”

He only moves his eye to meet you, his mouth wrinkled down in disgust. For some reason it makes you laugh.

“Oh come on, they’re not dirty” you smile, handing him one, “business partners, right?” you say, sticking the left one in your own ear.

Not friends.

Business partners.

He sighs, reluctantly sticking the right one in. You put the music you’ll be performing in a few days on repeat, sticking the phone into your sports bra in lieu of pockets.

“Give it to me” Aemond says, one hand limply extended.

“What?”

He looks at you, “Your phone” he adds, “I have pockets”

You pull an awkward face, swallowing thickly.

For some reason retrieving the phone from the sports bra feels weirder than putting it there, especially when you hand it to him and he presses it against his thigh to stuff into his zip pocket. God his hands are so massive now when compared to the size of the phone.

Stop. That.

Oh gods, was I sweaty. That’s so gross if I was.

He luckily doesn’t comment on anything like that. A small mercy.

You practise one. Two. Three times. The clock ticks by quickly as you're both immersed in training. Trying various parts of the routines, as well as a particularly difficult new jump, one that at first you have some trouble with.

Aemond throws you in the air and you have to spin three times, timing it perfectly so that your front is against his in time for him to push you back for the exit, hands joined.

It’s had…questionable results so far.

Misjudging how quickly you need to spin in the air, your feet aren’t in the right position and you fall chest to chest with Aemond, his arms reaching around you to make sure you don’t slip.

“Shit!” you whisper, annoyed at yourself, “Sorry”

You hate that when he catches you, his grip on your bare arms, that you can’t help but blush, every hair standing on end. Especially when he looks down at you, hoisting you up back on your skates once you’re balanced, “You okay?”

Completely too annoyed at yourself to care right now about the proximity, you shake your head, “Can’t hack that one”

Aemond bites his cheek, “Let’s try a double spin first then”

Realising you’re still very close, you skate back, clearing your throat, “You sure?..”

He shrugs, “We can work up to the triple if we want, but as long as we do a throw, still counts”

You nod, tucking your hair behind your ears, “Sure..”

If there is something you’ve noticed since you met and began working with Aemond, it’s that his style of skating, much like Helaena’s and Aegon’s, is very technical. Calculated. Overly-thought out.

Much like ballet, figure skating is as much about performance and emotion, than technical ability. Unfortunately for Aemond.

He’s so pragmatic about his approach that there’s barely room for any real emotion in his performance. He’s always straight-faced, tight-lipped. So much so, you wonder if he actually enjoys any of it.

As much as you hate to admit it, he was right. Starting with the double was an easier approach, and it came more naturally. So when you did several attempts after the triple, tucking your arms in on yourself for the spin, the last few were landed, making your insides swell with pride. Eventually, you look at the clock and wince at the time, so both of you take a break for a much needed drink.

After having crossed the technical bridge, time for the emotional one you suppose? No harm in asking, right?

“Can I ask you something?” you ask quietly, leaning backwards against the ledge, arms rested on it.

Aemond’s eye finds you mid-sip of his water bottle, and he licks his lips, his weight on one leg, wordlessly urging you to continue.

You swallow, wondering how best to word it, “Do you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy what?”

Isn’t it obvious?

Your eyes zip around briefly, “This? Figure skating?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Answering your question without needing words.

“I enjoy it enough”

Enough.

Aemond is so guarded. Even now, he holds his arms over his chest, protecting his heart. Silence stretches between you at his answer, as unconvincing as it was, you nod your head with eyebrows raised, not wanting to say anything more that might dampen the mood on your training for today.

Being around him is like stepping around a sleeping dragon. One brush against it, however soft it would be, it’d wake in a sort of angered panic, assuming danger.

That is how you would describe him. Whatever you said or did, it’d be interpreted as an attack.

“You don’t believe me” he responded after some time.

As much as you feel you dislike him, you can’t lie to him, so you shrug, “Not really”

He narrows his eyes, “Why”

Fucking hell. Here we go. Now I’ve done it.

You sigh, already feeling an argument brewing where you hadn’t intended, “I think it’s no secret that when you perform you look like you’d rather be anywhere else” you say, shifting about on your skates, stretching your arms anxiously, “Unless you’re just like that with me” you add, under your breath.

He rolls his eye somewhat, humming. In neither acceptance nor denial.

Was that a yes? No?

“I just think if we’re going to stand a chance in these Championships we should at least make the effort with performance. For the scores” you nod to him, “That’s all I’m saying”

Aemond scoffs, “Oh, so you think you’re giving me advice now?”

Oh there’s the sleeping dragon.

Your head retracts, shocked by the sudden sass. Maybe the ibuprofen has kicked in, “We’re skating partners, aren’t we? You don’t value my good opinion, seeing as, shockingly, I existed as a skater before I met you?”

He shakes his head, as if amused, “Just find it funny”

You bite your lip, now visibly annoyed. Your skin blooms in frustration. Not this shit again. No fucking way.

“Funny in the sense that you still think that just because I’m of no notable house, not so far up my own ass I can’t see the sun and not such a nepo-baby that-”

“I fucking told you not to call me that” he snaps, his eye now serious, his stance too as he pushes off the ledge to stand before you.

You shrug, “Is that not what you are?” you challenge, “Your brother and sister get to represent the Reach just because your mother is from Oldtown, and you make it to the Championships every time despite not being able to show a slither of emotion on your face-”

“It’s because I’m fucking good at it” he counters, “Emotions has nothing to do with it”

“Doesn’t it? You can be good at it, but you don’t fucking like it”

He goes all quiet, his fist clenched at his side, shaking.

“It’s as clear to the judges as it is to anyone, you don’t enjoy it. I don’t doubt you probably did at some point”

He swallows, as if preparing himself for what he’s about to say.

“And because you’re so perfect?”

“Didn’t say I was-”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re not” he interrupts, making you go quiet and still, “Don’t you dare try to act all high and mighty to me. My family is well-established and good at it. There doesn’t need to be a deep and meaningful reason why I do it. I don’t need to dig deep to find any semblance of purpose in my life, unlike your shitty one. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let the likes of your class skate at all-”

Aemond stops his chaotic ramble when he finally turns to look at you, seeing the horrified and tearful expression on your face after you’d heard him say it in his fit of rage. His face drops instantly, replaying what he’d said. It didn’t seem like him at all, to go on such a rampage of horrible words.

It felt like someone was speaking through him. Like he was a puppet on a string, performing the actions of others.

But he had said it nonetheless.

You laugh weakly, feeling your insides twist painfully.

“My class, huh?...” you repeat, shoving the knife inside him deeper. The word seems to make him shudder now, despite him being the one who said it.

If you didn’t laugh you’d cry. So you did just that.

“Well, I’m sorry you feel so disgusted to have people of my class doing your sport” you respond, skating backwards away from him.

With tears covering your vision, making the ice look like one big blob of white, all you manage is, “Fuck you, Aemond”

You hear his voice, once, twice, calling your name. The last time is exasperated, carried with a sigh once he realises that you’re too angry right now to even hear him. It all happens so quick you don’t have time to think, the way you pull your skates off without untying them first, hurtling your bag over your shoulder and pushing the doors open so hard they bang against the wall, filling the empty sounding room with an echoed slam.

