#THE WAY HE HAD SAID ‘after them’ WITH A STRAIGHT FACE TOO….. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

finelinefae · 2 days

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match one [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's struggling with harry's coaching before the first tournament and harry's feelings control him more than he controls them

word count: 10.2k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals, strict parents, fluff, harry being a boy and not being able control himself around y/n

this is part 2 of the game, read part 1 here

. . .

“Again,”

Y/N gritted her teeth and bounced the tennis ball on the ground before throwing it into the air with a straight arm and hitting it with the racket, watching as it pierced through the air to the opposite end of the court.

She heard a sigh come from the bench on the side of the court, “Again,”

She inhaled sharply through her nose to try and contain her temper as she repeated the same serve.

“Again,”

Y/N spun around on the heel of her New Balance trainers, her pleated, white skort twirling as she did. She crossed her arms and glared at the boy lying on his back in his school uniform which was now crinkled and unkempt after the school day. “You’re not even watching,” She replied for the first time after having done the same serve more than ten times already.

“I don’t need to, I know you’re not doing it correctly,” He replied, monotonously.

She clenched her jaw, “Well as my coach, aren’t you supposed to show me how I’m meant to do it correctly?”

“I can show you but it won’t change anything,” He said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs and sits up, “You already know how to do a flat serve, I’ve seen you do it. You’re just not hitting it hard enough. I can hear it in the way the ball lands on the other end of the court.”

“You could have just told me to hit it harder,” She retorts.

“Am I meant to play the game for you as well?” He quips which makes her blood boil.

This was their third training session, and Y/N had reached her limit. With her first proper tournament just three weeks away, she had hoped that seeking help from the best tennis player at Crestwood would elevate her gameplay.

However, Y/N was getting frustrated with each session being a monotonous repetition of drills she had already learnt herself. It grated on her nerves and she felt as though she was back to square one.

She was beginning to regret having enlisted Harry for his mentoring in the first place. Whenever they’d try to talk mutually to each other, it would just end up in an argument of some kind where they’d end up needing ten minutes to cool off.

Y/N had already qualified for the Academy Slam before she even asked Harry to coach her. There had originally been sixteen academies from the surrounding counties competing in the games and now there were only half and Y/N was one of them. She’d passed the qualifiers all by herself and maybe she could pass the games that way too.

“Again,” He said that one word Y/N was beginning to hate.

Who knew what she was capable of if she had to hear that word one more time.

Feeling a surge of anger, Y/N tossed the ball into the air and hit it with all the strength she could possibly summon. She watched as the ball made a fast and straight trajectory towards her target area which just so happened to be right beside Harry’s place on the bench.

He jumped up, a look of surprise on his face. "What the fuck?" he exclaimed, eyes following the ball as it hit the fence.

Y/N's smirk wavered as he approached her, her surprise matching his when he spoke again. "Let's move on, shall we?"

By the end of the session, every inch of Y/N's body throbbed with exhaustion. She drained an entire water bottle in one go, her fitted polo shirt clinging to her damp skin. She had thought she'd engaged every muscle in her body, but the way her calves screamed at her with every step told a different story.

“Same time tomorrow?” Harry asked, standing above her and blocking the sunlight.

“I want to start training properly,” Y/N stated.

“We are training properly,” He argued.

“You realize you haven’t shown me a single tactic since you started coaching me right?”

“And?”

“How am I meant to win the first tournament if all I know how to do is basic drills?”

“Do you know how many times my coach made me practice flat serves before we could move on?” He asks but she doesn’t answer, “A month. I went home with blisters on my hands because I was doing them non-stop six hours a day.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raise, “You think tennis is just about being tactical then you’re not playing it properly. The only way you’ll ever be a good tennis player is if you master the techniques.” He explains, “I’ve seen you play Y/N. For someone who has never had professional coaching, you are one of the best players I’ve seen but you lack confidence in your technique. That flat serve you just aimed at me? One of the best flat serves I’ve seen in a while. If you can do that in every game, you’ll have no problem winning but if you want tactics? I can draw you a diagram and it’ll save two hours of my day no problem.”

Y/N tries not to show her surprise at his words. Instead, she takes them all in, “Shouldn’t we at least be analysing my opponent?”

She was playing against Vanya Maddison in her next game. She was tall which was a major advantage in the game but her spatial awareness wasn’t exactly on par.

“Do you know what your biggest strength is in this game?” Harry asked.

“My speed?” Y/N frowned.

“Your anger,” He replies, “Off the court, it’s a little annoying but on the court, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Use it.”

Y/N had no idea whether to take it as a compliment or not. She’d never heard Harry say anything good about her so was taken off guard by his words. “So are we still on for tomorrow because I have to meet Mitch in thirty minutes and if the answer is no at least I can actually plan on getting wasted tonight.”

Y/N took a moment to think. She had never expected him to say something positive about her, especially about her anger. It was a side of herself she often struggled to control, but hearing Harry acknowledge it as a strength left her feeling conflicted.

As much as she considered training on her own which would give her some peace and quiet, she wanted to see where her training with Harry would go. If he was right, maybe she’d actually have more of a chance of winning than she did on her own.

She stood up and put her gym bag over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow,” She walked past him, wanting to avoid the satisfied grin on his face.

“Y/N!” Harry called, she could hear him jogging towards her before she stepped out of the courts, “I wanted to give this to you.”

He placed in her hands a cassette tape with white masking tape on it with the words ‘Y/N’s theme songs’ scribbled onto it in black ink. “What is this?” She asked, looking up at him.

“When I was in Australia, I used music to help me get in the zone before a match. My coach told me to use a cassette tape because phones were too distracting,” He explained.

“You made this for me?” She frowned.

“What? You’ve never been given a gift before?” He chuckles.

Y/N looks down at the plastic in her hands. It’s not that she’d never been given a gift by anyone before- she and Sarah always exchanged gifts over Christmas and for each other’s birthdays- but it was rare for her to ever receive anything from anyone else. Her parents would often give her practical things at Christmas or transfer money into her bank account on birthdays.

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed at her lack of reply but she cleared her throat, “I don’t have a cassette player,” She said but Harry quickly removed his backpack and pulled out a walkman.

“You can borrow mine,” He handed it over to her, “I won’t be needing it anytime soon since I’m not playing,” She noticed the downcast look in his eyes as he mentioned the fact he wasn’t currently able to play with his injury.

“Um, t-thanks?” She said, unsure of how to respond to his sudden kindness. It felt unusual.

“I picked a few songs that reminded me of you,” He smirks, “Don’t worry, they’re not all about a girl with an attitude problem.” With that he turned back around and walked towards the other exit to head to the car park.

She felt ease on her chest as the usual teasing remarks returned, “Asshole,” She called out to him to which he just put his middle finger up in reply.

. . .

After taking a long shower in the girl’s shower rooms in her dorm block, Y/N headed back to her dorm after changing into a white shirt and sweatpants. She could feel the strain in her arms and legs as she flopped down onto her bed.

Luckily Sarah wasn’t back from spending time with Mitch, so she took in the peace and quiet which came rare to her these days as all her mind had been on recently was the Academy Slam.

Her mind wandered off to Harry and his words from earlier. Y/N knew she was a good tennis player but it was the first time she had heard someone else tell her that. She wasn’t expecting it, especially not from her tennis rival of the past ten years.

Her eyes glanced at the cassette tape and the walkman she had placed on her desk before she headed off to the shower. Sitting up, she grabbed it and stared down at it for a moment before putting the cassette into the player and putting the headphones on.

She laid back on her bed and looked up at the ceiling of her room. Her fingers hit the play button and the first song began to flood her ears. The first few beats of Nelly Furtado’s ‘Maneater’ began to play and she immediately rolled her eyes. Then afterwards, ‘Fergalicious’ by Fergie.

She wondered how many songs Harry had managed to put on the cassette and how many were female anthems of empowerment.

The next song seemed to catch her attention even further when Gorillaz ‘She’s my collar’ began to play. The beat now permanently injected into her bloodstream along with the rest of the album from the number of times she had listened to it.

She wondered if Harry had known he had included a song by one of her favourite bands and whether he knew the meaning behind the song too. Maybe it had been a coincidence which was a thought Y/N had decided to settle on as she listened to the rest of the song.

‘Nothing to be justified yet

She the first I'm running with

She the one that get my collar

She the one I'm running with (she's my collar)’

. . .

The next day at school, Y/N sat in the library during her study period to study for her biology exam at the end of the week. Even though she was set on the scholarship, she still needed something to fall back on if she lost out in the next few games so she made sure she was still getting the best grades she could. It had also been ingrained in her to be the best in every class and she didn’t think that trait of hers would ever leave her.

“Y/N!” Sarah called, her voice echoing within the silence of the library.

Ignoring the irritated glances she received, she paced towards Y/N and sat in the empty seat beside her. Y/N smiled at her friend’s excitement. They were foils to each other and that’s what made them get on so well. Whilst Y/N had a black cat personality, Sarah was sunshine in a person which was probably why she was so perfect for Mitch who was equally as bright. “What’s up?”

“I need to ask you something and you’re probably going to hate me but Harry’s already said yes and-”

“Sarah,” Y/N placed her hands on her shoulders, “Breathe.”

Sarah did exactly that before continuing, “Would you do a feature with Harry for the school newspaper?”

Y/N frowned, “What?”

“The school newspaper? You know the club I’ve been part of for the past two years? They want to do a feature on your training for the sports section and I told them I would ask you.” Sarah explained.

“Oh I don’t know about that-”

“Pleeeassseee,” Sarah gripped her arm that was resting on the desk and batted her eyelashes.

“You know I’d do anything for you Sarah but I don’t know if I have the time and my focus is on my next game,” Y/N replied.

“Harry’s already said yes to it,” Sarah interjected.

“You asked him before me?”

“Well actually,” Sarah hesitated, “Luke, the boy who’s writing the article, asked him this morning,”

“Why didn’t he ask me?”

Sarah gave her a pointed look, “You’re not exactly the most approachable,” Y/N’s frown deepened at her words, “So will you do it?”

Y/N sighed, considering it before giving Sarah an answer. The last thing she wanted was for someone to be asking unnecessary questions in time that could be used to train for the first round of the competition but Sarah was her best friend and she knew how much the school newspaper meant to her and her university applications too.

“Alright,” She relented, “I’ll do it.”

Sarah squealed, receiving another round of vicious glares from other students in the library. Her arms wrapped around her in a tight hug, “Thank you,” She pulled away, “They’ll come by tomorrow afternoon during practice, is that okay?” Y/N nodded a response.

. . .

It was raining outside.

Y/N’s eyes stared out the window as she bounced a tennis ball on the hard floor of the gymnasium and wondered if the weather foreshadowed the next hour.

“Will you sit down?” Harry muttered, “You’re giving me a headache,”

“He’s late,” Y/N says, “We could have been practising,”

“Do you ever just do anything else?” Y/N shot him a glare at his sarcasm, “I get this is important to you but don’t you just want to, I don’t know, have fun?”

Y/N walked over to her seat right next to his and straightened herself for the interview the school newspaper had organised for them. Sarah had told both her and Harry to dress smartly for the occasion which, according to Harry meant a designer sweatshirt and trousers whilst Y/N had gone for a dress and pumps. It wasn’t overly smart for either of them but enough to make it seem like they had made an effort.

“The fact that you’re even suggesting that tells me you have no idea how important this is to me,” Y/N responds, monotonously.

She hears a scoff from beside her, “What?”

He turns to face her, his face rather too close, she notices three moles on his right cheek that she hadn’t ever seen before, “I think I know better than anyone how important this is to you but I also know from experience how important being in high school is with people your own age.” She forgets sometimes that even though he was whisked away to fulfil his place in the Australian Open, that his time of being a kid was cut short, “I don’t go out of my way to coach just anybody,”

“What do you mean?” She frowns but before Harry could reply, the doors to the gym open and in scrambles a sixth year with a messenger bag and a tripod with a camera dangling from his neck.

“It means,” he leans forward, murmuring, “if you had half the belief in yourself as I have in you then you wouldn’t need me at all.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Luke’s voice echoes as he steps towards them and places all three legs of the tripod on the ground and scrambles to screw his camera to it.

“What’s with the camera?” Y/N asked.

“O-oh, we’re recording the interview so I can write everything up later and we’re going to need your pictures together afterwards,” Luke explained.

“You want us to take a photo together?” Y/N frowned.

“Did Sarah not tell you?” Luke replied.

“Calm down, love. It’s just a photo,” Harry murmured and she tried not to react to the nickname he had used for her.

Once everything was set up, Luke sat across from them with his laptop on his thighs, questions already typed out, “So, you two have known each other for a while now?” Luke asked as he sat across from them.

As Y/N was about to tell him how they didn’t exactly know each other on a personal level but knew each other through tennis, Harry spoke up, “Since we were both in third year. I was eight and Y/N was seven but we’ve been in the same class since we were infants.”

Luke nodded, “That must help a lot in your partnership,”

Harry chuckled lowly, “Something like that,”

Luke types a few things down in his computer before turning his attention to Y/N, “Um, Y/N what made you turn to Harry for his coaching other than the fact he won the Australian Open?”

Y/N frowned, what more reason did she need to give? “Well, the fact he won is a big reason as to why I approached him,”

“But isn’t he injured?” Harry stiffened beside her. The way he asked made it sound like he was defective, unusable.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, “Yes but I’ve seen Harry play games with a dislocated shoulder. He’d just pop it right back in and start playing again. His current injury doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s one of the best tennis players I’ve seen at Crestwood.” Y/N ignored the looks from the two boys. She knew she’d have to compliment Harry at some point during this interview, especially if they needed to show a united front for the games.

“And do think the same about Y/N?” Luke asked Harry who now seemed irritated by him.

“I think,” Y/N was prepared for a backhanded compliment but what she got was something entirely different, “Y/N has all the potential in the world to go for what she dreams of and I hope to watch her do it all even if that means I’m watching from the sidelines.” This time it was Y/N’s turn to glance at Harry, taken aback by his words.

Luke spoke again, “You know some people are calling you the underdog in this tournament?” Y/N froze, it was the first time she had heard of it, “all the other women competing have had professional coaching and the school invests heavily in their tennis players.”

Y/N cleared her throat, “I didn’t know that but I have every intention of proving them wrong,” Harry bumped his knee with hers but she ignored it.

“And What do your parents think about you doing this before leaving exams?” Luke asked.

Y/N ignored the sting she felt at the thought of telling her parents what she was doing and the looks of disappointment she envisioned, which had been gnawing at the back of her head since she qualified. She answered confidently, "They're happy for me and excited to see me in the final."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows as Luke leaned in, his expression curious. "You think you'll get to the final?"

Harry scoffed, “Are you insinuating she won’t?”

Luke backpedalled slightly, sensing he’d struck a nerve. "I didn't mean to suggest that at all. It's just that some people doubt the capabilities of those who haven't had professional coaching."

"Hey Luke, do me a favour and invite those people to the first game in three weeks' time. Let them witness firsthand what it's like watching a player as skilled as Y/N, without any professional coaching," Harry's frustration was palpable, catching Y/N off guard with his assertiveness. Typically, she would be the first to break in such situations but it seemed Harry already had.

Luke’s face warmed as he realised he overstepped, “R-right, let’s move on.” He scanned through his list of questions to find something more light-hearted to break up the mood, whilst Y/N straightened her shoulders, thankful they’d gotten to the final round of questions. “What do you both like to do outside of training?”

“Together?” Y/N cringed, trying to picture spending time with Harry in a normal setting.

“Not necessarily,” Luke shrugged.

“My best friend is dating her best friend so we’ve been spending a lot more time together recently. Normally, I play guitar or recite poetry whenever I’m not coaching Y/N to volley properly,” Y/N rolled her eyes at the lies that left his mouth.

“I study,” Y/N stated.

“That’s it?” Luke’s eyebrows creased.

Her cheeks turned slightly pink, “I’m top of the class in all of my classes, that doesn’t just happen without hard work.”

She could feel Harry’s eyes on her and for the first time, she turned her head to catch his eyes. She noticed the frown on his lips and something in his eye that looked a lot more like concern or sympathy than the desire to tease her about her lack of social life.

“Well, I think that will be enough,” Luke stood up and grabbed his camera, “Do you mind if we take a few photos now?”

Y/N and Harry stood from their seats, side by side and looked into the lens of the camera. Y/N’s cheeks hurt from forcing a smile as Harry did the same, “You’re standing too close to me,” Y/N spoke through her teeth as the camera flashed.

"Look who's talking with their giant foot squashing my shoe," Harry retorts, a playful glint in his eyes. Y/N inhales sharply, her gaze dropping to her foot to see what he's referring to. But before she can react, Harry smoothly slides his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side with practised ease. Their eyes meet, and just as the camera flashes, capturing the moment, Y/N side steps out of his grip with an annoyed huff.

“Okay, that will be all,” Luke smiled.

As Luke packed his things away, Y/N and Harry stood awkwardly side by side without saying a word. Y/N glanced out the window and saw the sky had cleared up and the sun was setting. She needed to get back to her dorm to study for her French exam tomorrow as well as binge-watch tennis matches on YouTube which she’d been doing a lot recently.