You don’t look back at him. He doesn’t fucking deserve it.

You don’t even text Arryk to come pick you up. You just walk, legs carrying you as quickly as you’re able, one in front of the other and counting up and down in your head in an effort to calm yourself down. The air was hot and oppressive around you, closing in, making you feel even smaller than Aemond had just a few minutes before.

No tears. Don’t cry. He doesn’t deserve them.

He doesn’t deserve them.

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let the likes of your class skate at all.

The replay of the words breaks you and you hurl your bag at the closest wall, but it does nothing to expel the annoyance and frustration you feel inside. The skates inside the bag make it so heavy that it falls to the floor with a thud. You stand there watching, breathing heavily in the air of the early afternoon.

For a small, brief flicker of a moment, you regret throwing your bag with the skates inside. Knowing that it was Rhaenys who gifted you them, and that an argument with Aemond didn’t excuse treating such nice things in that way. All the emotions you have kept back are still there, sitting behind your eyes.

Not in public.

So with a resigned sigh, you pick the bag up and walk the fifteen minutes it takes to get back to the hotel, hoping and praying to every god there is that Arryk or Aemond doesn’t see you on the way back in the car.

The hotel is luckily air conditioned. You can't tell if you're hot because it genuinely is hot, or if you're just so angry you might literally be steaming.

So intent on making a beeline to your hotel room, you nearly collide fully with a familiar brunette.

"Shit! Sorry, I wasn't look-Johanna!" You sigh, red-faced, looking right into her deep brown eyes, that are crinkled up with a smile.

"Gods, you look…hot, and not in the good way" she remarks, her eyes looking over you. You can't help but look at her outfit, all a lovely golden colour that suits her in its entirety.

Instinctively, you wipe your neck, embarrassed at how you must look.

"Yeah, I uh, just came back from training"

She looks around, "Where's your partner? Aemond"

"Oh, uh, he decided to hang back" you lie with a smile, hoping it lands. But her smile indicates that she knows it's not entirely true.

Her deep brown eyes look over your expression, her lips tightening into a reassuring line that’s akin to a smile, “I get it, you know” she says, to which you cock your head, “Not being on good terms with your skating partner”

She sees the way your eyes go wide, and your mouth opens to contradict, “Save it. It’s obvious”

Fuck. Is it really that obvious?

“If it were up to Jason, he’d have stopped competing ages ago” she muses, eyes flickering to the floor every once in a while, tugging her jacket around her tighter, “It’s me who’s the competitive one”

“But you two skate so well together?” you ask, confused. They’d always been very good skaters together, only spurred on by the fact that they were married.

Johanna laughs, “I’m not stupid. I know Jason’s fucking around on me” she admits without a hint of weakness in her tone, “It’s the least I can do to get back at him, forcing him to compete with me”

Part of you feels sad for her that she knows he’s cheating, but can do nothing about it. But you can’t help the mischievous smile on your face at her so-called ‘revenge’. You’re at least grateful that the person you’ll be up against tomorrow isn’t so hell-bent on winning that she’s outright mean to you.

After a moment, she taps your shoulder, “It’ll be alright. Show him what you’re made of”

You blink, still smiling from her quip before. Even when she leaves the foyer, you stay planted on the spot, bag digging into your shoulder from its heavy contents, feeling the familiar heaviness in your stomach as well.

Show him what I’m made of?

I tried that already. And it still wasn’t enough.

If there’s anything to be grateful for, it’s that Aemond isn’t back at the hotel yet.

But it is only in the sweet relief of silence in your hotel room that you realise…

Great. He still has my phone.

It doesn’t take long for you to really wallow in self-destructive feelings. Stipped down to your baggy clothes, sat in bed, flicking through the terrible hotel channels that are just not doing it for you, and picking at several crisps and popping them into your mouth.

Knock Knock.

It almost makes you jump out of your skin, however soft the knock was.

Your jaw clenches when Aemond’s voice calls your name, staring at the door as if looking right through it.

He sighs, his voice muffled, “Come on, I know you’re in there” he says quietly. You can hear him shuffle from foot to foot. You can imagine him, standing there, with his hands stuffed into his pockets, his leg shaking while he turns his thoughts over in his head.

He sighs again.

"Please"

Part of you wants to smile at the way he says it. Like it's hurting every little bit of him inside to even consider apologising. But the thought of the smile never really comes to a full one on your face, and your lips continue to turn down into a frown, watching his shadow moving side to side underneath the crack of the door.

You didn’t move an inch. You just watched as he stayed for longer than you thought he would.

The shadow moved, and your phone slid face down under the door, before his footsteps were muffled and far away down the hall. You heard his hotel room door close softly, the light switch clicked against the wall, and the bed slats once again creaked louder as he flopped down on it.

Knowing he is right there, on the opposite side of the wall, no longer gives you that fluttering feeling. It makes you feel somewhat uncomfortable that he’s so close without seeing him. Restless.

Padding over to the door to retrieve your phone. Several messages line the home screen, obscuring the view of your background, you and Ellyn at the ice rink for Christmas and her falling into your arms, not being quite as adept at the skill as her sisters. It never fails to make you smile.

Rhaenys - Manager: 3 unread messages

El 🦌 - 1 unread message

Unknown number - 5 new messages

You cock your head somewhat at the unknown number. And with 5 new texts from it too.

Swiping open your phone, you're met with the absolute essay of the text from the unknown number.

Fuck that, I'm not reading it without a drink in my hand.

So you sit on the bed, a can of gin and tonic in one hand, scrolling through the long text.

At first it doesn't really make sense.

You raise an eyebrow. Reading on.

You swallow, reading all of the words.

You hate that you laugh at that last bit. You can imagine him pacing around, seeing the unread texts he'd sent and hitting himself realising your phone had been in his pocket the whole time.

Something squeezes tight in your chest, reading all of it over one more time.

Aemond hadn't apologised. Not specifically anyway.

I didn't mean any of it.

You sigh, tipping your head back against the headboard with a light thud, staring up at the ceiling of the hotel.

It's late. The match against the Lannisters is tomorrow.

Do you forgive him?

It felt wrong to forgive him for what he'd said, especially after all the times he'd been rude to you before.

Forgiveness would imply that he'd apologised, which he hadn't. You felt like you at least deserved that. And if he couldn't give that to you…

You save his number under ⛸️. Not having the energy to write his name right now.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, your leg moving erratically. Thinking of what to say back.

Be civil. But not too nice. Otherwise he might think it's all good.

You didn't want him to think that.

So you settled for something simple. Something indifferent.

Being in the dressing room without Alicent to fuss over your skates compared to now, sitting in front of the vanity, alone, with your hands clenched tight in front of you, it makes the loneliness tug at your heart. Sitting heavily in your chest.

You should feel pretty. Your outfit is a standard leotard with mesh detailing at the collar, short sleeves, little rhinestones dotted on the skirt to catch the light. The fabric was white, similar to the one you wore at the first match, but not exactly the same, and you can imagine what it would look like when you were skating, capturing the glimmer of the lights and cutting through the air like a whisper.

You’d done your hair yourself, half up half down. With a silver ornament at the back to keep it secure. The pieces that were pulled at the front were waved to the best of your ability, hair sprayed within an inch of their life to stay that way. Your makeup was the same, a barely-there approach, as it was all you were comfortable with.

But you didn’t feel pretty.

Aemond hadn’t replied after what you’d said the night before. You watched as the three bubbles appeared and disappeared a few times, but in the end it was clear he was intent to leave you to your thoughts and give some semblance of space. Since he said himself, he knew he’d fucked up.

You weren’t sure if you were relieved or not that he didn’t reply. All you could think about right now was the match, the move you had practised the day before, and how you were going to best execute it.

“Triple spin in the air, land on the right leg…” you mumbled, tracing the steps of the routine in your head.

The door to your dressing room swung open and your eyes locked eyes with Aemond’s in the mirror. Your heart lurched into your throat seeing him, after what had happened in the last 24 hours, with your partnership potentially hanging by a thread. Your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, sensing that you really didn’t know what to say.

He briefly met the gaze before looking down, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. His hair, as opposed to last time, was in a loose bun, straight strands framing his chiselled face.

“We’re on in 10” he said simply, his left leg twitching in barely-contained anxiety. He bit his lip harshly, something akin to irritation gnawing on his insides.

Anxiety you knew didn’t come from performing the routine itself.

He was afraid of what you would do. Or what you would say.

Swinging your legs off the chair, you pull one of your feet up to the cushion, making sure the laces are well tied and in their place, your eyes trained solely on them and not on him, who was still standing by the door, as if guarding it.

“Look, I-”

“I’m fine, Aemond” you interrupt him, lacing the other one, “Let’s just get this over with please”

Aemond looked as if he’d been slapped. Like he did that night when he’d spoken to Alys Rivers.

“I didn’t mean any of it” he continues, despite what you’d said. When you look at him now, standing up on your skates, he chews on his lip, taking his time to make himself look at you. His eye rakes over your outfit for this routine, leg still bouncing, “You look nice, by the way”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “Will you stop saying that like we’re friends, Aemond” you snap, “Just business partners, right?”

Aemond sighs, “Will you stop twisting anything I say into an insult about you?”

“So, is that what that was yesterday? Me twisting your words?” you look at him incredulously, daring him to deny it.

“No-fuck-I didn’t say that” he barks back, his volume increasing, clearly struggling to string together the right words he wants, “What I meant was-”

You shake your head, having had enough, “Just leave it, Aemond. I don’t need to hear it, from you in particular. Can you move please?”

He stays stock still against the door, blocking your path, even stepping forward as a means to say he is most certainly not finished. For a brief second, panic flits through you, not quite remembering how tall and broad he is compared to you.

“What I said yesterday was wrong-”

“You’re fucking right, it was wrong!” you bark back this time, stunning him into silence. He wears a stoic look, his chest rising and falling steadily.

“Do you know how hard I worked to get where I am today, despite my class as you so nicely pointed out. If it really offends you so fucking much to be paired with me, then why agree to it in the first place if you’re just going to bitch and whine about it all the damn time!”

“I-”

“No! I deserve to fucking be here, Aemond, just as much as you. I don’t know if I will ever be good enough in your opinion, but I am slowly realising that I don’t care about that. If you don’t think I am good enough to be associated with you or your prestigious family, I am totally fine with th-”

“You are good enough” he says flatly, his eye twitching somewhat as his muscles tense up, “Better than most, in fact”

You scoff, not affected by it now. No way.

“Well, you have a funny fucking way of showing i-”

You didn’t realise it at the time, how close Aemond had really stepped towards you, so embroiled in the argument with him that it didn’t seem to matter. His stance, his attitude, didn’t make you flounder.

But what did make you stiffen up and go hot all over was when Aemond’s hand made its way around your waist to pull you close to him, and his other hand cupped the back of your neck to tug your face flush to his, silencing you with his lips on yours. 

His fingers curled over your skin in a desperate hold, the one around your waist feeling like it was burning a brand right through your outfit. Your hands braced on his chest in shock of what he’d done, fingertips barely touching the skin above his black shirt, so much so you swear you’re able to feel the thrum of his rapid heartbeat.

Just as quickly, he pulls back, his cheeks flushed near-undetectably and his mouth open to breathe, with soft pants coming from his plush pink lips. Your wide eyes flit over his own, from one to the other, to gauge a reaction, despite him being the one who had kissed you. The sapphire glistens in the somewhat low and harsh light of the dressing room and his good eye doesn’t nearly look as blue, but almost so dark from how wide his pupil is dilated, that it’s completely black.

Neither of you wait to see what the other has to say, now that a line has been crossed, it cannot be uncrossed. 

It’s unclear who moves first, but all you know is that you’re kissing again, your hands on his shoulders, his own tightening impossibly around you. You feel the weight of every movement behind his lips, tilting his head to gain better access to your hot and waiting mouth as he slips his tongue against yours, sending off each individual kiss with a wet click. It’s a mess, your teeth knock near-painfully against one another, tongues fighting an ever-losing battle.

Aemond moans low in his throat, almost inaudible as he savours the taste of your mouth, his lips anchoring yours open the entire time. With his weight falling forwards, your backside meets the harsh edge of the vanity, making you wince a gasp quietly into his mouth. It only serves to spur him on, his hands fall to your hips, squeezing the flesh beneath the outfit in his large palms, kneading it as if to commit the contours to memory. As if he thinks he may never get to do this again.

He moves like it’s instinctual, his hands falling to grasp at your buttocks, he growls, lifting them onto the vanity, his hold so tight there that it sends a gush of arousal straight to your centre, especially when Aemond leans forward once more to stand between your legs, his obvious erection slotting neatly against your clothed core. His hips move with the rhythm of your desperate kissing, chasing the friction against your flesh he so desires, and you can tell by the way his lips part against yours, a breathy moan slipping into your mouth.

"Fuck" he breathes quietly.

You moan back when he squeezes your waist tightly, his fingers digging in. Thank the gods, this isn’t a cutout dress, otherwise his fingerprints would be clearly visible in red, digit shaped marks for everyone to see. For some reason, that excites you, a dull buzz making its way up your spine as you increase your hold on his shoulders and then his neck, hanging desperately onto him as he pushes flush with you, his chest almost touching yours.

Aemond’s hand drops to your thigh, squeezing the skin in his fingers, his thumb making its way up until it grazes over your clothed heat. It’s like he knows exactly what to do to you, and his fingers tease your clit through your leotard, pressing softly and drawing a desperate breathy moan from your lips. Your hips move towards him, chasing the brief, softened contact he applies, core clenching around nothing-

“On the ice in 2!” someone says from behind the door.

 

Aemond immediately withdraws, cheeks now genuinely flushed against his pale skin. His wide eye continues to hold your gaze, searching your expression for a reaction to what the two of you just did. 