“Did you really mean that?” Harry asked, catching her attention, “All you do is study outside of school?”

Y/N looked at him, “I hang out with Sarah some days but yeah, I mostly study. I don’t really have a lot of choice and I’m not naturally smart.” Harry’s head tilted to the side like he was secretly questioning her in his head, “What? Aren’t you meant to crack a joke about me being stupid or something?”

Harry's eyes softened, his voice gentle. "I could never think you're stupid, love," he said, the nickname slipping from his lips with a tenderness that caught Y/N off guard. She found herself speechless, unable to figure out what had gotten into him recently.

He pulled out his car keys from his back pocket and motioned his head towards the gymnasium exit, “C’mon,” He urged, “I wanna try something out and before you ask, it’s nothing to do with tennis or studying.”

Y/N’s feet stayed glued to the ground as he walked away and expected her to follow. She furrowed her brows and crossed her arms, wanting to refuse his invitation so she could get back to her dorm. But curiosity got the better of her and she followed a few paces behind him as he led her to the empty car park.

Harry pressed the button on the car keys and the lights flashed on a black Audi hiding in the corner, “What are we doing?” She asked.

“Have you ever driven a car before?” He wondered, looking at her with a hint of mischief.

“Never,” She replied and was bewildered to see him open the door to the passenger seat instead of the driver’s seat.

“Looks like it’s your lucky day, love,” He smirked.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “N-no! Harry, I'm not driving your stupidly expensive car.”

“C’mon,” Harry chuckled, “Don’t be chicken.”

She scoffed, “I’m not being chicken, I’m being sensible. If I crash that car, I don’t even think my parents will have enough money to fix it.”

“My parent’s will,” He grinned, cockily, “Get in,”

“No, I’m not driving that car.” She insisted.

Five minutes later, Y/N sat in the driver’s seat of Harry’s Audi with her fingers over her eyes as he instructed her on how to start. “Are you crazy?” She whimpers as he switches the engine on.

“Stop worrying, I’ve got my hand on the break.” She looks down to see his hand already wrapped around the hand break, “Just stay calm and do what I told you to do. Clutch down, first gear and then ease your foot gently off the clutch.”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me tennis, not driving laps around the school parking lot,” Y/N argued.

“Think of this as a team bonding exercise,” He shrugged, “Okay now foot down on the clutch,”

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” She strangled out, placing her shaky hands on the wheel.

“Relax,” Harry chuckled, “You’re being dramatic.”

“It won’t be so dramatic when we end up in a tree,” Y/N retorted as she carefully felt the pedals and pressed down slowly on the clutch. Feeling the car rise, Y/N gasped and removed her foot.

“Calm down, it’s just because you put your foot on the clutch,” Harry was trying his best not to laugh at her, “Okay, now do it again.”

Y/N squeezed her hands on the wheel and repeated her actions, moving the gear stick “Okay, now carefully raise the clutch,” Harry instructed and as she did, he lowered the handbrake and the car slowly began to move forward.

“Holy shit,” Y/N wailed, “We’re moving,”

This time, Harry did laugh unable to stop himself after seeing her reaction, “Make sure you turn the wheel or we really will end up in a tree,”

Y/N did as she was told and turned the wheel slowly, “Okay, I’ll move into second,”

“Harry no!” She gasped but put the clutch down so he could move gears.

“Atta girl,” He beamed.

Y/N’s worried expression soon turned into shock and then excitement as she moved slowly around the car park, “I’m driving Harry!” Y/N grinned and Harry swore it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“You are,” He praised, “There’s nothing you can’t do.”

After switching between first and second gear and Y/N complaining that her feet were aching from how tense she was using the pedals, Harry offered to swap places and show her what it was really like to go out on an evening drive.

“Harry!” Y/N choked on a laugh as he went all the way up to sixth gear down the empty streets in the middle of nowhere, “Slow down,” She squealed.

Harry glanced at her, grinning when he saw how wide the smile was on her face. He pressed his finger on the button to wind down all the windows, “Oh shit I love this song,” He turned the volume up on the stereo as Beyonce’s ‘Love on Top’ started playing, blaring loudly through the speakers of his car.

“Baby it’s you! You’re the one I love! You’re the one I need!” Harry screamed the lyrics of the song and Y/N’s laughter sounded through the entire car as her hair blew behind her. “Sing it, baby!” He cheered, neither of them realising what he had called her.

“I’m not gonna sing it,” She shook her head, her eyes squeezing shut as the engine revved.

“It’s the only way I’m gonna slow down,” He teased as the build-up to the chorus played.

Y/N giggled as Harry began to sing solo to the chorus again, giving her a look that had her rolling her eyes before she screamed out the lyrics alongside him, “When I need you, make everything stop! Finally, you put my love on top!”

Their laughter merged together as the song played out. Harry slowed down the closer they got back to town and cast a sideways glance at Y/N who was brushing her wind-swept hair with her fingers. “You okay?” He asked, seeing the glow on her face.

“Yeah,” She bit her lip, “I’m okay. I just don’t get to do stuff like this… ever really.”

He nodded in understanding. Harry had met Y/N’s parents a few times before. His parents were frequent visitors to their country club so he knew what they were like but he had no idea of the extent of the pressures they had put on Y/N to do well. It reminded him of his own parents and the last thing he wanted to do was allow someone to feel the same way he did whenever his parents were too hard on him.

“Wanna pull in somewhere to get something to eat?” Harry asked. It was getting late and they both had school tomorrow but he couldn’t seem to allow himself to let her go- not when she was having so much fun.

“Okay,” Y/N nodded.

He pulled into a dessert shop that was still open. Y/N followed him inside and to a booth in the corner. Harry ordered both of them bowls of soft-serve ice cream and Y/N even asked if she could have a strawberry milkshake to go with it. “I shouldn’t really be eating,” She told him.

“Hmm I heard drinking strawberry milkshakes improves your footwork. They served them all the time in Australia,” Y/N shot him a look that told him she knew he was bullshitting her but it made him smile.

“Are you nervous about the game coming up?” They’d been training non-stop every evening and Y/N was quickly improving everything she had already learnt on her own. After considering Harry’s words a few days ago, she knew Harry was right. He had been good for her technique and she felt even more sure of herself than she did at the beginning.

“No,” She said coolly, “I don’t have time to be nervous.”

Harry scoffed, “I don’t believe that for a second.”

The waitress came over and placed their desserts in front of them, along with a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. “Mitch says he’s going to throw a party at my place if you make it through to the semi-finals.”

“A party at your place?” Y/N quirked a brow.

Harry sighs, “He came up with the idea of throwing a party and then just kind of decided it would be at mine.” He explained.

Y/N nodded and took a sip of her milkshake. It had been so long since she had had something so sugary and sweet. She hummed before realizing she was being watched by the boy opposite her, “Just so you know, even though you bought these desserts and taught me how to drive, doesn’t mean I like you.”

Harry laughed, his eyes crinkling and dimples carving into his cheeks. Y/N’s heart stuttered but she pushed the feeling down, “Okay, tomorrow you can go back to hating me again and we’ll pretend today didn’t happen.”

“And you can do the same,” She says.

Harry gives her a look, his eyes flashing with something she couldn’t put a label on, “I don’t hate you Y/N.”

She frowns, “You’ve always hated me,”

“No,” He shook his head, “Never.”

“But you’re always making fun of me,” And she always did the same.

“Because it’s the only way I get to speak to you.” He admits.

Y/N’s lips parted in surprise, unable to believe what she was hearing. She had always assumed Harry had hated her since their rivalry had gone on for so long. She didn’t know what to say, confused by the sudden revelation.

“Ew,” It came out before she even had time to think, “Don’t be nice to me, it’s making me uncomfortable.”

Harry seemed to deflate but quickly placed a smile on his face, “You make me uncomfortable and you’re singing, by the way, is awful.”

Y/N scoffed, "At least I don't sound like a dying goat." Despite the return of their familiar banter, her heart seemed to continue to flutter under Harry's earnest gaze, stirring a mix of emotions within her that she’d never felt before.

She didn’t know what was going on with her but the last thing she needed to think about was her emotions when her biggest goal to date was right before her.

. . .

Three weeks had gone by far too quickly for Y/N’s liking.

“Again,” Harry drawled.

Y/N gritted her teeth and repeated the backswing technique Harry had shown her but the angle was all wrong and the ball ended up going completely off court.

“Fuck,” Y/N spat, throwing her tennis racket on the floor and squatting, balling her hands into fists on her head.

Harry sighed, walking over. “You’re nervous about tomorrow,” He stated like he didn’t need her to confirm despite the fact she had constantly told everyone she wasn’t nervous about anything.

“I just need to win,” She mumbled.

“Get up,” Harry ordered.

Y/N did as she was told and stood up. He grabbed the racket from the floor that she’d thrown across the court like a toddler throwing their toys out a pushchair and flipped the racket between both of his hands. He handed it back to her and grabbed his own.

“I want you to mirror my actions,” He says and stands a few steps away from her.

He steps forward, tossing the tennis ball into the air before swinging his racket with both hands, expertly landing it in the left corner of the opposing court. Y/N tracks his every move, mimicking his actions as if she were his shadow.

Y/N’s ball lands slightly off target and Harry bites his lip to stop himself from smiling at the scowl on her face. He walks towards her and comes up behind her. Y/N’s breathing hitches when she feels his fingertips press gently on her arm.

“You need to straighten this arm more,” He advises, his fingertips sliding down her arm and leaving a trail of goosebumps as he straightens her arm out. “Calm down,” he murmurs, his mouth near her ear, “I can feel your heart beating.”

Y/N seems to lose every ounce of oxygen when he places his hand flat against her back where he can feel her heart beating, “Breathe,” He says, “You will win tomorrow, I will make sure of it.”

The warmth that flooded Y/N’s body quickly left as Harry took a step back, “Try it again,” He nodded towards her racket.

Y/N sighed, tensing her muscles again after Harry had practically managed to turn them into liquid. She tried to ignore the flutter in all of the pulse points in her body that were screaming to make contact with that new presence and swung her racket, landing the ball exactly where she wanted.

“There y’ go,” He murmurs, almost as if he was saying it to himself. “I think we should call that it for today,”

“What?” Y/N frowned, “The game is tomorrow, I need to practice.”

“Y/N, we’ve been practising for half the day already. You’re going to wear yourself out if you carry on,” Harry tells her.

“Fine,” She huffed but Harry gave her a knowing look.

“Come to my place,” He offers.

“Why would I do that?” She goes to grab her sweatshirt on the bench and pulls it over her head. It was getting colder now that the sun was going down.

“Because I know you’re just going to come back here once I leave and trust me, you don’t want to do that.” She opened her mouth to refuse but he continued, “We can watch Wimbledon on TV and order pizza.”

She wondered how he knew that Wimbledon was one of her favourite movies and pizza was her favourite food. “Is it the DVD exclusive?” Y/N asked.

Harry’s lips tilted upwards, “Of course,” Y/N nodded, following him to his car so he could drive them to his apartment.

Y/N remembered the last time she was in Harry's car three weeks ago. It was the first time Y/N truly enjoyed being in his company and the first time she had allowed herself to have fun and relax.

The day after, they resumed their usual arguing as if the previous night hadn't occurred. However, Y/N found herself overwhelmed by a surge of unfamiliar emotions swirling within her.

Despite the bickering, she kept noticing things about Harry—like the way he smiled and talked. It made her feel weird like there was something more between them that she hadn't noticed before.

The air was silent between them as the radio played lowly in the background. Harry turned into a block of apartments that looked far too expensive for a student to afford all by themself. “This is where you live?” Y/N asked, her eyes widening as he pulled into a spot.

“For now,” He says.

Y/N trailed behind Harry as they rode the elevator to the fifth floor and made their way to his apartment. When he swung open the door, flooding the space with light, Y/N couldn't help but notice the spaciousness of the apartment, as well as its emptiness.

“I haven’t had time to unpack,” Harry said, walking to the kitchen after kicking his shoes off, “Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’ll just take a glass of water,” Y/N’s eyes darted to all of the boxes that covered the floor.

She walked to the kitchen area and leaned against the counter, “Are those your trophies?” She asked, seeing the metal cups in an open box.

Harry smiled, “Yeah, I’ve kept all of mine even the ones that didn’t count.”

“They all count,” Y/N grins, walking over and pulling one out, “The battle of the sexes trophy.”

Harry smirked, walking round to stand beside her, “I still remember the look on your face when they handed me that trophy. If looks could kill, love, I don’t think I would be here.”

“It was a big deal to me okay?” Y/N replies, “I seemed to blame you for all my losses when I was a kid.”

Harry’s expression softens and his head turns to look at her, “Will you blame me if you don’t win tomorrow?”

Y/N’s smile falters, “No, I’d blame myself. I think if I lost this, I don’t know who I would be anymore. Tennis is my life.”

Harry’s eyes glint underneath the soft lighting of the kitchen, “God,” He whispers, “You drive me crazy y’ know that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you think you could love anything more?” He asks, ignoring her question.

“I can’t think of anything, if I did I’d have to love it an awful lot.”

“Okay,” He nods like he’s accepting a challenge.

Y/N narrows her eyes, “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” He shrugs, “But I want you to know-”

Before Harry could finish his sentence, the door swings open and the shrill sound of his mother’s voice fills the air. Y/N stands straight and she notices Harry tense up, taking a step in front of her, he pushes her behind him.

“Harry,” His mother sighs, “How are you darling?”

“Mum,” He replies, curtly, “What are you doing here?”

“Your father’s running late home so I thought I would come by to see how you were,” She says and then looks behind him.

Y/N doesn’t need Harry to introduce her as she steps forward and holds out a hand, “Hi Mrs Styles, it’s nice to see you again.”

"Y/N?" Anne gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. "You've grown so much, you're beautiful." She reached out, taking both of Y/N's hands in hers and giving her an appraising look.

Y/N's cheeks flushed at the compliment. "Thank you, Mrs. Styles," she stammered, feeling a mixture of nerves and warmth.

Anne smiled warmly. "Oh, call me Anne," she insisted before turning her attention to Harry. "I didn't know you two were such good friends."

Y/N and Harry exchanged a quick glance, both unsure of how to respond.

"I'm her coach," they both blurted out simultaneously, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Anne's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?" she exclaimed, her gaze flitting between them. "You're coaching?"

Harry nodded, his expression serious. "Yes," he confirmed quietly.

"But Harry, your injury," Anne interjected, concern evident in her voice as she glanced down at his leg. "You're not meant to be—"

"I'm fine, Mum," Harry interrupted sharply, his tone making no room for argument.

"Harry, you know you can’t be playing-"

"I said I'm fine," Harry's voice rose, his frustration evident as he cut her off, causing Y/N to jump at the sudden outburst.

Anne's concern softened into a resigned sigh, her eyes reflecting a mixture of worry and understanding. "Alright, Harry," she relented, her tone gentler now. "Just promise me you're taking care of yourself."

Harry's features softened, a hint of remorse flickering in his eyes. "I promise, Mum," he said, his voice softer now, more subdued.

Anne nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Good. That's all I ask."

As the atmosphere relaxed, Anne turned her attention back to Y/N, her smile warm and welcoming. "Well, it's lovely to see you again, Y/N," she said kindly. “Tell your parents we’ll be stopping by in the spring.”

Y/N returned the smile, her earlier nervousness dissipating in the warmth of Anne's acceptance. "It was nice to see you too, " she replied sincerely.

Harry glanced at Y/N, a softness in his gaze that made her heart skip a beat. After seeing his mother out following her very brief visit, Y/N finally mustered the courage to ask, "What was she talking about?"

Harry's expression turned grave, his features shadowed by a sense of burden. "It was nothing," he replied.

"Why can't you play?" Y/N pushed, her concern evident in her voice.

"Y/N, I'm telling you to leave it alone," Harry warned, his tone firm.

But Y/N couldn't let it go. "If it's nothing, then why can't you tell me?" she insisted, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Because it's none of your business, that's why," Harry snapped, his words cutting like a knife.

"Nothing I do or say has anything to do with you, so go back to hating me because it's a hell of a lot easier than what I have to deal with."

Y/N's heart sank at his harsh words. With a deep breath, she crossed her arms, her resolve hardening. "You know, now I remember why we never got along in the first place," she retorted, her voice laced with bitterness. With a sharp turn on her heel, she made her way to the front door. "You're such an asshole, Harry."

"Y/N," Harry called out, his voice tinged with regret as she stormed out of his apartment towards the elevator. "Y/N, come on, don't be like that."

"Go suck a dick," she shot back, stepping into the elevator before Harry could stop her.

As the doors closed, Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Let me drive you back, at least," he pleaded, his voice barely audible over the sound of the closing doors.

"Fine," Y/N huffed, her tone clipped with annoyance.

The car ride back to her dorm was tense and silent. When Harry pulled into the front of her dormitory, Y/N moved to open the door finding the silence far too uncomfortable. Then, out of nowhere, Harry's voice broke the silence. "I can't play tennis anymore," he confessed, his words heavy.

Y/N's heart stopped, her breath catching in her throat. "What do you mean you can't play anymore? That's ridiculous," she exclaimed, her disbelief evident in her voice.

Harry's hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles turning white. "I mean I can't ever play tennis again," he admitted, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Are you serious?" Y/N asked, her voice trembling with shock.

"I tore my ACL during practice for the French Open. I—" Harry's voice trailed off, unable to continue, “It was so bad Y/N and I was in so much fucking pain and no one would listen to me. I went through multiple surgeries and rehab but the doctors sat me down and said I couldn’t play unless I wanted to fuck up my leg for the rest of my life.”

“Harry…” Y/N’s eyes glistened with tears.

Her breath caught in her throat as the weight of Harry's words sank in. She glanced over at him, seeing the pain etched in his features, and felt a surge of empathy wash over her. It was a devastating blow for someone who had dedicated their life to the sport they loved.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Y/N whispered, her voice filled with genuine sadness for the boy beside her.

Harry managed a small nod, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, “That’s why I had to come back here. My father can barely look at me and my mother won’t leave me alone. At least here I can be around people my own age but when I’m at home, it’s fucking suffocating Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t imagine losing the one thing she loved above anything else in the world and have to re-construct everything she had ever known to find something else to love just as much.

“I don’t expect you to say anything but I’d appreciate it if you showed me a little mercy,” He spoke.

“Why would you offer to coach me then? Would that not make things worse?” She asked.

He looks at her, really looks at her, like there was something on the tip of his tongue he wanted to say but couldn’t, “I figured it would alleviate the pain.”

“But I saw you play, I watched you and you beat me,” She exclaimed.

“Yeah and it hurt like a bitch afterwards,” He shook his head.

Y/N couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wondered why Harry had been unwilling to play against her during the training sessions and now she knew why. She felt awful, her heart was hurting for him.

“I don’t want you to feel pity for me and I don’t want this to change anything between us. I’m tired of being treated like a broken toy and I think it would kill me inside if you looked at me differently.”

Y/N stayed quiet, facing forward and collecting her thoughts before saying, “Thank you for telling me,” She murmured, “And it doesn’t change anything. You’re still an asshole,”

Harry laughed and then his pinky brushed the side of her hand, “You will be everything tomorrow.” He whispered.

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the soft edge of his words, “You think so?”

His eyes softened, “I believe in you, more than anyone in the entire world.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath and looking out the window. The tension had settled and now a newfound respect lingered between them.

She would win tomorrow, for herself and for him.

. . .

It had been a while since Harry had been to a tennis tournament. The last time he was on a court for an official match was well over six months ago, it was a challenger match he participated in during his training for the French Open before his life took a vast turn.

He sat in the stands with everyone else from Crestwood who had come to watch the first game. Although Crestwood Academy invested more in the football team than any other sport, the turnout had been pretty good and nearly every seat was occupied by a student or teacher.

On the opposite side was Eaststone Academy who seemed to have invested heavily in their merchandise for Y/N’s opponent. Everyone was either wearing a t-shirt with Vanya’s name on it or carrying a sign with supportive catchphrases written in bold marker.

Harry craned his neck in hopes of seeing Y/N preparing herself somewhere outside of the court but couldn’t find her anywhere. He’d sent her a quick message this morning and asked her if she needed anything but she insisted she wanted to be alone.

“Fuck, it’s good we got in the queue early,” Mitch came by with an anxious Sarah, holding two cokes in his hand. They were both wearing navy shirts and sweatbands around their heads, Sarah was holding a sign that had Y/N’s name on it.

“She’s gonna hate you for that,” Harry tried not to smile.

“Oh I already know,” Sarah said, “She watched me make it last night and then almost ripped in half when I asked her if I should bedazzle it.”

Harry’s expression changed into one of concern, “How was she?”

“She’s nervous but she insisted she was okay,” Sarah rolled her eyes, “You know how she is.”

He did, which was why he was willing to accept the fact she wanted to be by herself even though he was desperate to drive over there with strawberry milkshakes just so he could see that smile he had been dreaming about for the past three weeks.

Suddenly, Eaststone Academy stood from their seats and cheered as Vanya Maddison came onto the court. “I’ve never seen such long legs,” Sarah gasped, saying what both Harry and Mitch were thinking.

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest as the people around him stood on their feet. He glanced down to the court and his eyes fell on Y/N as she walked onto the court with a dip between her brows and her tennis bag over her shoulder.

She was wearing a white, pleated skort and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt. Her hair was slicked back as tightly as possible into a braid and her white runners were tied up on her feet. He noticed she was wearing earbuds in her ears and then found the walkman he had given her clipped to her skort. He smiled at that, wondering which of the many songs he had put together she was listening to.

“There she is,” Sarah pointed and then waved to get her attention.

Y/N held a hand over her face to block the sun and looked up at the crowd. When she caught sight of Sarah, she offered a friendly wave before her eyes landed on Harry. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement and then walked to her seat on the other side of the umpire.

“C’mon,” Harry murmured, feeling his palms sweating at the sight of her.

“She’s got this in the bag, H.” Mitch puts a hand on his shoulder.

Through the speakers, the umpire calls out the start of the match and everyone falls silent as both players walk to opposing sides of the court. Y/N bounces on her feet and swings her racket backwards and forwards as though warming herself up before the match starts.

When the first serve came, Y/N's reflexes kicked in. She returned the ball swiftly, keeping the rally going with her quick movements, remembering what Harry had taught her. Each exchange became more intense, but Y/N stayed determined, chasing down every ball.

When Vanya hit the ball for the other corner, Y/N ran towards it and returned the ball swiftly, earning the first point with a well-placed shot. The crowd erupted into cheers as Y/N gained an early lead.

“That’s my girl!” Harry clapped his heart in his throat.

But Vanya wasn't about to let up. With determination in her eyes, she fought back, winning the next two points with powerful serves and precise shots. The score was now in Vanya's favor, and the pressure was on for Y/N.

“Fuck!” Y/N released a growl and hit her racket against the floor before storming off to her seat. Harry was tempted to walk down and help her but he needed to let her see what she was capable of on her own.

Her anger was radiating from her, “I’d hate to get on her bad side,” Mitch said.

Harry couldn’t seem to reply as he leant forward with both his elbows on his knees. “C’mon, c’mon, you can do it.” He mutters, thinking of the first bit of advice he had given her.

“Do you know what your biggest strength is in this game?” Harry asked.

“My speed?” Y/N frowned.

“Your anger,” He replies, “Off the court, it’s a little annoying but on the court, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Use it.”

Y/N rolled her shoulders back and stood on her feet. She walked back to her line on the court and bounced the ball up and down on the ground before throwing it up in the air and hitting it with a flat serve, exactly the way Harry had taught her. Her anger radiated from her as she slammed the ball with her racket and hit it with such force it went flying to the other end of the court but not before bouncing inside the square right by Vanya’s foot.

Harry stood to his feet and pumped his fist into the air, “Holy shit!” Mitch exclaimed as Sarah cheered beside him.

They were now at match point and Y/N had to win this next round if she wanted to win the entire game.

The tension thickened in the air as people sat on the edge of their seats to see who would come out on top. This time, it was Vanya’s turn to serve as she launched the ball into the air and hit it with her racket to Y/N’s side of the court.

As Y/N unleashed powerful serves and precise shots, Harry found himself captivated by her every move. With each grunt of exertion, each flex of her muscles, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Despite the shifting heads of the spectators around him as they followed the ball back and forth, his gaze remained fixed solely on her.

Every aspect of Y/N's play had him in a trance—the way her muscles rippled as she sprinted across the court, the intensity in her expression as she anticipated Vanya’s next move, the graceful sway of her hair with each swing of her racket.

But as Harry watched, something stirred within him. A warmth spread through his veins, igniting a fire deep within him. Suddenly, he felt a tightness in his shorts, a physical reaction to the raw power and determination radiating from Y/N on the court.

"Oh, fuck," Harry muttered under his breath, his heart racing as he glanced down and saw the undeniable bulge in his shorts. Panic surged through him, his mind reeling with embarrassment.

"What's wrong?" Mitch's voice cut through his thoughts, and Harry quickly lowered his drink to conceal his arousal.

“N-Nothing,” Harry forces a smile, “I need to use the bathroom.” He doesn’t wait for Mitch to respond as she pushes past everyone to get away from the crowd.

He walks quickly over to his car and jumps into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was thirteen years old after experiencing girls for the first time again. Was it wrong to rub himself off in the middle of a tennis match when all he was looking at was the girl who played his favourite sport better than anyone he had ever seen, dominating the game with her anger and intensity like she was a complete animal?

He couldn’t shake the image of her from his mind and his cock seemed to ache the more he thought about how beautiful she was on the court, completely in her element, anger and passion emitting from her. Every grunt and groan she made as she hit the ball with so much fervor had his head spiralling.

He looked down and tried to will it away, he needed to get back out there to see her win the game. He thought of every disturbing thing he could possibly think of and even took out his phone to google the quickest way to get rid of an erection.

The excited yells of the crowd told him someone had won and he prayed he would return and see Y/N with the medal around her neck.

After about ten minutes of taking deep breaths, he finally felt composed enough to leave his car. With a flustered face, he made his way back toward the court, silently praying for some kind of cosmic intervention to erase the embarrassing moment from his memory.

As he turned the corner, he spotted Mitch and Sarah engaged in conversation with Y/N, who was proudly wearing the gold medal around her neck. She had won - he knew she would.

Y/N's eyes lit up as she noticed him, a wide smile spreading across her face as she proudly displayed her medal. Unable to resist, he grinned back in response.

Sweat glistened on her skin, her cheeks flushed with exertion, and delicate strands of hair framed her face. At that moment, she radiated beauty, and he couldn't deny the sudden surge of emotions that had slowly been weaving themselves into the fabric of his feelings ever since he had returned to Crestwood.

If the past fifteen minutes were anything to go by, Harry knew this was more than just a game of tennis.

He was in trouble.

. . .

People cheered as Y/N entered Harry’s apartment with Sarah at her side, holding beer cans in the air and patting her on the shoulder as she sifted through the crowds of people. S&M by Rhianna played over the speakers as the apartment that was previously empty was now filled up with student’s from Crestwood.

“There she is,” Mitch’s voice yelled over the music, “Crestwood’s very own Serena Williams,”

“I wouldn’t go that far Mitch,” She chuckled, unable to stop herself from smiling so hard after the excitement of her first win.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room as she went in search of the one person she wanted to see whilst everyone fell into conversation around her.

That’s when she saw him, leaning against the wall with a red solo cup in his hand. His hair was a tangled mess, and his body was adorned in a loose, white shirt, its u-neck revealing the inked pair of swallows beneath his collarbones and gold chain around his neck. On his legs, he wore a loose pair of black trousers.

Y/N held back a smile as she made her way over to him until she realised who he was talking to.

Her face fell as she saw the angelic blonde, tanned and glowing like she’d just come back from a holiday somewhere south of the equator.

Harry’s face lit up as Y/N approached until he realised what was going on.

“Hey,” He smiled, trying to distract her.

“Where were you?” Y/N snapped her gaze towards him.

“What do y’ mean? M right here,” He spoke, “You were incredible out there.”

“Who’s this?” Y/N ignored him, folding her arms and looking at the girl he was speaking to. Y/N knew exactly who she was but felt the need to act as though she had never seen her before.

Harry hesitated for a moment before introducing her. “Y/N, this is Astrid.”

Astrid flashed a dazzling smile at Y/N, her demeanour friendly yet confident. “Congratulations on the win today, Y/N. I’m looking forward to our match in the semifinals.”

Harry's reaction was immediate. “What?” he stammered, clearly taken aback.

“You didn’t know?” Astrid asked, surprised. “Y/N and I will be facing off in the semifinals.”

Y/N grit her teeth and forced a smile, the two girls eyeing each other up and down as Harry’s eyes darted anxiously between them.

Now that Y/N was into the semi-finals her next opponent was Astrid Anderson, one of the best junior, female tennis players in the county.

Who just so happened to be Harry’s ex-girlfriend.

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dr3amofagame · 2 days

Text

thinking about c!dream earlier on in the server just makes me sad man. like, c!dream has never been a perfect character. he's always been flawed, always been a bit of an asshole, always had control issues. but also he knew that. he tried to work on that. he and tommy were friends, despite being flawed people with their own issues that would bump into conflicts because of the ways that they differed. c!dream tried, god, he tried; he wasn't even on the server, when the drug van happened, and walked into a place with someone who was practically a stranger to him building a wall and calling for war and having turned half the people dream knew against him, apparently, for no reason that he could've known at the time, and he had looked straight at tommy and tubbo and asked if that was what they really wanted when wilbur told them that there was no such thing as dual citizenship. he tells tommy when he has to sell a disc for spirit's leather even though tommy had surrendered the discs to him at the end of the revolution because he knows it'll matter to him. he and tommy truce, multiple times, and c!dream gets tangled into conflicts that literally don't involve him repeatedly and gets targeted Because He's Dream repeatedly and he plays along with that trivia contest and he gives gifts to fundy and tommy after terrorizing them a little for fun and he plays along with the dreamon thing and he keeps getting pulled into fights that weren't his but tries to make them a little more fair when they get him involved. he fucks around with tommy and they have fun, they're friends, and when he and wilbur look like they're in danger dream is one of the first to find them and lend them real, practical, valuable aid. he calls himself "Big D" in that book and he tells the man that wrote him as a tyrant that he doesn't want to be a villain in the story anymore. he asks tommy if he's okay, and watches that kid's back when he walks alone and unarmed into manberg, and fights with him at the battle of the lake and all of that is thrown back in his face as being a lie. half the intial community structures that exist were built by him; the community house, the nether portal and hub, the prime path. during a time where every other piece of leverage got burned or killed (rip the casualties of the pet war), dream was kind of known for being one that could be fairly traded with, that would minimize permanent damage. the kills in the final control room were originally to strip lmanburg of their gear, which he had kept in a chest so it could be returned to them after the war.

like no c!dream isn't perfect at the beginning of the server. yes he's kind of a jerk sometimes, kind of an asshole sometimes, kind of neurotic most of the time. but god dammit like c!dream does try to mitigate the worst of his control issues, when they flare up early on; the initial disc war ends with tommy getting his discs back as well as a stack of diamonds, in exchange for a netherite chestplate. he's a flawed character and he's still someone pretty friendly on the whole to most of the server, he's also kind of just known for being a little weird. he gives gifts randomly. he fixed creeper holes, and houses, and went along with bits. like whatever im a c!drolo c!dream woobifier and i admit it lol but for as much evil as he ends up doing, pretty damn consistently early on, he's . friendly? kind? funny? helpful? their neighbor. their friend. c!dream isn't just some stranger that flew off the handle; he's someone they knew and lived with who had his actions taken in bad faith because the goddamn story said so and kept fucking trying anyway until he believed the lie too. like he was just a guy!! a guy they knew and lived with!!! like my god

#this is not coherent but #alsjdfaks;jf;j #like maybe i sound deranged when i say this but he was literally just a good dude #not a perfect person definitely an asshole sometimes and how violence and such gets redefined when you look back #makes this all a bit messier considering people kind of killed each other a lot back then bc respawns meant nothing #but. he was literally like. like he was just a normal guy who actually tried pretty damn hard to be good to the people he cared about #and SPOILER ALERT !!! HE KIND OF CARED ABT MOST OF THE PEOPLE ON THE SERVER AT THAT POINT

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colonelarr0w · 3 days

Note

I love your writing so much!!

Can I request some comfort Sukuna where he finally breaks down the walls around readers heart who has been hurt previously years before…reader made him wonder why they didn’t ever let him see them cry before and that bothered him.

Sypnosis - Love wasn't for everyone, you had long since accepted that fact. But ... were you really okay with being alone?

Warning(s) - None besides mature themes and some foul language.

A/N - Oh my god I loved this request so much. Reader is definitely a little bit too much like me in this one, but it's okay because at least she somewhat fixed her issues!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

Love wasn't for everyone.

That was a hard pill to swallow, but it was one that you had swallowed after so many years of being constantly disappointed. One after the other, it was as if the heavens above were taunting you. Either that, or they were punishing you for some heinous crime.

Even though you wanted so desperately to experience what everyone else did; stolen glances, random flowers, gentle kisses, passionate sex, late-night dates … you had just come to the conclusion that no matter what you did, it just wasn't for you.

And you were okay with that.

Yet, it was annoying to then hear others come to you spewing their bullshit.

"You just haven't met the one yet!" "Don't worry, love will come to you when you least expect it."

"Trust me. The moment that you stop looking for love, it comes to find you."

"You're quiet," Sukuna says harshly, dropping his finished cigarette onto the ground and snuffing out its orange hue with the toe of his boot. Your head jerks upward, blinking for a moment before you clear your throat – you hadn't meant to fall into a daydream.

"Hmm? Oh, no, I'm okay," you answer quickly, lifting your own half-finished cigarette to your lips and inhaling. You hoped that the smoke would ease your nerves, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

Sukuna's eyes roam over your figure, his mind taking notes on your expression and body language. Your eyebrows are pinched together, eyes flickering to look at anything but him, your lips are turned downward in a frown that he somewhat wishes would go away. Your shoulders are stiff, back standing as straight as a line. Your hands are shaking.