His throat bobs as he swallows and steps back, peeling his hands off you and adjusting his trousers to hide the tent that has formed, the size of it shamefully impressing you for a second. Your hands pull back slowly, slipping off the vanity on wobbly legs and smoothing the skirt back over yourself, briefly noticing the imprint of his hand marks on your bare thigh.

His hair somewhat dishevelled, he uses his hand to smooth it back down. He wets his lips, missing the door handle once before finally catching it, “See you out there..” he says shakily in a weak voice, before he disappears, leaving the door open.

Leaving you to comprehend this sensation that tugs in your stomach. Leaving you to remember the way he’d just kissed you, just touched you, like nobody had ever done before. Even the mere thought of it makes your chest erupt in pink and flutters settle in your core.

Aemond had just kissed you.

And you liked it.

Shit.

Taglist 1 (Bold means I could not tag!)

General Taglist: @blairfox04 | @hb8301 | @jamespotterismydaddy | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires | @risefallrise | @theoneeyedprince | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya | @urmomsgirlfriend1 | @valeskafics 

Aemond Taglist (1): @asp3nxx | @avidreader73 | @bellaisasleep ​ | @boofy1998 | @cathy1514 | @dahlias-and-marigolds | @fan-goddess | @gaeela-6

[just-jordie-things]

[part fifteen] to build a home - gojo satoru

word count: 5.8k warnings: !!manga spoilers!! swearing, jjk-verse style fighting series summary: when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn't tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn't the hard part, it's lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately.

series masterlist

[part fifteen] : “The Whole Truth”

___

She’d been in this room before, more times than she could count on both hands, but standing here now, (y/n) suddenly is overwhelmed with the anxiety that she’s invaded a very private space.  Despite the fact that she was asked to come in, despite the fact that she’s there with one of her oldest friends- if she could still consider him that- when she’s standing before him, she’s overcome with the urge to find an excuse to leave.

Her fingers curl around the paper bag that’s still in her hands, the parting gift she’d gotten for him, and she comes back to earth for long enough to extend it to him.

“I got you mochi,” She says softly.  Satoru takes the bag to inspect its contents.  “From that place you like that’s always way too busy”

Still holding the bag open, Sartoru’s eyes slide upwards, peering over the top of his sunglasses questioningly, already feeling a motive behind the random gift.

“So busy you had to wait overnight?” He questions, and (y/n) frowns.

“I picked them up this morning,” She says, the previously level tone she’d kept her voice at dropping, just enough to let him know that his comment irritated her.  “So they’d be fresh”

Satoru nods, before rolling the top of the paper bag shut and setting it on his desk.  (y/n) doesn’t say a word as he lets out a huff, his peace clearly disturbed by her already, before he leans back against his door and crosses his arms.

“What’s this all about then?” He asks, in an uncharacteristically bored tone.  “Is it an apology..?” He shakes his head as though he couldn’t fathom the idea.  “Because I don’t need an explanation, I’ve heard enough-”

“Satoru, I don’t want to-”

“Fight?” He finishes her thought with a scoff, a bitter laugh escaping him before he looks over her again, her nervous stance, her tired features.  His annoyance quickly burns into something uglier.  “I mean, was it worth it?”

(y/n) blinks in surprise, and hearing the same question that Suguru had asked her just a few weeks ago has her blood running cold.  What a bitter feeling of deja vu.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” She says quietly, ducking her head so that she didn’t have to look at him while she spoke.  “And… and I don’t expect you to forgive me.  I know I wouldn’t,”

That has Satoru’s muscles relaxing, and he doesn’t cut her off this time when she speaks.  He lets curiosity get the best of him as he hears her out.

“But I… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t even try to tell you how sorry I am before…” She trails off, her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip to keep her from saying too much.

Her throat feels like someone had just poured lighter fluid down it and dropped a match.

Satoru leans off the door then, his head cocked and his eyebrow arched as he tries to fill in the blanks she’d left.

“Before what?” He asks.

(y/n’s) eyes nervously meet his but it’s fleeting before she turns away again, this time fixing her gaze on a single photo taped to his wall.  It displayed all four of them, having a picnic during their first year.  

For a brief moment, she’s transported to the memory, remembering the way Shoko had giggled as she held out the camera, her face barely in the shot but the peace sign she held her fingers in front and center.  Satoru has his arm slung around Suguru’s neck, pulling him into view as they both grin wide.  He has his other arm wrapped around (y/n’s) middle, forcing her to be in the photo as well.  She remembered trying to scramble away before Shoko could snap the shot, and how tight but not uncomfortable Satoru’s hold on her had been.  She remembers squealing as she tried prying his arm off her, but in the picture, it looks like she’s grinning happily, clutching his arm almost lovingly.  It looks like she not only gives into his hold, but embraces it.

It brings a sad smile to her face now, and she wonders if she had embraced it, no matter how hard she tried to tell everyone she didn’t.  

“(y/n),” Satoru steps forward, jarring her thoughts as she whips her attention back to him.  “Before what?” He repeats his question.

Her lips part, an excuse writing itself on her tongue, but she can’t bring herself to say it.  In the grand scheme of things, one more lie meant nothing.  Satoru already thought so little of her that it wouldn’t matter how much more damage she could create.

But she just couldn’t do it.

“I’m…” Her voice fails her, and she clears her throat before trying again.  “I’m leaving”

Her voice still cracks when she says it, but she tries to maintain eye contact so that he knows she meant it.  This wasn’t another act of deceit, which he believed it to be as the words first processed in his mind, but the longer he stares at her and sees that her expression is unwavering, the more he realizes she had meant it.

He would have preferred another lie.

“No you aren’t” He says in disbelief, hoping, praying she’d finally fucking learned how to lie and he could call her bluff.

(y/n) nods her head in a small motion.

“Yes, I am,” She says softly.  “I just wanted to try to make things right before I-”

“No- no, you’re fucking explaining yourself this time,” Satoru cuts her off, his arms falling from their defensive stance over his chest.  “You don’t get to just- fuck- are you quitting? Is this about Suguru?”

That seemed to catch her attention, as her face fell as she shook her head adamantly.

“No,” The word comes out solid, and it’s the loudest she’s spoken since she’d come into his room, even though she still hasn’t reached a normal speaking volume.  “It’s not about him, at least, not entirely.  It certainly hasn’t helped-”

“Then why? Why do you have to go?” He asks, his words coming out in such a rush they almost slur together.  “Where are you going? What is this about?”

“I…” She wants to explain herself, but there’s nothing for her to say.  “Satoru, I can’t…”

It’s quiet for a moment, while he hopes she could just find the words to tell him, to help him understand why she’d been pulling away so much, why it had brought her to the point of leaving entirely.  He waits, impatiently so, while his eyes search hers desperately for some kind of reasoning.

After a minute, it dawns on him that she won’t explain it to him.  Even now, she won’t tell him the full truth.  He wants to hate her for giving him scraps of clues of what’s been going on in her world, he wants to tell her off, tell her to leave just as she’d told him.

But just as she can’t tell him the whole truth in fear of hurting him, he can’t tell her to leave in fear of hurting her.  It was a vicious cycle they had been putting themselves through.