"Tch," he clicks his tongue, turning his body and half-stepping towards you. His fingers close over your wrist, pulling the cigarette away from your lips. "You're a shitty liar."

Your eyes cast themselves to the ground, embarrassment heating your cheeks. He falters, but he toes out your cigarette anyway, then turning to face forward again – he doesn't want to make you any more uncomfortable than you already are.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks after a beat of silence, hanging his arms over the railing of your apartment's balcony. Your eyes flicker to him for a moment, silently admiring the way that the moonlight illuminates his face and the tattoos inked into his skin.

"Nothing that would interest you."

Not when it comes to you. Talk to me, he wants to say. But the words fall dead on his tongue. He doesn't turn his head to look at you, only humming in acknowledgement.

Another beat of silence passes over you and Sukuna. It gets you wondering … did he even like being around you? After all, the only reason why he kept meeting you after work was because he had offered you a ride home. In return, you offered him cigarettes. A fair trade.

"Interesting or not," he hesitates, biting his tongue, "'s not good when you keep all that stuff in."

You freeze, hands tightening their hold on the railing as you stare out at the cityscape. Already you can feel tears beginning to gather along your waterline. You try your hardest to swallow them away, but nothing.

"I-I said it was fine," you manage to choke out, trying to subtly wipe at your eyes. Sukuna notices … he always did.

He reaches into his pocket for something, then nudging your arm with a handkerchief closed between his fingers. You take it, mumbling a quiet thanks before wiping your eyes with it. "I'm sorry."

Sukuna doesn't answer, he doesn't have to. It's more of a silent understanding that yes, something is bothering you, but in your own time you would open up to him about it. Maybe it wouldn't be tonight, maybe it wouldn't be tomorrow … but eventually, you would.

He shrugs in response to your apology. "Nothin' to apologize for."

Another beat of silence passes over you both, this one more comfortable than the last. Sukuna reaches into his pocket, taking out the cigarettes that you had given him. He opens the box with his thumb, hesitating on taking another one out.

You eye the box out of the corner of your eye … it was the only reason he even came into your apartment, wasn't it?

To your shock, he drops the box off of the edge of the balcony, watching it through half-lidded eyes as it falls out of sight. You turn your head to look at him, finding him already staring at you.

Neither of you say anything.

One minute turns into two, two into four, four into six.

"Y'know, I get the whole … wanting to be alone thing," Sukuna says, turning away from you so that he wouldn't have to look at your slightly pained expression. He leans further against the railing, gaze focusing on the blinking lights of a nearby billboard.

"You can tell yourself all you want that you want to be alone," he finally turns to you, "but do you really want that?"

You freeze, eyes wide like a deer that had been caught in headlights. Blankly, you stare at him, mind struggling to mull over what he had just asked you.

Did you really want to be alone?

"I-" You pause, swallowing the lump that had settled in the center of your throat. "I don't."

With that, Sukuna swallows all of his pride and tugs you into his arms. You fold into him, nails biting into the back of his leather jacket – the one that reeks of smoke and of must. But at the same time, those two comforting smells remind you that right now, in this moment, you aren't truly alone.

Do y'all want a part two of this? Or like a series of Sukuna and !Non-Trusting girlfriend?

#colonelarr0w #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna fanfiction #sukuna ryomen fanfiction #sukuna fanfiction

125 notes · View notes

yunhoszn · 2 days

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to hell with it

pairing jung wooyoung x f!reader word count 5k genres angst﹒smut﹒teeniest bit of fluff here and there warnings 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, all lowercase bc she was supposed to be short and vibey and… that just did not happen, mentions and use of weed, very strict parents, lowkey fuckboy wooyoung lol, lots of kissing, marking, scratching, wooyoung has a fascination with reader’s tits lol, nipple play, no real foreplay, unprotected sex, cowgirl and missionary style, dacryphilia, exhibitionism kinda, quite a few references to religious-ish themes, unrequited love in a sense? i got carried away im so sorry

summary you could draw several heaven-hell parallels from this moment in time, from the way wooyoung buries himself inside of you, and you always return to the idea that he’s straight from hell.

more ok… like i said… i got carried away oopsie 😝 this was a request from my lovely wife of 20+ years @juyofans <3 i’m sorry if i strayed too far from the original idea,,, it just happened ok 🙇 also a huge thank u to @bro-atz for betaing for me i LOVE U SO MUCH!! that’s all lets keep this note short and sweet :P reblog if u enjoyed!

@atzhouse

“shit.”

the curse slips from your mouth so naturally upon the discovery that your stash is completely finished. you rummage through the drawer one more time in case you might’ve missed something, but alas, you’ve run into the worst possible scenario. no more weed.

it’s not like you were dependent on it. but it was the end of a long week and it happened to be one of those days. an edible, a long rip from your bong, or a hit from a blunt wrapped with your pretty pink rolling paper sounded like fucking heaven right about now.

you still lived at home, though, and your parents had no clue that you dabbled with marijuana, so you had to keep everything hidden in your room. unfortunately, it was just too expensive to get your own place in this day and age. and despite the fear of getting caught deeply instilled in you, you were extremely desperate.

and well, desperate times called for desperate measures…

“hey, wooyoung…” you speak into the receiver.

your relationship with the guy was complicated. it had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with you. he’d been your plug for a couple years now, and his pretty face made it really hard not to develop a crush. every time you bought from him, you always tried to get a lot at once so you could space out how often you saw him to make things easier on your heart.

the two of you went to high school together, and the first time you reached out in regards to your secret habit was awkward. to say the least. all of your friends had purchased something from him at least once or twice, so they assured you that he was the real deal. but you had only ever mooched off of them and didn’t have the faintest idea what you were supposed to say or do. (what with having dictators for parents and the lot.)

you remember sending him a dm in the most cryptic way possible. he laughed it off, thinking about how cute it was that you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into. but, like every other occasion in which you’d spoken to him, he had a girlfriend at the time. the first time it was haeun, then there was jisu, and it was kind of hard to keep up with the names after that. his patience was endearing, though, and it always left you wanting more out of your conversations. (which is, understandably, what attracted you to the guy.)

he was definitely not a one-partner, commitment type of guy, and that’s all you could ever want out of someone. you thought keeping distance to halt any feelings from growing was the smartest decision. if you didn’t get close to him, it would help squash whatever flame burned beneath your chest.

but now it was time for that little crush to unearth itself, as it does whenever you see him.

“hey, y/n, what’s up?” you can hear the smile in his voice, the one that has your insides melting and your panties nearly dropping to the floor in an instant. it’s almost cocky, like he was expecting your call. and he probably was, all things considered.

“um…“ you stop yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and biting your lip, tilting your head back. “are you free to do a drop right now?”

the digital clock on your nightstand read 9:28 PM and your parents wouldn’t be home for another hour or so, having left for the movies a little over an hour ago. (that was the only reason why you were even thinking of pulling something as idiotic as this.)

not even were you just not allowed to have boys over. you weren’t allowed to have people over period, at least not if your parents were out. in spite of being a grown adult, they still managed to enforce strict rules and curfews on you. you were breaking so many by making this fucking phone call.

Do Not Think About Talking To Boys Under Our Roof.

“yeah, actually. i have to do another in the area so that works out perfectly. i can be there in ten.” he answers and that stupid smile pops into your head again.

Absolutely No Strangers Allowed In The House Without Us Present.

“okay cool— wait, you remember my address?” your brow scrunch together, the confusion boiling up inside of you. he snorts, some shifting audible in the background.

No Alcohol Unless We Are Present, Absolutely No Drugs Allowed.

“yeah? why wouldn’t i?” he asks so nonchalantly, you almost miss it. “i’ll be there soon, babe.”

he ends the call before you can even say anything, still holding your phone to your ear. your jaw hangs open and heat begins to bloom behind your cheeks. this was exactly why you were avoiding him as long as possible. jung wooyoung was a natural flirt, and you were very delusional.

this was fine, right? all you had to do was exchange the goods and money, then send him on his way. it would be like nothing ever happened, like no one was ever here. your parents would be none the wiser and you could finally relax. it would be just like when you were sneaking around in high school, having him drop when you didn’t have a car—

fuck.

you could’ve just met him somewhere instead, huh? you didn’t have the issue of being car-less anymore. you could’ve told your parents you were running out to grab some things from the store and hid it in your bags in case they were home before you. could’ve done literally anything else except act this irrational.

This Is An Honest and Trustworthy Household â€” No Lying Will Be Tolerated.

maybe, subconsciously, you’ve been wanting to see him in this setting again. there was a thrill in breaking your parents rules. you supposed something special, something exciting sparked under your skin all those times you snuck into the backyard to meet with wooyoung through the side gate. but right now, you’re pacing inside your bedroom. this wasn’t the time to get poetic and reminisce about being a schoolgirl with a crush.

you were bulldozing through just about everything on your parents’ list of Do Nots and you feel like you should be more anxious about it. for some reason you’re less afraid of pissing them off. you’re entirely too concerned with looking good for wooyoung, and you don’t even hear the shrill sound of your phone ringing.

wooyoung’s contact lights up the screen, sending all sorts of panic signals to your brain. you severely underestimated how long ten minutes was, and also how long you’d been standing in front of the mirror gawking at yourself like a damn fish out of water. this was embarrassing. you were better than this, god, you were so much better than to lose yourself like this over a man. but jung wooyoung somehow made all rhyme and reason escape you like he was some sexy version of the pied piper.

before you realize it, your feet have carried you down the stairs and to the front door. on the other side stand wooyoung, his backpack slung over his shoulder. he’s dressed in a red zip up hoodies and some baggy jeans. his hair is longer than when you last saw him, long enough to have some of the strands tucked loosely behind his ears. you think you’re entranced by his visuals alone, and then he opens his mouth.

”told ya i remembered.” his words drip with that charisma that sucks you in further, deeper, into the chasm you kept trying to avoid.

”uh— c-come in,” you usher him into your house and up the stairs into your room, just in case. “my parents aren’t home, but i don’t know if my neighbors are watching or something. and just in case they get back earlier, it’s easier to hide you in here than anywhere else.”

wooyoung nods with a snort, eyes wandering around the bedroom you’ve had since you were two years old. he’s never been inside of your house before, much less inside of your room. it’s very you; various posters littering the walls, makeup and skincare products cluttered around your vanity, comfy-looking sheets.

Definitely No Boys Allowed In Your Room.

“you know, y/n, i was pleasantly surprised when you called,” he shrugs off his bag, setting it on the foot of your bed, dragging his finger along the footboard. “i was starting to miss my favorite customer.”

just about everything but standing right here sounded ideal to you. if there were miraculously a sniper stationed on the roof of the house next to yours, you hoped you were in his line of sight and he would take you out. it was as if he knew. he knew exactly what his effect on you was, and that was absolutely perfect, now wasn’t it?

“your— huh?” you’re sure you sound stupid, especially so when he laughs, unzipping his backpack to take out what he was here for. the smell alone practically recalibrates your system and reboots you. wooyoung notices.

”we’ve never smoked together, have we?” he asks, pulling out the tube he was looking for. it’s about an eighth, which is less than what you usually buy from him, but you’re in no position to complain. you shake your head ‘no’ as he hands it to you, before pulling out another and doing the same thing. you raise an eyebrow at him.

”this is—“

”no, i know,” he purses his lips with a nod, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth and swiping across the bottom one. “consider it a gift, for being so loyal to me all these years.”

you guffaw in disbelief. what the fuck?

”wooyoung, you can’t possibly—“

”just let me smoke you out this once. that’s all i ask in return,” he seats himself on the edge of your bed. “and we’ll even use my stuff. you can save yours for later. i’ll make it worth your while.”

you would be cutting it really close to the time your parents were supposed to be home. but he was so tempting. and you were so weak. so, so pitifully weak.

”okay…” you let yourself say. you let yourself divulge just this once. “but, remember—“

”yes yes, your parents. do you think this is my first rodeo?” he laughs, pulling out a little plastic baggie that appears to have pre-ground weed in it. almost like… he was anticipating this? when he reaches into his backpack for what you assume is wraps, you jump to grab your pink rolling paper. you’d been so excited to use it, you weren’t going to let this opportunity go to waste.

batting your lashes at him is the only way you know how to convince him, though it doesn’t really take much convincing. your rolling skills still weren’t the best, despite doing this as long as you have, so you watch in awe as wooyoung does it. his fingers move expertly, and you have to blink away the thoughts threatening to overthrow the sane ones that have been struggling to keep afloat.

wooyoung fishes for the lighter in his pocket, red like the color of his jacket. he lights the blunt and holds it carefully between his fingers. you think he’s going to take the first hit, but then he’s holding it to your lips, gesturing for you to do it. “ladies first.” he throws in with that obnoxiously attractive laugh of his. you hesitantly follow his lead, sitting beside him, then inhaling and filling your chest.

your exhale isn’t as graceful as you hoped it would be, a couple coughs coming out of you, but it was a strong hit. he rubs his free hand up and down your thigh to soothe you, hitting it himself. he’s definitely a lot more experienced than you, in what he does and how he does it, breathing it out into the atmosphere. your room is a little foggy now and you have half the mind to crack open a window, however, you’re hyper aware of his hand on your thigh. and you don’t want it to go away.

If Any Of These Rules Are Broken, You Risk Being Kicked Out.

it’s calm for a few minutes, just the two of you rotating the blunt in comforting silence, his hand still branding its place on your thigh. and then his thumb starts to move. it circles into your bare skin gently, kneading mindlessly. you almost let out a whine, but you catch yourself, concealing it as a cough instead.

“you like me, don’t you, y/n?” wooyoung asks, puffing out a thick white cloud and pouting. “that’s why you buy a lot from me at once. that’s why i sometimes only see you once a month.”

the question catches you so off guard, you almost grab the pink blunt by the spark. he sets it in your ashtray, conveniently placed on one of your bedposts. you stare at him blankly, because how fucking perceptive do you have to be to figure that out? your crush was probably a little more than obvious, sure, but the avoidant tendency you had couldn’t possibly be linked to that. not unless he truly knew you like the back of his hand.

he leans back onto his palms with a snicker, carding his fingers through his hair. the way he’s positioned allows you to glimpse at a bit more of his chest from the partially unzipped jacket. the only thing you see is that it’s bare, and your brain short circuits. it was already frying itself when he called you out, now there wasn’t a single functioning cell up there.

“i’m high like sixty percent of the time, i see everything. i know everything.” he answers your unspoken inquiry. and well, that may be true, but it’s not like you’re doing much to refute with the way you’re ogling at him. (you were a horny high, unfortunately.)

“what—“ you swallow, suddenly all too aware of how close you’re sitting, of how his grip on your thigh is a little more primal. “what if i said no? what then?”

“i’d think you were a liar,” he smiles, that fucking smile you can picture in your head even through a phone call. “and i don’t like being lied to.”

“so it’s a good thing i haven’t said no yet, right?” you breathe, voice entirely too stable for the situation. his hand rises higher on your thigh, the tip of his index finger brushing under your shorts. you glance down at it, eyes already heavy lidded as they observe the way it drags across your skin. fuck.

“mhm,” he hums, gauging your reaction to his touch. “it’s very good.”

you’re losing your patience the longer you sit there, tortured by wooyoung’s hand searing on your thigh. your heart seems to beat faster and you feel like you can tell with the rise and fall of your chest picking up in speed. his lips on yours is all that you want, all that you need, and under this spell (the intoxication swimming through your bloodstream), you’re willing to accept the consequences that may come with it.

a gasp escapes you when his nail scrapes along the side of your leg with the pressure of a feather. it’s overwhelming, to say the least. you want more and more and more, and then so much more until you can’t take it, but part of you is still insecure that he’ll leave you strung out on a clothesline if you indulge. you’re beyond thinking about the repercussions if you’re caught. you’re focused on the repercussions of being hurt if you give in.

but enough is enough.

placing your hand over his own, you slip it under your t-shirt where you’ve been braless this entire time. wooyoung’s eyes widen and you grab one of his hoodie strings, yanking him closer to you. your noses brush and your eyes meet, a silent ask for permission to finally play into what you’ve both been waiting for.

you don’t really give him a second to rethink it.

your lips connect in a rough, messy kiss that has you believing in the existence of a god. one that’s granted what you’ve been dreaming of for years. maybe after this you’ll start praying before bed again, especially if it always rewards you this well.

his mouth slots against yours like it’s the missing piece of a puzzle, your tongues tangling and your teeth nearly clashing. wooyoung’s hand on your chest regains its own control, squeezing your breast and flicking his thumb over a perked nipple. his other hand grips your waist, pulling you onto his lap. your knees dig into the mattress, hands cupping under his jaw and then entwining in his hair.

you sigh into his kiss, obsessed with this length on him. you’re sure he feels the same when he groans after you tug on it, deepening the kiss if possible. the sigh turns into a moan when he guides your hips into a circular motion, grinding you down on him to create a bit of friction and get the ball rolling.

he knows you don’t have a lot of time, maybe an hour tops, but fuck he wishes he could take his time with you. he wished he could explore your body and learn every single thing you liked and didn’t like, and use it all to his advantage. his senses are heightened so he’s keenly aware of your every sound, of each whine that escapes you.

wooyoung’s mouth travels from your own, along your jaw, and down your throat, nipping and sucking so he leaves his mark on you wherever he can. your lips part with a soft moan when he finds the sensitive spot on your neck. his hand is still in your shirt, kneading and massaging your tits like it was second nature for him.

your high has reached its peak, and you’re starting to get light headed from how good everything feels. if he didn’t touch you where you needed him most soon, you feared you might finish prematurely, and after all that you’ve been through to get to this point, you really cannot handle that tonight. thankfully, he seems to read your mind.

“i would love to make up for lost time, but i don’t think we can right now,” he pants into your skin, hands everywhere but somehow nowhere all at once. “let me just—“

“stop yapping and just fuck me, wooyoung, you’re wasting precious time,” you groan, going straight for the zipper of his jacket. you push the red material off of his shoulders in one go, practically pawing at the button of his jeans. he laughs at your impatience, but knows you’re right.

“well, when you put it like that, i don’t feel bad for the disgusting things i wanna do to you,” he teases, helping you pull your shirt over your head. “gonna fuck you so good, you’re gonna wanna see me more than once a month.”

the call out is crazy, but you don’t have the mental capacity to argue with him, head tossing back when he takes one of your tits into his mouth. you scrape your nails down the expanse of his chest and abdomen, a reprieve to the static buzzing throughout your body with wooyoung’s lips all over you. his teeth sink into your collarbone and you nearly lose your sanity. this was it, there was no going back now that you’ve fallen under his spell.

his skilled fingers make quick work removing your shorts and you’re so beyond restless, that he has a bit of trouble getting them down your legs. he stills your hips firmly, practically scolding you when he says, “sit still, pretty, i’m not going anywhere.”

it’s a weird reaffirmation, and in a way it calms your erratic mind. you finally let go of those reservations and allow yourself to submit to these feelings you’ve harbored for years. the heat of wooyoung beneath you is enough to make you squirm again, needing him inside of you before you start crying. (though judging by what he’s said so far, you think he’d like that.)

“god, i need you so bad,” you whine, lips locking with his once more. you speak the words into his mouth and they hold all the subtlety of an excavator, desperation hanging off of each syllable. “please…”

you can feel, rather than see, the conniving smile that graces his features, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. he’s dangling your desire in front of you like a ball of yarn with a cat, the bed of his nails dragging along your hips slowly and tortuously. you reach down to cup his erection through his boxers and that’s what spurs him on, dropping his mischievous act in favor of gifting you what you’ve been asking for so nicely.

wooyoung pushes your underwear to the side, kicking off his boxers so he’s bare for you. part of you is way more excited than you should be to fuck him raw, for the first time nonetheless. he leans back slightly and watches as you hover over his cock, sitting on it gently. he’s definitely on the longer side, longer than the other guys you’ve been with— not that there were very many to compare him to. he fills you up just right, tapping that sweet crook of your pussy when he sheathes entirely.

the moan that breaches the sound barrier fights itself from deep in your chest, tickling his ears and forcing out one of his own. his grip on your hips tightens as you begin to move. it’s more of him moving your body for you, not that you’re complaining at all. less work for you.

with each bounce on his cock, your bed squeaks and it wouldn’t be such a problem if you didn’t also hear the front door open downstairs. your eyes widen almost comically, meeting wooyoung’s with a fear so intense that it nearly scares him too. gratefully, he’s been in this situation before. he holds a finger up to his lips to shush you, simultaneously flipping the two of you so your back is flat on the bed and his feet are planted on the floor.

you’re glad you had the clear mind to lock your door when you came up to your room. you don’t know if it’s because it’s wooyoung, or maybe you’re just into it, but you feel yourself getting more turned on as he continues to fuck you despite your parents being home. he covers your mouth with his hand, rocking his hips into yours with a purpose. his free hand slithers between the two of you, thumb rubbing calculated circles into your clit.

”take it,” he rasps into your ear, nipping the lobe softly; a contrast to what’s tumbling out of his mouth. “take it like the good girl you are.”

at that same moment, there’s a knock on your bedroom door. wooyoung doesn’t stop, in fact, he speeds up his pace, pushing your thigh to your chest so he plunges deeper into your cunt. he’s evil, pure evil.

”y/n, are you in there?” your mother asks.

”y-yes,” you gasp, willing your voice to stay steady. “i was getting ready to go to s-sleep.”

“you sound off… are you feeling okay?” she expresses her concern and you look to wooyoung for help.

you bite down harshly on your lower lip when he leans down to suck on one of your tits instead, still very roughly snapping into you. he urges you to say something anyway, so you can at least get them to leave you alone. “y-yes! i’m fine! i was just looking f-for my pajamas!”

he laughs lowly so only you can hear, gazing at you through his lashes and whispering, “should we tell her they’re on your floor?”

your mother doesn’t question you any further. ”okay… goodnight, sweetheart.”

”goodnight!”

her footsteps get quieter as she walks away from your door. the shit-eating grin on wooyoung’s face contributes to the growing ache in the pit of your stomach more than it pisses you off. unfortunately he just had that effect on you. it was hard to be mad at him when he made you feel like you were lit ablaze, fire burning all the way to the tips of your fingers.

“look at you, sweetheart,” you hate that the pet name has you clenching around his length. his lips trail down your body, worshiping it like you were his own personal goddess. “you’re taking my cock so perfectly.”

if you could scream, you would. you’d be as loud as possible so your whole block knew who was fucking you this good. you’d chant his name like a prayer, which was ironic considering he was, in a sense, more like an incubus. you could draw several heaven-hell parallels from this moment in time, from the way wooyoung buries himself inside of you, and you always return to the idea that he’s straight from hell. the way he lures you in, like the serpent with eve in the garden of eden. he has you turning your back on all forms of reason.

but this inebriation, this sweet poison coursing through your bloodstream as applies practiced pressure to your clit, has your whole being soaring. you could care less about the trouble that comes with it, especially when it has your back arching off of your mattress and into his chest.

your lips pry open in a silent moan when he presses up against that same spongy nook in your pussy. tears well in your eyes as they roll back, spilling down the sides of your cheeks. wooyoung kisses them away and fucks into you harder, inching closer and closer towards what you’re already on the precipice of.

having gone nonverbal after nearly getting caught, it requires so much energy for you to croak out, “‘m so close, woo, so so close…”

he hums approvingly, back at your mouth now. his lips mold with yours so smoothly and your fingers tangle in his hair so easily. you want this forever, to be his in more ways than one. but after tonight, you don’t know how likely that is to happen, and you’ll let yourself be satiated by this one time.

you’re lost in the sensation of his kiss, disappearing in the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of your cunt without restriction. and maybe this would’ve been so different had you not been high. maybe this wouldn’t have happened at all had you been sober. your vision is hazy and your head is clouded, but you’ve never felt so liberated.

wooyoung grazes his nose against yours, a stark contrast in the behavior he’s exhibited tonight. even as he does so, his lower half is still pounding into you without mercy. and for some reason, that tenderness is what has you slipping through the cracks. your orgasm washes over you with no warning, crashing and colliding into your being almost violently.

the fluttering of your walls around his cock has wooyoung finishing right behind you, lashes skimming the tops of your cheeks in butterfly kisses that prolong the climax of your release. it’s much more intimate than you expected, your heart swelling and your body shivering with its implications. he slows his pace to something steady, something that just metaphorically holds your hand through your orgasm.

as you recover from the weight of it all, you realize that you’re still crying. wooyoung attempts to swipe away your tears with his thumbs, but when he notices that they aren’t stopping, his eyebrows knit together in confusion. he slides out of you and back into his boxers, scouring your bedroom floor for your t-shirt. he sits you up gently and cups your jaw in his hand.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, uncharacteristically serious. you’re used to him being playful and joking about everything, so for him to show genuine concern about your emotions means a lot. a lot.

“i’m okay— i’m fine, i’m just being weird.” you dismiss his worries though, since it’s true. he doesn’t owe you anything and you don’t want to guilt him into anything just because your crush is a little heavier than the schoolgirl crush he’s made it out to be. he shakes his head. he’s not having any of that.

”no, you’re upset about something. don’t water yourself down like that.” you don’t like that this is fueling your delusions, don’t like that you want him so much more than you thought you could. and maybe you could’ve stopped yourself, had you not looked at him. your gaze traces from the beauty mark under his eye to the way his hair frames his face.

“i want something i can’t have,” is what you settle on, swallowing down that bitter pill that you’ve been avoiding tonight. “and i think i’m finally coming to terms with it.”

wooyoung searches your expression for thicker substance, as if that will hint towards a clearer answer than what you’ve given him. he finds it in that painfully sad smile of yours. he finds it in the heartache swirling in the pools of your irises. you know he didn’t mean to lead you on. it’s not his fault, really. you understood what you were getting yourself into. none of the blame can be placed in his hold, because it doesn’t belong to him.

”i should go,” he says after a long stretch of silence. “before either of us get into any trouble.”

you watch as he dresses himself quickly and exits through the window, taking your heart along with him. but it would be okay. you wouldn’t have to see him for another month anyways.

at least, that’s what you tell yourself as you reignite the blunt sitting in your ashtray.

#atzhouse #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez wooyoung #ateez jung wooyoung #jung wooyoung #jung wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung smut #yunhoszn

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cumikering · 3 days

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Neighbour Ghost x reader 7

2.3k | angst, drinking irresponsibly If Simon could do it all again (part 1)

“You don’t look good, sir.” The sergeant stood at attention, looking straight into his lieutenant’s eyes.

Simon had to commend the balls of Kevlar required to walk right up to him to point the fact out unprompted, but that was why he liked Sgt. Eric Jefferies the most. You had no time to waste when you raced with death on the regular - he would tell anyone they didn’t look good.

He knew he didn’t - it was the same bland face he had the pleasure to look at in the mirror each day. Annoyed, but not surprised by the darkening circles under his eyes, stark against his pale complexion. It didn’t help that he nicked himself in the jaw shaving that morning.

“Dining hall, sergeant,” he grunted.

“You’re barely eating, Riley,” Lt. Ramsay said, the same bloke who’d catch him sneaking back to his room. “You know you’re contributing to the food waste when you don’t ask for seconds, yeah?”

It was true, and the table chuckled, but Simon continued to shove whatever was on his plate into his mouth. It was enough to not starve.

“He never leaves his room anymore, not even on the weekends,” another lieutenant quipped, but was promptly elbowed by the officer next to him.

That, too, was true.

Simon had nowhere else to be, like how it always was before his mum came to Hereford. These days his flat was too empty and cold with the hole in his chest. He never came back after that night.

It wasn’t like he was thriving in his quarters either, but it was still a little better – at least it was untouched by you. Though his nights were dreamless at first, he kept waking, and waking until the dreams started.

It was a glitch in the universe, wasn’t it? That the memory that played in his mind to insanity was the last time he saw you, about crawling back to your door with limbs that didn’t feel like his, vision swaying with the lights, coming on and off, his heartbeat ringing in his head.

It’s not supposed to end this way… I want to try…

He sighed at another disturbed night. Tea would slow his mind. Instead, he found the box of Darjeeling you gifted him to take back to base. ‘So we can have the same tea over the phone,’ you’d said.

Was there a way to escape you, make you stop haunting? He needed an exorcism.

He put it back in his drawer. One day, it wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.

And the nightmares came back. It was once, then twice, and thrice a week of waking up in cold sweat in the dark.

Simon’s performance slipped. There was a reason sleep deprivation was a popular torture method. He requested sleeping medications - his career was the last thing he had and he wasn’t about to let it go. Any unrestful sleep interrupted by the vivid images his sickly mind conjured up was still better than no sleep at all.

Quitting you was impossible when the thoughts still followed. If pushing you away didn’t work, maybe basking in the memories would, even if it hurt more. Aching for your warmth, the scraps of it, he’d go anywhere you’d been to see your ghost. The pain was better than the void.

“You lads are volunteering at the soup kitchen this Saturday,” he announced to Sgt. Jefferies after hours.

“Saturday, sir?”

“It’s good for you. Reminds you why you’re doing all this.”

“Can’t tell me what to do,” he teased. “You’re not my L.T. on the weekends.”

Simon’s stare didn’t waver and the other bloke’s smile dropped.

“Copy, sir. I’ll tell the others.”

When the four burly SAS soldiers entered the kitchen, chatter and clanks stalled as all eyes turned to them.

“May… May I help you young lads?” one of the middle-aged ladies said.

Simon recognised her from his last visit, but he quickly realised this was a silly idea. He was out of place, knowing no one there.

He flashed half a smile. “Just wanted to give a hand. Got any lifting to do?”

The lieutenant and his sergeants hauled the food items to the kitchen, including the bread which he taught his sergeants to half and butter. They were offered to peel potatoes, but Simon decided it was wise to leave it to the pros instead.

People still avoided his gaze while his boys exchanged pleasantries with the other volunteers; Eric even got called handsome by the group of older ladies he impressed with his strength as he hefted the sack of potatoes. While the night was as pleasant, it wasn’t the same if you weren’t there to hold his hand and laugh at his jokes.

When the boys invited Simon to the pub at the end of the night, he said no. He thought he was ready, but even after weeks, coming back to his flat was just as sickening.

The silence pierced. Despite all the lights flicked on, the place made his skin crawl, the space too vast and empty. But he didn’t become a lieutenant from succumbing to his emotions.

As he lay in bed, he recalled that you too slept there once. That the mattress once dipped with the gentle weight of you, but unlike the bed that bounced back, you’d left a lasting imprint that disfigured his soul.

Simon wondered what you were up to, if you knew he was there drowning, miserable in his cold room. He couldn’t decide if he preferred your door to be closer or further: closer so he could catch a glimpse of you without meaning to, or further so he wouldn’t be so tempted to go over and get on his knees.

You said begging only reduced you to nothing, but for you, he’d beg and beg. There wasn’t much to lose when he wasn’t much to begin with. He was a stray for a reason.

He tossed and turned, and was granted a wink of sleep before the same bloody dream flashed in his mind.

I don’t care how hard it gets…

He sat up, feet thudding on the floor as he rubbed his face with a heavy sigh. It was always that one moment, like a broken record. Why couldn’t it be you on a night out, or kissing you on the kitchen counter, or simply, you smiling? It was a curse. If only the heart could follow where one’s feet went.

With no plans on coming here, his sleeping pills lay on his desk at base. He looked through the cabinets to distract himself, finding various bottles of dusty, unopened spirits he was gifted. They weren’t his cup of tea.

So he packed, to get his mind off you, from spiralling and digging a deeper grave for itself.

It was time for a change. With the accommodation he was provided, he never needed to rent, but he did anyway in case his mum ever needed the place. It was a good call he did, but with the divorce on the way, keeping it was pointless. He’d rather spend the extra money on his mum and nephew.

Yes, he came to remember- not to forget, but you wouldn’t leave, would you? In the dead of night, when he pulled the hoodie he’d forgotten about out of his wardrobe, he decided he’d had enough of his bloody flat and drove back to base.

He still had another weekend to before his next deployment, a two-month mission. He’d finish packing then.

“You’re right, sir, it feels good volunteering.” Eric grinned at his lieutenant. “We’re going again tomorrow. Also one of the ladies is introducing her daughter to Sam. See you there then?”

Never again. “Dining hall, sergeant.”

Simon was a fool for not finishing his lunch sooner and bolting, instead lingering for the announcement. With how atrocious he did on his tests, he must have been beyond high to still hope for a miracle, that despite everything, he still had a chance at a promotion.

He didn’t make to the top 3.

Amidst the wishes from the table, Lt. Ramsay’s turned to him. His grateful smile faltered.

Simon’s fists clenched. It was supposed to be him, his. But who was he to be mad. It was the fruit of his incompetence. He knew this was coming. Things were going to shit. The unforgiving truth was staring right at him mercilessly: he had nothing else.

He left for his office.

“Sir, sir!” Sgt. Jefferies called. “We’re heading to the pub tonight. Come with us.”

He gritted his teeth. Word travelled too fast.

“Let’s get out of the base for a bit,” he continued when he caught up to his long strides. “It’s the last weekend before we ship out.”

Simon eyed the display of vibrant bottles behind the bar as he listened to his sergeants’ orders, the names foreign to him. Above, the telly showed a rugby match rerun no one paid attention to.

“Jefferies, how much you reckon it takes me to get pissed?”

He chuckled. “You, sir? At least 10,” he said before taking a swig of his beer.

“Nah, 15 sounds more like it.” Richie, the designated driver for the evening piped up.

Sam downed his first two shots, hissing as he slammed the glasses on the bar. “Agreed. Do you know how much he lifts?” He nodded at Simon’s biceps, bulging under his loose black shirt.

It was a genuine question. Simon didn’t want to get pissed, he only wanted to forget. He didn’t mean to go over his limit he had no idea was at seven.