A thought comes creeping up in his head, and he doesn’t want to speak it into existence, but he does anyway.  If she really was leaving, he might as well try to uncover the truth.

“It’s them, isn’t it?” He asks, quietly, afraid that it was the truth.  “The Zen’ins?”

(y/n) fights the urge to show any expression of emotion, but it’s not enough.  Satoru is quicker, and catches the flicker of recognition in her eyes.  He’d guessed correctly.

“What is it then?” He asks dejectedly.  “They’re moving you into their weird fucking compound of a house? Are they arranging your marriage? You’re just going to skip along and follow their old, backwards lifestyle? Do you really want that?”

He gets carried away rather quickly, the reality of the situation hitting him the longer he thinks about what her life would become if she really did go down that path.

(y/n’s) breathing is rapidly increasing, and she realizes that no matter what she’d done, if she’d continued with the lie or admitted the truth, Satoru was always going to be hurt.  Tears prick her eyes as she tries to come up with a solution that would put him at ease, at least until she flees first thing in the morning.

When she doesn’t say anything, Satoru takes quick steps forward to close the remaining space between them.  (y/n) has to tilt her head up to look at him properly, her eyes wide at the sudden action.

This was the part where he told her everything he’d said in her nightmare, she thinks as she stares up at him.  This is all your fault.  This is what you deserve.

He’d meant to tell her that this was her mistake to make, that he wouldn’t stop her if she went through with it, even if he found it ridiculously foolish.  But then he got a good look at her, at the way she was holding back her tears, even in her physical exhaustion, she fought the will to cry.

And Satoru softened.

He pauses before her, and everything around them pauses for a moment as he kept watch of those eyes he’d been staring at for years.  He’d seen every flicker of emotion one could in them.  He’d seen the way they brightened when she smiled, how they crinkled when she laughed, how she looked when she was surprised, or angry, and he’d seen them sad before, too.

But he’d never seen them helpless.

And although everything she’d been saying had been in an effort to push him away, there was something swimming in those irises that was trying to communicate something else entirely.  She was lost.

With a sigh, Satoru pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. Not caring that they got tangled in his hair.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He huffs, and (y/n) blinks in surprise at the affectionate nickname.  “What’s going on?

She blinks again, but she keeps her lips sealed shut.  Even if she tried to speak, she’d be a sputtering mess.

“You know…” He speaks carefully, making sure to pick just the right words.  “You know that you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, right?” The question comes out in a whisper, as though there were prying ears to hide from.  “And if you need help-”

“It’s not like that”

Just as she suspected, her voice comes out in a strained whimper.  Satoru frowns.

“You’re crying,” He states the obvious.  “And you’re telling me that you’re leaving but you’re still not telling me why”

“Because I can’t,” (y/n) speaks again, and this time is no better.  “I just can’t, okay? I’m sorry-”

“Well you’re going to have to,” He says decidedly, his hands wrapping around her shoulders.  “Because something isn’t adding up, and I can’t just let you go when you’re like this,”

Against her will, a tear slips down her cheek as she looks up at him.  She shudders as she takes a deep breath.

“Please, (y/n/n),” He says softly, “Who’s done this to you? Who’s hurt you?”

Another shudder rattles through her as she tries to breathe normally, and she curses him internally when a warm hand touches her cheek, wiping away the stray tear and bringing her an undeserved amount of comfort.

“I… I can’t,” She mumbles, closing her eyes as she draws her face away from him, before she steps away from him altogether.  “I can’t bring you into it” She finishes, her voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru shakes his head, filling the distance she’d tried to put between them.

“Well it’s too late for that, so you may as well tell me anyways,” He says, trying to sound comforting, and he has no idea just how much she longed to be comforted by him.  

She drops her head so that she couldn’t be tempted by him again.

“(y/n),” He tries to bring her to look at him again, but she won’t.  Hesitantly, he reaches his hands out to her, his fingers grazing over her knuckles.  “I won’t know rest until I know you do,” He admits.  “So I’m begging you, okay?”

She sniffles, and closes her eyes tighter while his fingers carefully wrap around hers.

“I can’t hurt you anymore” Her voice still shakes, and Satoru doesn’t know how much more of this his heart could take.

His resentment towards her these last few weeks had been washed away so easily by his overwhelming need to protect her, and he’s never felt so strongly about doing so until this moment.

This wasn’t how he’d seen her cry before.  This wasn’t how she’d behaved when Haibara Yu had passed.  This wasn’t how she’d behaved in her desperate rage to push him away.  This wasn’t her.  He knew deep down something was terribly wrong, and he didn’t care what it was, he just wanted to make it go away.  He just wanted her to be herself again, to be okay, to be happy.

“You won’t,” He murmurs, still unsure if it was a lie.  “You won’t,” He repeats himself with fervor.  “There’s nothing you could tell me that would hurt me, sweetheart, okay? So just… just tell me what he’s done, and I’ll fix it”

(y/n) looks up at him then, realizing now that Shoko must have filled in the gaps of her lies between them, and that Satoru truly does believe she’s gotten into trouble with a suitor of some sort from the Zen’in Clan.  Any thought of lying through her teeth escapes her mind, as she looks at him now, all she can find in his eyes is pure honesty.

He’s serious, and it’s almost tangible before her.  She fears that he really would do anything to put her at ease, and she fears that she would do the same for him.

She fears that she’s in this situation because she’d tried to do the same for him.

She doesn’t know why, she doesn’t understand the feeling, but she chases it, in hopes that it would guide her to do right by him.

“I’m not seeing someone from the Zen’in Clan”

It’s the clearest she’s spoken in a few minutes, but Satoru hesitates as though he still had to make out what she’d said.  (y/n) doesn’t blame him.  She’s just as surprised by herself as he is.

“You’re not?” He mumbles in disbelief, his brows drawing together in a confused knot.

“I’m not,” She whispers back.  “I… I never was” She adds with a small shrug of her shoulder.

Satoru blinks a few times, his eyes flickering between hers, just to be sure that she was once again telling the truth.  He doesn’t find an ounce of insincerity on her, but it still doesn’t bring him much comfort.

Suddenly, his hands are squeezing around hers, and he’s bringing them to his chest, holding them close as though the action alone could convince her to stay.  (y/n) almost stumbles from the action, but catches her footing before she could fall into him.

“Then why are you leaving?” He asks the nagging question on his mind.

Her tears threaten to spill over her lashes, and her hesitation tells him she still isn’t ready to give him the full truth.  She tries to think about Megumi, about Tsumiki, and everything she was going to do to ensure their safety.

“There must be a reason if you’re going to put yourself through this much trouble,” He voices his thoughts while (y/n) tries to blink her tears away.  “What is it, sweetheart? You have to tell me”

“Sa-toru,” She chokes on his name, her eyes falling shut as a last ditch effort to keep all of her tears from falling.  She tries to pull her hands out of his, but he keeps them in a firm grasp, and she doesn’t have the will to snatch them back.  “I just can’t- please, please forgive me,”

She hiccups, and closes her eyes tighter, even though she can feel wetness racing down her cheeks.