Drunk Simon was a weeping, blabbering mess. It didn’t help that he was massive, because his sergeants had trouble getting him to the car before Richie drove him to the address of his flat he barely managed to gurgle out before passing out.

“Sir, you’re paying for the bloody cleaning if you get sick in my car!”

Why did he think this was a good idea? He was never a drinker, barely even touched alcohol socially. It was the poison that turned his dad into a demon, and it too became his downfall. The only thing he thought he would always have – his resolve, let him down too. He’d lost you, his mum whom he was supposed to protect, his future, and now his dignity.

Desperation was a lethal sentiment.

And that dream came again, that he stumbled to your door. Legs wobbly, his vision in and out as the world spun in slow motion.

“Luv… Luv, it’s not supposed to end like this,” he slurred, the same line he always opened with.

A marionette, a prisoner in his own head, it was a loop he couldn’t escape. The awful show had to commence to end the same way each time.

“I’m sick of losing and I wouldn’t know what to do when you leave, after how much you’ve given. Instead, I left when you needed me. I should have been there for you, gone through all this with you, no matter how hard it got.

“If you would give me a chance, I’ll quit the SAS. I’d start all over again. I’ll butcher the carrots and apples with the bloody peeler, I’ll let the steakhouse mess up our reservation and eat a dozen soapy tacos… If you ever show up at my door with your pie again, I swear I’d kiss you, not scare you. And I’ll never let go. If it has to hurt, I want it to be you.”

The door clicked open, and like how it always went, it meant the dream was coming to an end.

“You make it worth it,” he muttered as his vision faded.

…

Simon gasped for air, this time staring up at blinding lights. He shielded his wet eyes, chuckling to himself.

“Bloody hell, I think I’m sick on the inside.”

“Only your past, but you are not your past.” Your voice echoed in the distance.

His body was too heavy to move. “Could you forgive me, for all of this?”

“Could you? You need to forgive more than you need to be forgiven.”

He laughed as another tear slipped.

Simon woke on his couch, still in his clothes from the night before. Dreaming of you always drained him, leaving him hollow and out of touch with his body.

He sat up with a groan, rubbing his face as the dizziness settled. He didn’t remember much after getting dragged to Richie’s car. Judging by the gnarly bruise on his arm, he probably fell last night, but he was glad he found his way back to his flat in one piece.

Stumbling to the shower, he hissed when his toe stubbed one of the boxes on the floor. It was a horrendous decision to drink so much, still having to pack the rest of his stuff. He leaned over the sink, staring at his bloodshot eyes.

His sergeant was right. He didn’t look good. He never did. What the fuck are you doing to yourself, Riley?

With his hair damp, he made his way to the kitchen. As he realised he’d packed all his tea stash in one of the bloody boxes, a series of knocks echoed in his flat.

He grumbled. It better be important for someone to disturb his peace, especially with the pounding of his head. He couldn’t be bothered putting a shirt on before he swung the door open.

It was you, a pie in hand like the first time he met you all those months ago.

“Hi, is Simon in?”

His heart lurched as he crushed you in a hug.

“Thought you said you were going to kiss me.”

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @eve-lie @lyenera @luvecarson @jaguarthecat @knight4xmas @unwrittenletter @mxtokko @reaperxxxxzz @footyandformula @opalesquegirl @audisive @sparrowgalaxy @fanficreblogs @strawberrystargal @damalseer @onlineoutcast @alright-i-guesss @maresoleil @mehjustalasshere @rrtxcmt

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bicheetopuff · 2 days

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(Ch. 336)

You know, this panel has always made me a little curious. Every other time we saw Izuku sparring with Katsuki (before the war started at least), he’d use blackwhip to defend himself, hence ‘catch-a-kacchan’ so I found it weird how Izuku didn’t even try to grab Katsuki. For like 100 chapters prior to this, he used blackwhip for everything and would eventually just leave it out incase he needed it quickly kinda like how Hawks utilized his feathers (when he had them) so I kinda just made a mental note about how weird it was that Izuku chose to evade instead of defend when he easily could’ve.

I also found it weird how quickly Izuku wanted to change the topic along with the distress on his face. I thought it was just a cheap and ooc way of explaining Todoroki’s new power quickly but, since it’s now confirmed that Izuku has PTSD about Katsuki’s sacrifice, what if Katsuki’s cluster move triggers that trauma response too?

The next time we see cluster used with Izuku present, Izuku actually does respond with blackwhip.

(Ch. 404)

He doesn’t use it in defense though, he uses it in almost possessive way by securing their hands together with it. But also, he doesn’t speak for this entire chapter. It could be explained away by the side effect of using gearshift and him not being able to breath but before now, he’s been more focused while in distress and was also speaking just fine before. Though, in these panels, and through the entire chapter, he seems almost delirious and in shock. He’s not even reacting to the lack of oxygen anymore.

He even starts ignoring Shigaraki in these moments. He’s stunned and mesmerized but now I’m starting to question whether he’s amazed or scared out of his mind for what might happen. With that uncertainty, all that I can say confidently is that he’s distracted.

(Season 7 ep. 4)

Arguably after chapter 404, he stops thinking straight and, honestly, gets a little sloppy. A few chapters after this, is when gets danger sense stolen and starts getting truly injured. He makes the decision to give away OFA and loses his arms. He reverts right back into his “I don’t care what happens to me” mentality that his class has been trying to get him to grow out of for a while.

He wasn’t mentally prepared for something to go wrong in this fight. He wasn’t mentally prepared to be pulled away, leaving Katsuki with Shigaraki. I thought it was just iffy writing that he’d mentally regress after Katsuki woke up instead of before but, it honestly makes a lot more sense now. He cared about what happened to himself because he needed to stay alive to ensure Katsuki’s revival. Once Katsuki woke up and he watched him fight AFO, he started being reckless again. He went back to viewing himself as nothing but a vessel for OFA because he believes OFA is the only thing that can beat AFO, hence why he trusted the vestiges when they said “we can fight him from the inside” (which I think was a silly decision. It’s noble in theory but it amounted to nothing because Izuku can’t win in this regressive state of self sacrifice anymore. Or at least, he shouldn’t since it’s such a big part of his arc.).

And now, with the most recent chapter with most of his classmates present it seems like he’s regretting that decision because he’s being reminded that people care about him. They showed up to support him regardless of already being hurt because he can’t win on his own. Eri mutilated herself to help him and if that doesn’t tell him that fighting without the intent of not dying is stupid, idk what will.

(Ch. 421)

He was about to just throw himself back into the fight with the same mindset as before if Aizawa didn’t stop him. He looks frustrated because he realizes the weight of what he’s been doing and how looking up to AM and the previous vestiges shouldn’t be his role models right now considering all of their fates. He’d just be continuing OFAs curse like Katsuki’s been worried about for a hundred something chapters.

In conclusion, this post was very unfocused but I can’t wait to see Izuku kick ass and for Katsuki to show back up because with the impact he’s had on Izuku, I DESPERATELY need them to talk. Most of this post may have very well been a stretch but, let me be delusional please.

#bnha #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #bnha 421 #also rereading some of these chapters made me realize that katsuki changed fate just like Izuku did when Nighteye looked into the future #I think we’re all being far too normal about that #oh Katsuki’s gonna show back up btw #he literally has to for what’s happening to make sense #same with iida and Uraraka #bakudeku #bkdk #I’m sorry but this last memories episode chemically altered my brain and made think of Izuku’s character so much #he’s just a kid #bnha meta

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sisters-sideblog · 2 days

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And my other fill for Ravioli ship week, for that most classic trope of "Only One Bed!" Read it here or on Ao3.

△△△

Link wasn’t home much for a while. After his recovery and agreement that Ravio could use his house while he was away, he promptly found himself halfway across the country chasing clues for several weeks straight.

He did make it back home eventually. Shaking off the dungeon dust, he staggered back to rest and resupply, so tired he’d forgotten Ravio would be there and nearly drew his sword at the enthusiastic greeting that waited for him in what he was used to thinking of as an empty house.

In fairness, his abrupt return seemed to startle Ravio as well.

Now he slumped over dinner, already eyeing the corner where his bed had been shoved aside. It looked like there was just enough room to push one of Ravio’s added tables out of the way and crawl in.

…In fact.

Yes.

There were scuff marks on the floor. New ones, as if someone had been doing exactly that for several nights.

Link realized he’d stopped chewing, spoon dangling precariously from limp fingers. At his back, the sounds of Ravio enjoying his own meal fell suspiciously silent.

It occurred to Link. Finally, belatedly. That he perhaps should have thought of this sooner.

He hadn’t seen any of Ravio’s possessions aside from the stuff he sold. Wasn’t honestly sure he even had any. But the bag was obviously magical, so maybe…?

Link cleared his throat. Ravio twitched at the sound, spoon clattering against his bowl.

“Where have you been sleeping?” Link asked in the most neutral tone he could manage.

“Um. Well. You see.”

When Ravio didn’t continue, Link waited. But aside from clearing his own throat in a distinctly nervous manner, Ravio didn’t continue. Link finally turned to look at him. From the way Ravio dropped his spoon entirely, there was some kind of expression on his face.

“You’ve been sleeping in my bed.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Mister Hero!” Ravio immediately returned in a loud but not terribly sincere tone. “I had to leave home so quickly, you see, and I was sleeping on the ground with all those dreadful monsters around before you so graciously lent me your home. It isn’t very comfortable down there. As, ah. As you know. since you’ve probably been sleeping on the ground, too.” He faltered to a stop rather than try to dig himself back out of the hole he’d talked himself into. His hands were wringing together, his posture hunched in a way that made Link think he might be about to throw himself back down on the ground like he had when he was begging for a place to stay. Link couldn’t see the extraordinarily sad puppydog eyes, but he could feel them aimed right at him.

He had spare blankets and a bedroll. The space in front of the fire would be perfectly warm.

But Link wouldn’t get any sleep himself if he made Ravio sleep on the ground while he enjoyed the comfort of a bed mere steps away. If the guilt didn’t keep him up, the sounds of Ravio shifting around certainly would.

He sighed. “Fine.”

Rounded shoulders immediately straightened. Link swore the fake ears on the hood perked straight up. “Really? Oh, thank you, Mister Hero! I promise you won’t even notice I’m there!”

Link doubted that.

△△△

The problem of logistics returned once, after much arguing, they had cleared sufficient space around the bed for them to both now be standing on either side of it. The dying fire cast a dull orange glow through the room, the door locked and the shutters closed for the night. Link was halfway through trying not to think too hard as he stripped down to his nightclothes before he realized Ravio had pulled his boots off and stopped, reaching to fold back his side of the covers with the bunny hood still on.

“Are you going to sleep with that on?” Link didn’t really want those giant embroidered eyes staring at him in the middle of the night.

“I usually don’t,” Ravio said, which wasn’t an answer.

“I don’t care what you look like,” Link tried.

It didn’t seem to help. Ravio faltered, wringing his hands and just standing there awkwardly. He finally cleared his throat. “Could you turn around?”

Eyes narrowed, Link gave him a suspicious visual sweep. “Why?”

“I’m going to take it off.”

“I might roll over in my sleep,” Link warned. He still didn’t have the faintest idea why Ravio didn’t want him to know what he looked like, but obviously he cared quite a bit. It was only fair to warn him.

“I know, friend, I didn’t mean you had to stay facing away all night! I have this!” He pulled something from one voluminous sleeve; after a bit of squinting, Link first thought it a mask, then a blindfold. But it had no eyeholes to be the former and looked too padded and comfortable to be the latter.

“I’m not wearing a blindfold!” he said hotly.

Ravio, Link had noticed, seemed to almost fluff up and out when he worried he’d angered someone against himself. Like a frightened cat with puffed out fur trying to make itself bigger than it was. “It’s not for you, it’s for me! And it’s a sleeping mask, not a blindfold!”

They stared at each other from across the bed. One beat. Two.

Feeling red in the cheeks and more than a little foolish, Link turned around. Rustling sounds behind him; the covers folding back. He heard Ravio sit, then near silence for several long moments, save Ravio hissing a brief curse to himself.

“You can turn around now,” he finally said. When Link did, he found Ravio sitting upright in the bed, hugging the far side, his hood traded for some kind of silk wrap that completely covered his hair and ears and the “sleeping mask.” Between the two, he was still nearly as covered as with the hood alone. Unlike with the hood, it was obvious he could no longer see, the direction of his head aimed somewhere more towards the middle of the room than Link himself.

“Well. Good night, Mister Hero,” Ravio said, sounding as awkward as Link felt.

“Good night,” Link echoed. He watched Ravio lie down and roll onto his side, facing away.

Climbing into his bed with someone else already in it was… odd. Link tried to lay on his back, since that seemed the safest way to not actually touch his bedmate. But he’d never been much of a back sleeper. It didn’t take long for things to start to ache, and no amount of fidgeting was making it any better.

Ravio politely didn’t mention Link’s shifting, but his shoulders drew up under the covers.

This wasn’t going to work. Time for Plan B.

Trying hard to roll over without pulling any of the covers off of his bedmate, Link gave in and flipped to his side.

This presented a new problem. His bed wasn’t terribly large. When he tried to curl up it pressed their backs together; a feeling startling in its intimacy. But more importantly, drawing his feet up meant he encountered Ravio’s own.

“Your toes are cold!” Link yelped.

“So are yours!” Ravio lied.

“They are not!” Link yanked them further up regardless to get his poor innocent calves away from Ravio’s freezing toes, but that just pressed their backs more firmly together. Grumbling, he flipped over again. Onto his stomach now, head turned to the side on his pillow so he could breathe, one arm hugging the pillow and the other curled up against himself; a position Gully had found him in more than once when he was sent to see why Link wasn’t yet awake and working at his apprenticeship. He’d turned his head habitually to the left, and so now faced Ravio, his nose nearly tucked all the way up against the back of his neck. He thought he saw Ravio shiver when he exhaled.

Link liked the way he smelled.

“Is this okay?” He felt the need to check.

“Perfectly fine, Mister Hero!” Ravio returned in a pitch that could accurately be described as a squeak. Link didn’t have the mental energy left to check whether he meant it. The past few weeks had been long, and now that he was finally comfortable they were catching up to him. Incoming slumber weighed down all his limbs.

It felt nice. To fall asleep next to someone. It felt really, really nice.

Not falling asleep on a hard dungeon floor helped, too. Ravio was right. Sleeping on the ground sucked.

Even if he did wake up in the middle of the night to find that Ravio had stolen all the covers. Ravio put them back when he rose before Link did in the morning; Link woke to the warmth of someone else’s lingering body heat in the blankets heaped up over him. It was a feeling he thought he could very quickly get used to.

#raviolishipweek #ravioli #albw #ravio #link #raviolink #myfic

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blooming-violets · 3 days

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The Exhibit

[tasm!Peter Parker x fem!Reader]

Warnings: use of pet names such as Daddy/Princess/Babygirl, BDSM in the form of dom/sub, bondage/spanking/blindfolds/nipple clamps/a bit of masochism, anal play, exhibitionism/voyeurism

WC: 8K

A/N: This was an anon request for window smut off of this prompt list but tumblr said a big no no to (what I'm assuming) was one of the gifs I used for the graphic and hid the post so I had to delete it. I'm reposting it again minus the very bad so naughty terrible gif I used. Porn bots can run free and terrorize the tags with their tits and wide open pussy on display but how dare a smut writer use a tastefully erotic, black and white, gif of a blurry couple making sweet, sweet love against a far away window. So naughty. Such a bad girl.

The elevator chimed with a pleasant musical melody as the doors slid open to their floor. There were only four rooms in this hallway. Behind each door held a luxury suit overlooking the busy streets of Florence.

Peter had gone all out for their honeymoon.

They’d spent the last week in Sardinia, making love on the beaches, drinking wine, making love on sailboats, drinking more wine, making love in their hotel room in the early morning with the windows open to enjoy the breeze…more wine…more sex…

They were struggling to keep their hands off of each other. Even now, as Peter guided her towards their room, his hand was slipped under her vibrantly red sundress and fingering the elastic waist of her cotton underwear.

They left the beaches of Sardinia to come to Florence specifically to see the art but she wondered if they would ever actually make it out of their room with the way Peter’s hands teased her. She was surprised that he wasn’t sick of her yet. Seven straight days of love making and he was still as rowdy as ever.

He let her admire the suite, watching her as he leaned against the wall, more interested in eying her legs in that dress than the luxury accommodations he had provided for them.

“Peter,” she whispered, eyes wide as she took it all in. “This is gorgeous.”

Their beachside Sardina resort had a more airy and cool feel whereas this room screamed of sophistication and class. She knew Peter had been working like crazy leading up to their wedding but she had no idea this was why.

“Like it?” He asked with an arrogant smirk toying at his lips. “A room fit for a queen.”

She dropped her bag beside the bed and kicked off her shoes, flopping backwards onto the bed to stare up at the arched ceiling with thick, exposed wooden beams. Even the ceiling was stunning.

She felt the bed sink as Peter crawled on top of her.

His white, loose button up had the first few buttons undone so his athletic chest peeked through. She loved the sight of his chest hair being exposed. He looked so relaxed, laid back, and blissful with life. Filled with wine, good food, and love. The perfect blend of medicine for him to simply shine.

He placed a soft kiss against her lips, humming appreciatively, “You look sleepy, babe. Why don’t you take a nap while I unpack our things. I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

A nap sounded wonderful after traveling between hotels. She rolled onto her side. It was warm enough that she didn’t need to snuggle under the covers. Peter ran his hands up her bare leg and slipped under her sundress to take one last squeeze of her ass before she slept.

She awoke to light kisses tickling her stomach. Peter was laid over her legs, her dress rolled up under her breasts so he could let his lips roam over her belly.

She stretched, a sleepy smile growing on her face, as she peered down at him.

“What time is it?” She mumbled through the lingering sleep.

“Time to wake up and play,” he said. He blew a raspberry on her belly with his mouth, making her laugh. “It’s about 4 in the afternoon. You slept all morning. I missed you too much to let you keep sleeping. Wake up and play with me. I’m bored.”

He had his shirt completely unbuttoned and was stripped down to his boxers to get more comfortable while he lounged around waiting for her.

Judging by the state of his hair, he looked like he might have gotten in an hour or so of sleep, too.

“Alright, alright,” she giggled. “I’m up. Let me go freshen up and then we can go explore the city.”

Peter pulled her up to her feet and gave her a quick spank as she walked off into the bathroom. That man always needed to have a hand on her ass in some way.

By the time she came back out, she was surprised to see that he had yet to get dressed and had actually lost an item of clothing.

His shirt was now thrown onto the bed, cast aside without a care.

“Underwear is a bold choice to go walking around Italy in but I admire your confidence,” she said with a teasing smile.

Peter didn’t smile back. He had a look in eyes. A look that she knew very well.

It wasn’t the “making love” look.

It wasn’t the “quickie” look.

It was dark, ravenous, and screaming of dominance.

He had yet to give her that look on their honeymoon. So far, he'd been more playful and loving. This evening, he had other plans.

They were not leaving this hotel room any time soon.

A shiver of excitement shook off whatever sleep might have still been clinging to her mind.

She blinked and he was pouncing on top of her.

Her back hit the wall but his hand slipped protectively behind her head before it slammed, instead, falling into the cushion of his palm.

Her breath exhaled from her lips at the force but, before she could catch it, he was attacking her lips with hungry, demanding kisses. His tongue pushed possessively into her mouth at the same time he slid a hand over her breast to fondle her over her dress.

Taking what was his.

“‘Can’t stand the sight of you in this dress.”

He moaned into her open mouth.

“Makes me want to rip it straight off your body.”

He grabbed at her breasts, aggressive and horny, rutting his hips against her.

“Do you know how hard it was not to fuck you while you slept?”

Her hair was being violently pulled, head crashing against the wall, her mouth falling open into a cry.

“Laying there, all innocent, legs spread open and begging for me to touch them.”

He clawed down her bare legs. Nails dragged against her skin. Feeling like she was getting attacked by a raging bear with the force of power behind each of his movements.

“Teasing me even in your sleep. A foxy, little minx, aren’t you?”

She shuddered, lowering her voice to a whisper, ready to play along, “I picked this dress just for you. I knew what it would do to you.”

He grabbed her wrists, slamming them above her head against the wall, and holding them in place. He let out a groan, grinding his stiff cock into her thigh.

“Daddy knew his babygirl was a little tease.”

A trickle of wetness soaked into her panties at the use of her favorite pet name for himself.

What had started out as a joke early in their relationship, quickly became a genuine kink to turn them on.

With that name on his lips, she could guess what kind of torture was held in store for her. It was going to be a dizzying whirlwind of fast, hard pleasure.

Peter’s voice lowered to a near growl.

“Pretty, little thing like you shouldn’t be traipsing around in a dress like that. You don’t know who might snatch you up.”

With both her wrists bound tightly in his one hand, he lifted her off the ground, dragging her up the wall, blatantly showing off his inhuman strength so she knew exactly what he could do to her if he wanted.

To him, she weighed nothing. This was a man who had stopped moving trucks with his bare hands and thrown cars around like a kid with a ball.

He let go and she dropped the few inches back to her feet with a surprised yelp.

“You’re lucky you have me to protect you. Daddy won’t let anything bad happen to his little princess, will he?”

She was shoved straight back against the wall, getting off on the feeling of being handled so roughly.

He nipped at her ear lobe, sucking it into mouth the sounds of her tumbling whimpers.

“Do you like to show off when you wear dresses like this? Do you like having men look at you? Do you like that they imaging fucking you when you walk by?”

“I only want you to fuck me. Only you,” she whined, trying to free her hands from the hold he had on her.

“Of course I’m the only who will ever fuck you, princess.”

He tugged her hand back down to flash her newly placed wedding ring in front of her face.

“That right there means that my cock is the only one that will ever split you open again. But that doesn’t mean others can’t look. People have eyes. They can see what I’ve got hanging off my arm.”

He brushed her hair away from her neck so he could lean down to graze his lips along her pulse points, murmuring against her heated skin as he continued to taunt her with his words.

“How do you expect anyone to keep their thoughts pure when you’re walking around in this?” He pulled at the bottom of her sundress. “You’re putting on a show for them, babygirl.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she cried. “It's hot out! I wanted to stay cool.”

Strong arms twisted her around so she was facing the wall, cheek shoved against the rough wallpaper. The force knocked the air from her lungs.

He bent both her arms behind her back and a strong, sticky substance shot out to bind them in place. She knew the feel of those webs well and a smile danced on her lips.

She loved being bound.

The pressure of being restrained was like a tiny slice of heaven.

“Daddy doesn’t like it when you show off, princess.”

He flipped up the back of her dress to palm at her rounded cheek, giving it a harsh slap to the sounds of her delicious yelp.

“Do you look at other men, too, when they’re looking at you? Do you imagine yourself with them?”

She gasped in horror at the thought, “Of course not! I would never!”

No other man could ever compare to her husband. Not even in the game they were playing. There was always only Peter.

He hummed like he disapproved of her answer, “Well…just to be certain...I think we need to make sure you can’t let those eyes wander.”

Something smooth slipped over her eyes, leaving her in the darkness, while he tied the blindfold tightly behind her head.

Leather.

She smelled leather.

She couldn’t remember them ever owning a leather blindfold before. It must have been something Peter picked up when they arrived here but she couldn’t recall a time when he left her sight.

She liked how heavy it felt against her eyelids. There was no way she could peek through this one.

“There,” he whispered. “Perfect. Blind to my advances. Lost in the dark. Never knowing when or where I will touch.”

He gripped her hips and spun her back around to face him.

A wave of dizziness over took her and she swayed on unsteady, bare feet.

“Careful, babe,” he whispered with a tenderness to his voice, breaking his haughty charade, and reaching out a hand to steady her. “I got you.”

Peter teased a finger under her chin, leaning down, to kiss her again. Soft and gentle, filled with the love and joy only a newly married man on his honeymoon could give.

A coil of tension spread throughout her stomach as she melted into him.

Her mouth opened to willingly accept his tongue past her worshiped lips to kiss him with all the passion she could muster with her hands bound behind her.

Peter’s own hands couldn’t stay still for long before they began to wander.

He squeezed her breasts through her dress, molding them to his palm, and rutting his hips into her.

She moaned, long and drawn out, leaning her head back against the wall so he could attach his lips to her neck. He sucked on her pulse points like a vampire draining blood and she wished he had fangs so she could feel the sting of pain as he sank into her flesh.

And then he was gone.

She stumbled forward, nearly losing her footing without him to push against.

Her head whipped around in the dark to try and find him through sound.

It was useless.

He was as silent as a spider.

“Look at the sight of you,” he chuckled, his voice dark and deep, dripping with desire. From the sound of his voice, he was across the room near the window.

“You have no idea what you look like right now, do you? Don’t fret, I’ll describe it for you.

He was moving. Pacing back and forth down the length of the room against the far wall.

“The strap of your dress is halfway down your arm. The nipple of your left tit keeps poking over the fabric, desperate to be sucked upon. Your hair is already a damn mess and I’ve barely touched it. Your mouth keeps parting like it’s just waiting for a cock to fill it up. A horny little thing, aren’t you?”

“Mmm,” she moaned, only getting more turned by his descriptions. “Peter. Come back. Touch me.”

“That’s not my name, princess,” he shot back.

His voice sounded different now, like he was up on the ceiling.

“Daddy,” she begged, craning her blind head upwards toward the sound. “Touch me, Daddy.”

He gave a quiet laugh, “Come get me then.”

He was back on the floor. In a different corner by the bed. Jumping around the room. Silent. With only his voice to guide her.

She took an unsteady step forward, blindfolded with her hands bound behind her. She didn’t know this hotel room very well. He knew that.

Which was why he kept moving. Teasing her. Making her work for his love.

She kept inching ahead, little by little.

“Tick tock, princess. Daddy doesn’t have all day.”

Behind her.

She gasped, whirling around, stumbling back the way she came only to find nothing but air.

With another step, her body bounced against the wall he had pinned her to and she staggered backwards.

She tried to spin back to the way she started but was getting all turned around.

He laughed at her pitiful efforts.

In front of her again.

Near the windows.

Or maybe the beds?

Was he at the door?

She was spinning in circles. Getting disoriented.

This wasn’t a fair game and she was getting frustrated. Her foot stomped angrily against the rug with a grumpy whine to accompany it.

“Is my poor princess getting dizzy?”

She had half the thought to plop herself onto the floor and stay there until he came to her.

But she didn’t want to lose the game.

She was too stubborn to give up.

“Watch out,” he warned. Still by the window. At least…she thought that was the direction she was facing. “If you move any more, you’ll run straight into the side of a table. Wouldn’t want my baby girl to get hurt.”

The table. She remembered where that was in the room.

He was by the windows. He was close.

Excitement tumbled around in her stomach as she tasted her nearing victory.

She shuffled to the left, feeling the table at her hip, and kept going towards the last place she heard his voice.

Blind and bound until she heard his soft breaths directly in front of her, thankful that he hadn’t moved again.

“Good girl, you made it,” he whispered. A soft kiss was placed on her lips as a prize. “As a special reward, Daddy’s going to take your dress off, okay, baby? He’ll be really gentle even though he wants to rip it to shreds.”

She felt him snake an arm around her waist to rip through the webs binding her wrists. She immediately went to reach for him but he slapped her hands away.

“Hands at your side or else I’ll spank you,” he ordered. “I’m taking my time. I’m in Florence. I’m here to admire the art. Don’t rush me.”

The zipper at her side slowly inched down until it rested at her hip.

His big, warm hands slipped under her straps, fingers scraping along her shoulder, as he pushed them down her arms. His head fell down to kiss her shoulder, dragging his lips across her heated skin.

Her breasts held the dress up but the moment he gave a light tug to the bottom, it yielded quickly and pooled around her ankles on the floor.

His shuddered breath told her that he was enjoying the view. Bare chested, nipples taut, and in nothing but her underwear and blindfold.

The underwear didn’t last long.

Peter slid them down straight after the dress until she was completely nude.

“More beautiful than The Birth of Venus. We should put you in a frame and have tourists come to gaze upon that instead. Maybe I should dangle you from the wall…all tied up with nowhere to go…I’ll start my own museum right here since you love to be such a tease. I’ll put you on display and have everyone see the kind of beauty I married.”

She was surprised to feel a wave of appreciative tears dampening her lashes. There was genuine love and admiration behind his words.

Married. They were married. Finally.

Her husband.

She loved that she got to call him that now.

Cool air breezed against her throbbing clitoris, halting the tears, to remind her how horny he had made her before she was chasing him around the room. She was too hot and eager to think about where that breeze was coming from. Drunk on her love for him. She bucked her hips to try and find some kind of friction for her to grind on.

She squeezed her thighs together, rubbing them back and forth.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Peter teased. “Need a hand?”

“Please,” she gasped.

“Hmm,” he pretended to think about it.

She wished she could see him.

She hated that he was so close but she couldn’t see exactly where.

“I don’t know. With the way you were strutting around in that dress, showing off to the boys, I don’t know if you deserve my touch. Maybe you deserve to be punished instead? What do you think?”

He didn’t wait for any answer.

Thwip!

Her left wrist was encased in a sticky, impenetrable substance and she jumped in surprise.

She was yanked forward until she felt the cool breeze against her bare chest.

The wind was softly blowing.

She could feel it rustling through her hair and dragging up the goosebumps along her flesh.

For the first time, she questioned exactly where in the room she was.

Why did it feel like outside when they were inside?

“Pete?” Her voice wavered. “What are you-”

Her arm was dragged out to her side and lifted high above her head as she gave a yelp of fright.

“Not my name, princess,” he chastised from up on the ceiling above her.

Thwip!

The same treatment was done to her right arm until she was bound, outstretched, and helpless.

Her fingers wrapped around the thick web, holding onto it for purchase, as her toes just barely scraped along the floor.

Peter chuckled to himself in amusement at her struggles, the sound coming from the ground behind her.

Always so damn silent.

“You look like a sexier version of Jesus on the crucifix. I want to drive nails through those dainty little hands of yours and listen as you cry out for mercy.”

If her eyes weren’t confined under heavy leather, she would have rolled them in response to his dirty talk.

“That sounds very appealing. Thank you,” her voice was dry and full of sarcasm, refusing to take him seriously.

Slap!

Her entire body jerked forward from the force of his blow against her ass.

Strong. Stinging.

Done with direct intention to cause pain.

Punishing her for the sarcasm.

She shrieked, mostly from the shock than the hurt, but immediately felt a trickle of wetness run down her thigh.

“Won’t you be a good girl and remind me of my favorite rule?”

His hand spread out over the stinging, hot skin of her cheek, giving her swift, hard pats to make sure the pain didn’t disappear too quickly as he spoke.

She shivered under his touch, “Don’t talk back to Daddy. Ever.”

“Good girl,” he cooed. “Next time use that pretty, little brain of yours and think before you speak.”

Her hair was tangled in his large hand as he shook her head back and forth to further his point.

“Otherwise, I’ll be forced to ball gag you.”

Fingers slipped between her thighs.

She parted her legs the best she could for him to get better access to her core.

A squelching of wet, soaked squishing sounds followed as two long fingers sunk inside of her.

A low, deep moan of approval rumbled out his throat at the sounds.

“You are absolutely drenched, my little whore. Something tells me you liked the pain. Maybe you were using that brain after all. Did you like it when Daddy spanks his naughty girl?”

Her tumbling whines followed as nimble, expert fingers stroked at her pussy, drowning out any worded response she might give.

Coaxing her to life.

Waking up all her senses.

She tried her best to hold her legs open for him despite feeling unsteady in her web binds. She wanted him to give her as much pleasure as he could and that meant letting him have easy access.

“Does my baby like the pain?” He asked again, running the hand not buried inside of her against her still stinging ass cheek. “Come on, I asked you a question, use your words, pretty girl.”

“Mmm, yes, Daddy. I like it. I like it!”

Smack!

She yelped, throwing her head back as waves of arousal washed over her. The pain from the spank mixed with the pleasure of his touch was enough for another gush of fluids to soak into his hand.

“Look at how hard your nipples have gotten,” he gave a dreamy sigh. “Oh wait, you can’t. My sweet, blind baby. All lost in the dark with nothing to look at.”

Her breathing was becoming ragged in her ears. Her body swayed against the webs.

Knowing hands wrapped around her stomach, leaving the warmth of her cunt, much to her displeasure.

They trailed upwards, through the valley of her breasts, until they gripped around her neck.

Her mouth opened in a silent gasp.

“Guess where I went today?” His voice was nothing more than a low, darkening whisper.

She couldn’t respond. His hand had tightened around her, softly squeezing, using a mere feather touch of his strength but still able to restrict her air flow.

“While my princess was napping, Daddy slipped out to buy you some presents. Found myself a little sex shop. You would have loved it,” he mused. “They had vending machines full of toys. Picked myself up a few fun gadgets to play with.”

He released his hand from around her neck, never wanting to hold her there for too long, and admired the way she gasped for breath.

Fingers tweaked at her nipples. He hadn’t been lying before, they really were rock hard. She could feel how tight they were from his rough menstruations.

She could hear him rummaging around behind her when something cold dragged across her breasts.

“Deep breath, princess.”

Following his warning, the cold, grooved metal clamped down over her left nipple.

She let out a genuine cry, her back arching from the pain.

It gripped her tighter than his teeth ever had, dragging her nipple out from her body, and squeezing down painfully hard.

The groves made it feel like little razors digging into her sensitive flesh.

Peter huffed out a laugh in a sadistic amusement at her reaction, “You know, when the woman running the store saw these come out of the vending machine, she looked over with a nod and said something like ‘molto doloroso’. Now, I don’t speak much Italian but I’m going to assume it translates to ‘Those hurt like a bitch and your pain whore of a wife will love them.’ Am I right?”

She choked out a sob, squirming uncomfortably against the webs, “Ow. It hurts…too much…hate ‘em.”

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s another one right here! It’ll help balance out the pain so both those beautiful tits get a turn.”