“I just have to protect you, I can protect all of you, but you have- you have to let me-” She’s cut off by another hiccup, and when she opens her eyes again all of the tears she’d tried to hold back are streaming down her face.  “I know it’s not fair, but it’s the only way I can keep you safe”

Satoru’s eyes blink wide in surprise, his brain desperately trying to connect the dots, trying to figure out who she’s talking about, who she’s protecting, and from what?

He doesn’t rush to ask her these questions, instead he shushes her gently, and brings her over to his bed so she could take a seat.  She wants to fight him, but she doesn’t.

“Alright,” He hums, releasing one of her hands so he could catch her tears against his finger, flicking them away before they could stain her cheeks.  “Alright sweetheart, let’s start slow, alright?”

She shakes her head, unwilling to drag him down with her.  Satoru tries again anyway.

“There’s nothing you could do to jeopardize my safety, okay?” He tells her, wishing she’d look up at him.  When she doesn’t, he hooks his finger under her chin and gently lifts her head so she could see he meant it.  “Okay?” He asks again.

(y/n) lets out a shaky breath, and her eyes fall from his, landing on his throat.  She takes a few more breaths before finding her voice again.

“You’ve been hurt by my mistakes before,” She whispers.

He’s certain he couldn’t have heard her right, but he doesn’t try to speak over her.

Her eyes don’t move as she continues.

“I just can’t hurt you again,” She sighs.  “I’ve done it too much and… and it hurts me too” She admits the last part in a voice that barely reached a whisper, but he hears her clear as day.

“I understand,” He hums.  “But you have to understand that I can’t ignore this anymore, (y/n).  Whatever this is, it’s killing you.  And I can’t just let that happen”

“I had a chance to kill Fushiguro Toji,”

Her voice is raw, sore from her crying, strained from her whispering, but she forces herself to speak anyways.

“The day we were sent after Riko Amanai,” (y/n) continues, still staring at the spot on his throat where he’d shown her Toji’s blade had cut clean through.  “When we parted ways that day, I ran into him,”

Satoru hung onto her every word, wondering where she could possibly be going with this, and why she hadn’t told him sooner.  Although so far, the truth didn’t seem too harmful, there was a nagging pull on his heart that led him to believe somewhere, sometime, things had gone completely wrong.

“Just by accident,” (y/n) continued, shrugging her shoulders in thought.  “Or maybe it was fate, I don’t know what led me to him that day, but…”

Finally, her eyes flickered up to his, and she swallowed the remaining lump in her throat before speaking again.

“I overheard a conversation he was having, on the phone,”

Satoru nods, understanding the story so far, while he waits patiently for her to continue.

“He mentioned… he mentioned children,” (y/n) said through a shaky exhale of breath.  “And I just… I just had to follow him, I had to learn more, I don’t know why, but it just nagged at me, and I…”

She turns her head, her eyes landing on that photo on the wall again as she thinks back to that day.  The way she felt in the beginning of this all, desperately searching for Megumi and Tsumiki like their lives, her life, depended on it.  And now, because of her, they did.

Satoru watched her as she stared at the photo for a long moment, trying to collect her thoughts.  He was on the edge of his seat, but he didn’t say anything to rush her into explaining further.

He looked down at the hand that still sat in his, limp and clammy from her nerves.  He squeezed it gently before running the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand.

(y/n) looked back at him right away, almost jolted by the small gesture, but Satoru kept his focus on the small motion of comfort.

“He had children,” She whispers out the truth like it was a damning piece of information.  “Two children.  Young.  A girl, and a boy”

When Satoru finally meets her gaze again, she’s no longer crying, but she’s still giving him that hopeless look, as though she’d done something terrible that she couldn’t take back.

“That’s where you were when you disappeared that weekend?” He finally spoke after listening to her so intently.  (y/n) chewed on her lip as she slowly nodded her head.

“I followed him but I… I lost him..” Her eyes trailed back down to his throat, and now he understood what she’d been staring at.

She’d been watching the place on his throat where Toji had stabbed him that day.  Oh, he realizes, all too slowly, she blamed herself.  As soon as he puts the pieces together, he squeezes her hand again, as though requesting her attention again.

“That wasn’t your fault”

“I could have-”

“That wasn’t your fault”

“But I was there”

“(y/n),” Satoru’s voice is firm now, and she snaps her mouth shut.  “You couldn’t have known,” He tells her, sure of every word he spoke.  “There was nothing that you could have done differently to prevent it.  There was nothing I could have done differently to prevent it,”

She sighs, her eyes falling to her lap as that dreaded feeling of uselessness washed over her.

“And need I remind you, I’m fine?” He adds, pulling her hand upwards, gently laying it at the base of his throat while keeping his palm over her hand.  “Just a little mark,” He whispers while (y/n’s) eyes linger on the spot.

This must be his most vulnerable spot, she thinks, after what happened, no matter what he says, he must have some trauma from the incident.  And yet, he lowers his infinity, and lets her rest her trembling fingers there.

Her eyes meet his unsurely.

“I need you to believe me when I say it’s not your fault”

“Okay,” She whispers back.  “Then I need you to believe me when I tell you I have to go”

Satoru shakes his head, his fingers curling around hers again, dropping her hand from his throat and against his leg.

“I can’t do that, sweetheart” He sighs.

“Why?” She whispers back, her eyes flickering between his, trying to figure out why it was he cared so much about this.  “I’m… I’m going to do a terrible thing tomorrow”

Satoru raises a curious brow.

“Is that so?”

She nods back at him, frowning.

“It will be unforgivable,” She whispers.  “But I don’t have a choice,” Her voice cracks again, but this time it’s just the reality of her situation crushing down on her.  “I can’t lose them”

“Lose who, sweetheart?” Satoru asks, his brows furrowing now, as he was missing a vital piece of information she hadn’t shared yet.

“I found them,” She whispered, almost gravely.  “I found Fushiguro Toji’s children”

The confession processes slowly, and then all at once, and (y/n) watches as he begins to put all the pieces together in real time.

Those children weren’t just poor abandoned things left to live their days out in some broken, unjust system society deemed charitable.  No, they weren’t your average non-curse users.  They were property.  Valuable property.  

They were Zen’in property.  And it was only a matter of time before the clan would come to collect them.

“I see,” Satoru hums.  “So you…”

“I’ve been sneaking off campus for eight months to take care of them” (y/n) whispers.

Every time he caught her in an odd lie, every time she’d go missing as soon as classes were out, the tutoring, the dodging of plans, it all came flooding back to him now, in a completely different light.

“Oh…” He mumbles, leaning back slightly as he was still processing it all.

“Yeah,” (y/n) sighs, hanging her head.  “They’ve sent a notice that they’ll be collecting the boy, Megumi.  His cursed technique has begun to manifest… just like Zen’ins to care when there’s enough power involved”

“What is it?” Satoru mumbles, his gaze fixed on a spot on the floor.

“Ten shadows” (y/n) answers, also refusing to look at him.

Fuck.

Satoru runs his free hand over his face, trying to come up with a solution and fast, because he didn’t know how much time they had to keep him from the Zen’in’s greedy clutches.

“I’m to bring him to them tomorrow,” (y/n) says.  “They don’t have an interest in the girl, she was born a non-curse user.  And the two can’t bear to be split apart so…” She trails off, nervously looking Satoru’s way.  “So I’m going tomorrow to… make my case”

“Make your case?”

Satoru repeats the words back to her in disbelief, because he knows just as well as she does that the Zen’in Clan don’t just hear people out.  They’ll take what’s theirs by whatever means necessary, and if she went to them tomorrow then-

Fuck.

It hits him then as he looks back at her, her glossed over eyes and frowning lips, he knows exactly why she’d come to tell him goodbye.

“No, you’re not-”

“I have to”

“(y/n) that’s a death sentence” Satoru stands up from the bed now, her hand falling from his as he stands before her.  Her expression doesn’t falter, not once.

“I’m not losing them” She tells him, clearly, and he knows she means it, but he can’t possibly accept this.

“And that cost is your life?” He raises his voice, although he tries not to yell, he can’t help it as it all sinks into his veins, the situation she’s in.  

Why couldn’t she have come to him sooner?

He begins to pace in front of her.  (y/n) remains calmly sat before him, letting him process however he needed to.  As much as it had hurt, she’d made her peace with it all.  It’s simply what she had to do.

“It doesn’t matter how much you train yourself to death, (y/n), if you walk in there tomorrow with any malicious intent, they’ll strike you down.  They’re an entire clan, (y/n), do you understand that?”

“I do” She whispers with a small nod of her head.

He shakes his head at her, his hands on his hips as he huffs and moves about the room sporadically.

“No, you can’t possibly understand it, because you wouldn’t just be sitting here right now-!”

“Satoru,” She calls his name softly, and while her voice is much smaller than his, he quiets immediately.  “I do understand,” She tells him with another nod.  “I love them,”

His features fall, softening as he sees her small smile begin to break through a painfully hurt exterior.

“I do.  I love them so much.  And I won’t let anything hurt them for the rest of their lives,” She tells him while he’s still frozen in front of her.  “So I have to go.  I have everything prepared, I’ve left them as much money as I can, a few cursed tools I’ve given them and hidden in their house that I’ve imbued with my cursed energy to protect them even if I…” She trails off, not wanting to admit the dark fate that would be in store for her come tomorrow.  “But now that you know, can you promise me something?”

Satoru doesn’t answer, still stuck in front of her, hearing her horrid confession play on repeat in his head.  She was really planning on this? She really was going to go through with this?

“Promise me you’ll keep an eye out for them?” She asks, and no matter how much she tries to keep her breaths even, he can hear the shakiness in the exhale she lets out.  “You don’t have to watch their every move but… just make sure they’re safe, here and there?”

Her brows draw together as she stares at him with utter hope.  She knows that she doesn’t deserve a favor from him, after everything she’s put him through, but if she had to, she’d beg him to make sure her kids were safe when she’s gone.

The room is silent for a few beats, before slowly, Satoru kneels himself to the ground before her, bringing himself to her eye level.  (y/n) stares at him steadily, and he’s close enough that she longs to reach out, to hold him by his jaw and make him swear he’d do her one last favor.

“You’re not doing this,” He tells her, quietly.  “I can’t let you”

“I have to”

“You don’t”

“I don’t have another choice,” She’s quicker with her words, more decided, unwavering in her choice.  “The Zen’ins, they sent men to the house this morning, to intimidate me, or scope out the area, I don’t know.  But they aren’t just going to back down now.  They’re going to take Megumi whether I try to stop them or not”

“We’ll think of something else” Satoru says surely.

“There’s no time,” (y/n) whispers back.  “Tomorrow I’ll put as strong of a curtain over their house as I possibly can and then I’ll go face Zen’in Naobito myself,” She tells him her plan in hopes that he would accept this was her final decision. “So I… I need you to promise me you’ll check in on them”

Satoru’s eyes don’t leave hers as she says this, and he can see that she means every last word.  He’d never pegged (y/n) as someone to have the stomach for cold blooded murder, but he can see now that something had changed, and the love she had for these children would drive her to do anything to protect them.

“You’ll die” He whispers back, knowing that she’s well aware.

(y/n) musters up the courage to give him a small smile, although it still carries the weight of her sadness, it is genuine.  She only hopes to bring him some semblance of comfort in knowing that this was her decision and hers alone, and that she’d found solace in it.

“Promise me,” Is all she replies with, followed by an even softer, “Please”

Was mochi supposed to make up for all of this? Satoru wonders as his eyes flicker between hers.  

While he’s sitting here fighting the urge to completely break down in front of her, she was trying to convince him that she was okay with this plan, that throwing herself into the wolf’s den in the name of love was her only choice.  He wants to tell her she’s completely deluded, that he’d chain her down and keep her here if he had to in order to keep her from making the sacrificing play.  And a part of him knows that he would really do it.

Satoru pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath and tries to run through every possibility on how this could end.  He doesn’t like what he comes up with.

“Satoru,” (y/n) calls softly, and when he looks up at her again, her hand is hesitating over his shoulder.  It takes her a minute before she lays it there, and she lets out a deep sigh before speaking again.  “I’m sorry,”

Her eyes follow the trail of a single tear slipping down his cheek, and she has to remind herself why she has to do this.

“If by some miracle I live, I’ll send you a postcard” She means to jest, but her voice is too soft, and the way her eyebrows sink as her eyes meet his again tells him she barely believes her own words.

Her hand falls from his shoulder as she stands from the bed, and Satoru’s quick to get up to his feet too, stopping her before she could leave.

“Stay,” He says before he can think of something better to say.  “Don’t go yet, stay, please, let’s think of a better plan, together, okay?”

He’s rushing through his words again, desperate to keep her here long enough that he alone could solve all of it for her.

(y/n) opens her mouth, no doubt to protest, but Satoru cuts her off before she could even start.

“Let me help you,” He pleads, stepping closer to her, leaving little to no space between them.  Her eyes noticeably widen at this, but she remains silent.  “You didn’t have my help before, I could get you out of this, we can come up with a way to keep the kids and you safe, okay?”

She’s frowning at him, but she doesn’t walk away from him either, so Satoru thinks he has a chance at making her cave.

“Please?” His hands grab onto hers, the action harsher than it had been before, desperate, even.  “Please, (y/n), I just can’t accept this.  You can’t do this… not without at least talking about it first, okay?”

(y/n) ducks her head and slowly begins to pull her hands out of his, although she longed to stand there with him holding them for the rest of time, as he’d always reminded her that she would never find comfort in another person the way she felt it with him.  She knows that if she stays any longer, then she’ll never leave.

And it was the right thing to walk away, right?

Satoru lets her pull her hands back to her stomach where she could wring them together as some form of control over her nerves.  He doesn’t mind that she tries to pull away from him, because he’s quicker.

When she feels the warmth of two palms resting on either side of her face, lifting her head so she’d look at him properly, (y/n) knows right away that she wouldn’t be walking away anytime soon.

Satoru’s hands are warm, smooth, and no matter where they are on her they still bring her that same blanket of comfort.  They’re so delicately firm, cupped around her face to keep her looking at him.  They’re so solidly gentle that she couldn’t break away from them if she wanted to.

She already knows her answer as soon as he speaks, although she can’t quite explain how she folds so easily, she decides to blame it on her overwhelming physical and mental exhaustion.

“Stay”

___

taglist: @whats-humanity-lol @malinq-ashida @mor-pheus@bekahtaylorgriggs@pookiea@megumimind@thealchemical@pearlstiare@niallerhere@96jnie @purpleguk @peqch-pie@yukinemaroop@makis-girl@sadtoru​ @kamikokii​ @nerdiel-has-no-braincells​ @googlesheetshoe​ @vzleria​ @hilzup @cole-silas @iam-mia9 @stxrrielle @ezrahour @whatamidoing89​ @idioseasworld​ @yuuuumii​ @l0diluvs​ @miffysoo​ @chibiizzy​

xoxo ~ jordie

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

God made girls lethal, when he made monsters of men.

Jonathan Crane x psycho!reader PART TWO

PART ONE

warnings - blood, gore, attempted sexual assault, death.

Masterlist

REQUESTS OPEN - request here

*************************

You’re sessions with Jonathan began to dwindle. No matter how much you screamed, bit, scratched and attacked the other shrinks, demanding to see Jonathan, no one would let you. Always claiming that he had other patients he deemed more severe.

“BULLSHIT!” You screamed. If he wanted dangerous, boy, was he gonna get dangerous.

That was how Jonathan Crane sauntered down the hall and into your cell where he saw you, straight jacket on, strapped down to a wooden chair, held by three guards. Your smile dribbled blood out of your red mouth.

“There are easier ways to get my attention than biting off a guy’s ear.” He sounded almost bored and this made you whimper.

“Well they clearly weren’t working as I asked for you a million times and you NEVER CAME!” Your voice rose into a shrill scream for the last words. But he didn’t even flinch. Instead he kneeled down in front of your shaking form and stroked your soft cheek.

“Now, now darling. There, there. I haven’t been a very good psychiatrist have I?”

“No.” You softly whimpered out.

“No. I’ve been neglecting you haven’t I?" He cooed. Your body softened at his caring words. You meekly nodded.

The guards around you were confused but one sharp glare from Jonathan shut them up and they daren’t look at your intimate moment any longer.

From then on, Jonathan allowed the two of you to have weekly meetings. But they weren’t designed to analyse you, but rather to court you.

He would come and sit down with you and you would talk for hours. About movies, books, games etc.

Some days he would bring you little treats. Secret chocolates, a teddy bear. One day he even brought a hairbrush and he sat behind you and the whole session consisted of him lightly brushing out the tangled locks of your unkept mane. No words were said. But it was ecstacy.

Your favourite gift was when he presented you with a white rose.

“What are those red splotches?” You enquired looking at the streaks which littered the pure base.

“You see I cut myself on the thorn and some dropped on the rose. I was going to get you a new one but I couldn’t help but be so intrigued by it. It really adds something, don’t you think?”

In lieu of a reply you merely reached forward and grabbed his hand where you could see the healing scar. Without breaking his gaze you leant forward and took the whole finger into your mouth. Jonathan struggled to hold back a moan as you salivated at the still iron taste.

In his time with you, Jonathan had noted the keen interest some of the male guards had in you. He sometimes laughed it off believing their stupidity knew no bounds if they were willing to take you on. But he couldn’t help but worry for you.

“God I wouldn’t mind taking a bit of that ass.”

“Are you serious dude? That bitch is crazy. Proper stone cold psychopath.”

“Don’t worry, she’s being sedated well enough, or at least she will be soon. She won’t give us any problems.”

Jonathan overheard the guards from the outside of the break room door.

Since meeting you he had become enraptured. Enchanted by your very being. He viewed you as the most sacred relic he could ever dare to possess. He knew your strength was unimaginable. But you were his. And no one messed with his Queen.

One day you were being transported from your session with Jonathan, who had now deemed it fit to have the sessions in his office rather than your cell. The two guards, who flanked your sides, spoke over you in silent code. Once they had deemed the corridor completely empty. They grabbed your sides, still held in the straight jacket, and began to drag you towards an abandoned closet. Taking your pants and underwear off on the way. Their intentions clearly immoral.

It took you by such surprise that you barely had time to react. You were not used to being manhandled but the shock of the moment meant you couldn’t clear your head enough to launch a good enough attack.

Before the three of you were over the doors precipice, a loud voice announced their exit from their office.

Jonathan called out to ask the two men a question, to which they responded after manoeuvring you out of a compromising position. He shot you a single glance before explaining how he would prefer to walk you back to your cell as well, as, in his words,

“I don’t want her to give you any problems.” with a knowing glint in his eye.

That night the two same guards were summoned to your cell.

They stood to the side of where you sat slumped in your chair. The previous encounter had scarred you and weakened your own sense of self. They were just men, you had killed them before. Why was it so hard now. What was this weak feeling and why did it make you want to scream.

However, your self-sabotaging thoughts were halted the minute Jonathan’s lean frame entered. His soft smile landed on your frame which appeared to have shrunk in the presence of the two guards. This lit a fire deep within his heart.

He brought his briefcase up to the table and popped it open. He pulled out a macabre clown mask, decorated with black and red. He walked forward, whistling as he went, and placed it on your face. You were unable to resist, but deep down you didn’t want to. You trusted Jonathan.

He returned to his briefcase, sat down, took off his glasses, and looked deep into your eyes.

“Would you like to see my mask.” He condescendingly teased.

He pulled out a ratty burlap sack which you noted had stitching which resembled a face. He placed it on his head and immediately pressed a hidden button which released a sulphuric green gas into the air. It was then you noted the breathing device attached to your own mask.

Jonathan bared his knuckles on the table and used it to raise himself into a godlike stance.

You were startled by the bloodcurdling screams which erupted from the two men behind you. You whipped around to see them collapse to the floor, writhing about in pain. Both looking and pointing up at Jonathan in pure god-fearing terror.

Suddenly, they both seized. Their last moments of fear etched onto their faces like stone. Their hearts had gone.

You tilted your head to look down, interestedly, at the two corpses. You turned back around when you felt a presence at your back.

Jonathan stood over you, masked and all. His hand outreached.

“Scarecrow will never hurt you, my love.”

You carefully lifted up your own mask to reveal a teeth-chattering grin plastered over your sadistic expression.

*************************

PART THREE

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07 @viarosemcmissile @noirrose21-blog @thepoeticfirefly @xoxo-gothic-girl @skeletonwrite @jellyzelek @kaylamarie306-blog @bloodcanbehot @lazybot @raineeace @thearieunhinged @multifans-things @queenofterrasen418 @bey0ndne0 @justanotherkpopstanlol @iamliterallyspidergwen @frozenhuntress67 @alice2612 @slut4thebroken @akiratoro420 @astheni-a