Another agonizing clamp bit down against her other nipple. The sharp, grooved metal felt like it might rip her nipple straight off her breast.

The nipple clamps they had at home were capped with a smooth rubber. These were bare and ready to grip on to her tender skin with the strength of a fucking bear trap.

She let out a full scream the moment it bit down, thrashing her body in an attempt to get away from the clamps. Crocodile tears rolled down her cheek from under the blindfold.

“Shh, shh, shh!”

A heavy hand cut off her cries by wrapping around her mouth. His breath was against her ear, hushing her, soothing her, running his lips over her forehead with quick kisses.

“Not so loud, baby,” he whispered. “You’ll draw a crowd with those cries.”

“What?” She gasped through heavy, pained breaths. “Crowds?”

Peter’s hands reached up to slide the blindfold up off her eyes and tossed it onto the floor.

He took a step to the side, watching her blink in confusion, as her tear blurred sight came back into focus.

She had forgotten about the breeze.

He had distracted her.

Kept her mind occupied so she wouldn’t ask questions.

She was tied up, stark naked, and splayed out directly in front of the arched floor to ceiling window overlooking the streets of Florence.

The top half of the glass was pushed open, letting in the cool evening summer breeze, and making sure nothing muffled the sounds of her screams.

And she had been screaming.

“Peter!” She cried in horror, paranoid that anyone could look up and see her. They weren’t that high up in the hotel. Any curious person who decided to glance upwards would certainly catch her out in all her glory.

Wack!

The sound of her sore ass being slapped filled her ears.

Nothing could hurt more than her breasts at the moment and she welcomed the familiar pain his hands brought.

She also couldn’t deny that growing, aching pressure happening between her legs. Her masochistic tendencies had yet to fail her.

“Not my name,” he scolded.

She whined, bouncing her leg against the floor in protest, and trying to tug at her bindings.

“Let me down!”

She knew full well that those webs would never give but it didn’t stop her from giving it a shot.

He leaned against the wall beside the open window, arms crossed, a prideful smirk sitting on his smug face, watching her struggle.

“I told you I was going to put you on display.”

She never thought he meant it literally.

Tears burned in her eyes at the wave of shame at being so exposed.

At least the shock helped to dull the pain in her breasts.

She scanned the tight streets below and was thankful to see that no one was stopped and staring.

Yet.

Her watchful eyes followed Peter as he pushed off from the wall and moved behind her.

Breath caught in her throat as his fingers found a home back inside of her drenched pussy.

“Still as wet as ever, I see,” he noted. “You can cry and beg and plead all you want but Daddy knows the truth. He sees behind your tears.”

Slick fingers circled around her aching clit.

Toying with it.

Teasing her.

“You like being held up on a pedestal.”

A long, skinny middle finger sunk inside of her.

Her head rolled back. Eyes closed.

“You like people hearing you cum.”

His thumb on her clit.

Brushing. Stroking.

Building her pleasure.

“You like having others watch as your Daddy pleasures his princess.”

In and out.

Slowly penetrating her with his finger.

Tending dutifully to that tiny bundle of nerves.

“You like the pain.”

He flicked at her nipple clamps.

Sending shots of pain throughout her breasts.

Electrifying her.

Soothing it over with those wonderful ministrations at her pussy.

“You love me and you’ll let me do anything I want to your gorgeous body…isn’t that right?”

She whimpered.

Eyes closed tight.

Feeling that build of orgasmic pleasure rising.

“I love you,” she breathed back, tears in her eyes. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He practically purred in her ear.

Or maybe it was a growl.

Whatever it was, the noise caused her cunt to gush in reply.

He chucked, “That’s it baby, you’re so close. I can feel you tightening around my fingers. What do you say we give the people a show?”

He was gone.

Leaving her empty.

Dripping.

Pathetically whining and begging for a finish.

“Don’t worry, princess,” he called from the other end of the room. “Daddy bought some more toys. He’s going to treat his baby tonight.”

She listened to the zipping of a bag as he rustled through to find what he was looking for.

Her chest rose and fell in anticipation. Each breath brought back the dulling sting from her nipples. She tried to keep still, terrified more movement would draw attention upwards toward the window.

She gave a quiet shudder at the thought and tried to imagine what she would look like from down below.

The image brought a glint of a wicked smile to her lips.

Something small and chilly brushed against her back door and she yelped in surprise.

Slap!

“Hold still!” He scolded.

The sound of a bottle squirting caused her to try to careen her head around to see what he was doing behind her.

She managed to catch a glimpse of the butt plug he held in his hand.

It looked a bit bigger than the small one they used at home but had the same metal teardrop shape. A red jewel flattened out the end.

“Figured this was the next size up from your old friend. You leveled up from girlfriend to wife. Time to level up in other areas, too.”

Lube smeared over her tight hole as the cold, rounded point pushed against it.

Not even a warm up with his fingers first.

Peter really was in a dominant, pent up mood.

Her eyes slipped closed and her head fell back against her arched spine. She let out a deep breath, relaxing her body as much as she could, so it could slide in easier.

“Ah, ow,” she gasped, hissing in pain. “Oh, fuck.”

Slow and steady he sunk it into her.

He held it there, stopped in place, over the thickest part of the teardrop. Forcing her body to stretch to the foreign object.

She tried to control her whines from being too loud. Her thighs trembled under her. Her face contorted into pain and her jaw clenched.

More lube trickled down between her crack to help the little device along as Peter took note of her tensing body.

“There you go, baby,” he encouraged. “Nice and easy. Breathe through it.”

He teased it through her ass, pushing it in a little ways and pulling it back out, making her continue to take on the thickest part of the plug just to keep up to torture a bit longer.

“Please, Daddy,” she whimpered. “Just put it in. Please.”

“Aww, does my sweet baby need her ass filled? You’re Daddy’s little fuck toy. Daddy’s going to have any hole he wants. You have no say in where he ends up.”

He refused to move it past the diameter, holding it steady.

“Did you happen to catch the color of that tacky, little jewel they stuck on the end?”

He pulled it back out.

Teasing just the tip.

Exciting the bundle of sensory nerves around her anus and making her wriggle around.

“Spider-Man red. Just for you.”

Finally, he eased the entire thing inside of her.

“Ahhh!” She wailed. “Fuck!”

Filling her up.

Swallowing the plug.

Feeling it heavy inside of her.

“So you’ll always remember who owns this ass.”

Smack!

His hand came down hard against her bruising cheek.

Ecstasy coursed through her veins at the sting.

She was so full. Stretched and heavy. Uncomfortably aroused.

An arm snaked up her own outstretched one to brush his fingers over her wedding ring, lacing his fingers with hers.

His bare chest pressed against her back, grinding his hips over her ass.

His face fell against her neck, inhaling her scent, nuzzling his nose against her.

“My beautiful wife,” he breathed. “All tied up. Horny for her husband. Put out on display for all of Florence to see.”

Fingers wrapped around her waist to dip through her pubic hair, finding her heated crevice, needy for his touch.

Palming. Flicking. Penetrating.

“Nipples clamped. Ass filled. My name, cursed forever on your lips. All you need now is a cock to fill that empty cunt.”

He fished it from the confines of his boxers.

Dragging it along her soaked valley.

Feeling it pulsate against her waiting lips.

“No!” She gasped, staring down at the people below.

She knew once he started to fuck her she couldn’t keep quiet. Her voice would soar out the open window and onto the people below.

They would look.

They would see her.

“What if-” Her breath quickened. “What if someone looks up? They’ll hear me. They’ll look. I know they will.”

She didn’t need to see his face to know Peter had a cheshire cat grin growing. The sound of his voice was enough to hear his rising libido.

“Then they’ll see a little princess fucking herself on her Daddy’s cock.”

The bulbous head of his thick rod pressed between her folds.

Sinking in.

Stretching her out.

He hesitated there. Stilling behind her.

“Go on, baby. Fuck yourself. Let everyone see what a whore you can be.”

She almost didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to give in. She could play games, too.

Her breath held in her lungs. Closing her eyes. Biting down on her bottom lip.

Peter waited.

The crown of his manhood nestled patiently in her pussy, being squeezed by her heated walls, kissed by her slick.

Letting her throw her silent tantrum.

She hung there, counting the seconds, fighting the urge to move, trying to breathe through her body’s desires.

Her legs were trembling. Her toes ached from holding her weight.

It would be so easy to just…ease back…impale herself on his sword…give up.

She could hear his labored breaths behind her. Smelled his cologne. Felt him twitching inside of her.

“Close the windows,” she struggled to whimper out through her held breaths. “Let’s go to the bed. Take me there. Fuck me there. I’ll let you do anything you want. Just…not…not in front of the window.”

Peter tutted his tongue, “Since when has Daddy ever let you make the demands, hmm?”

He reached his hands up to her shoulders and gave a gentle push, getting tired of her defiance, “When I tell you to fuck yourself, you fuck yourself. I’m not going to do it for you.”

Even the smallest of shoves from her shoulders was enough for her tiptoed feet to give out. She stumbled back, feeling his cock sink deeper.

She let out a strangled cry.

“No! On the bed. Bring to me to the bed!”

Her eyes were squeezed shut, refusing to see the window in front of them, torn between finding it extremely arousing and positively mortifying.

“I’m sorry, princess. The bed is for good girls. The bed is for well behaved women who don’t wear little dresses and shake their ass as they walk for all the men to stare at. The bed is for lovers.” His hand gripped around her hair and shoved her face towards the window. “The window is for whores who get off on pain and love the attention their Daddy gives them.”

His voice lowered into a commanding, deep tone, “Open your fucking eyes and look at your audience.”

She blinked through the flow of overly emotional tears clinging to her lashes and forced her eyes open.

People lined the tight, winding streets, walking lazily to their destination. Not one glanced up at them. Not one seemed to notice her out on display, front and center, above their heads. Peter was protected behind her body. She would be the one they see.

Framed by the window.

Art.

That’s what he called her earlier.

She was art and Peter, the artist.

Helpless to whatever ways he wanted to exhibit her

Little by little she sunk back onto his cock. Taking him into her. Eyes rolling back. Submitting to his demands until he bottomed out.

His chorus of pleased moans let her know he had won.

She let her body get used to him inside of her. Her pussy knew his cock well by now but she liked to reacquaint them carefully every time they would meet.

Peter was always a bit of a stretch.

With the girthier plug shoved in her ass, her arms bound and outstretched, and her nipples screaming in pain, she felt the need to move a little slower with her pussy today.

Gradual, small movements, easing herself up off his cock and then impaling herself back down.

Slow and steady.

She shifted on her toes, rocking her hips back and forth, taking him with longer and longer strides as her shameful whimpers grew into desperate cries.

“There you go,” he murmured, brushing her hair back off her shoulder to nip at her skin with his teeth. “Ride Daddy’s cock, babygirl. Show everyone how good you can take it.��

Her own slick coated his shaft, making it slip through her without resistance.

He stayed fairly still behind her apart from making sure his hips were pressed forward enough for her to have easy access to his body.

She was getting into a rhythm. Starting to get lost in the feelings.

But, the harder she fucked herself, the more her breasts would sway.

The more they moved, the more pain the clamps created as they bit down like they might cut clean through her flesh.

It was getting to the point where it might be too much pain for her to enjoy and ruining her momentum on his cock.

She hissed, biting down on her lip, trying to endure it the best she could manage.

Peter shifted behind her, bringing his lips to her ear, and whispering for reassurance, “Color?”

She swallowed, trying to decide exactly what she was feeling, “G-green?”

He stilled her by gripping onto her hips, keeping himself buried inside her warmth, but moving his head around in an attempt to better see her face.

“You sure? You don’t sound sure.”

She nodded, breathing heavily, “Almost yellow. Not quite though. But almost.”

“Which part?” He trailed loving kisses of safety along her neck, wrapping his arms around her waist to hug her sweetly from behind.

“The clamps.” When she saw his hands immediately move to take them off her, she hurried to add. “Not yet! I…still like them…but soon, okay?”

“Soon,” he agreed, giving her one more adoration infused kiss to her cheek, before slipping back into character. “Daddy never told his little princess to stop, did he?”

To shove her back into the role, he slapped her ass with three hard, lashing blows of his open palm.

Each slap caused her breasts to bounce, sending shooting shocks of pure, agonizing pain through her body and a rush of warmth to her cunt.

Pain and pleasure. Her favorite combination.

“Looks like the sweet little angel is getting quite the bruise back here. If you keep misbehaving, you won’t be able to sit down for our breakfast tomorrow. Then everyone will know what a bad, little whore you’ve been.”

She whined in response, bucking her hips backwards to find his cock again, needing more pleasure to balance out the scales.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

He soothed his hands over her shoulders, pushing her down, sinking her onto his length.

“My pain hungry baby.”

It wasn’t difficult to fall back into her previous rhythm. Her cunt was soaked and starving for its lover to come back home.

“Fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock. Let those people down there know how much you love me. Be louder, princess. I want them to hear.”

She whimpered out a tiny cry.

Her motions grew frantic the more he continued to talk dirty in her ear.

That tiny cry grew into loud, unadulterated, guttural moans.

The sounds of a whore taking her favorite cock.

She struggled against the webs binding her. Her shoulders were starting to ache. Her arms were losing feeling.

Her body was stretched tight. Nipples crying. Ass sore. The weight of the plug was even more noticeable with his cock pushing in and out of her.

It felt like it was bouncing inside of her each time he pushed under it.

Her toes hurt from being hung up on such an unsteady height.

“Peter- Daddy,” she gasped. “Daddy, please…”

She didn’t know what she was asking for.

Some kind of relief.

Something steadier. Something more concrete.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay, Daddy’s got you.”

He reached around to her chest with both hands, simultaneously unclamping her nipples from their prison.

Fire erupted in its place as the blood rushed back.

A new kind of pain bloomed.

Searing and hot.

Her breasts were in flames.

She cried out. Loud and sharp.

At the same moment, Peter ripped her down from the webs, still embedded on his cock as he wrapped her up in tight arms and pushed her flat against the window.

Her hips pressed against the cool glass but her torso nearly bent out the opening.

Her anguished nipples happily sought out the cool breeze. Soothing over the sting. Settling her inflamed body. Not caring who looked up.

Peter gripped onto her hips so he could better ram into her. Her job was over. She had done what he wanted.

Now it was his turn to take over.

Her body surrendered to him.

“Ugnnn,” she whined. “Fuck!!”

Her hands clenched into fists against the glass. Her back arched.

Eyes wide.

Taking his thrusts with near drooling moans.

His rigid shaft drove into her, surging deep up inside, stretching her walls and drawing out the most luscious rumbles of pleasure.

His balls slapped up against her. The sound echoing around their vaulted ceiling.

Filling her. Stuffing her full.

Both holes used and defiled.

She couldn’t stop the noises she was making. Throaty moans, shrieking cries, babbling coos.

He was getting it all out of her.

Someone was watching. Looking at them. Spying them from down below.

A young couple.

“Daddy!” She sobbed. “They’re-”

“Shh,” he hushed her. “I know, baby. I see ‘em, too. They like what they see. They’re talkin’ about us. Enjoyin’ it.”

A broken cry fell from her lips and she stared down through her tears at the couple.

Her eye sight wasn’t the greatest. She couldn’t make out their faces very clearly but neither of them looked horrified.

They looked…giggly…

The woman was running her hand along her partner's arm. His hand disappeared behind her back and traveled down to her ass.

Harder and harder Peter slammed.

She was being ravaged by his strength. Losing the ability to make any noise.

Nothing but silent, open mouthed gasps and a raining of tears were all that came out.

“Too-” He grunted, crashing into her again. “Hard?”

Through a shuddering, gasping breath, she managed to choke out, “Don’t you fucking stop.”

As long as Peter was fucking her like this, he could do it any way he wanted. He could drag her out onto the streets and fuck her at that nosy couples feet if he pleased.

It was his art show. He held the control.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t pause.

His finger marks would be bruised into the soft flesh of her hips for the upcoming days with how tightly he gripped them.

She held eye contact with the watching woman down below. Stared straight at her. Sizing her up, silently challenging her to get as good a fuck from her partner as she was from Peter.

She wanted to make her jealous. Or horny.

Either was fine as long as the woman was thinking of her.

“Yes, Daddy!” She cried, loud enough for her voice to carry down below. “Feels so good! Making your little girl feel so good!”

She knew damn well Peter’s face was cast in the shadows behind her. The idea of this couple truely thinking she was being fucked by her own father made her laugh under her breath.

“Somethin’ funny, princess?” His voice was getting strained and she knew that meant he was getting closer to his release.

“Just enjoying my fans,” she gasped back. “They love what you’re doing.”

Her eyes were wild as she breathed in the fresh air.

She felt free.

She was married and in love. They were on their honeymoon in Italy.

She was getting absolutely pounded by her husband in full view of a watching, interested couple.

She should be embarrassed, ashamed.

But all she felt was bliss.

That plunging, relentless cock, massaging her channel, thick veins grazing over that tender g-spot whenever she angled her body correctly, the weight of the plug in her ass, her aching nipples…

Everything was pushing her straight towards her final hurdle.

Without much warning, it suddenly became all too much. No build up.

Just explosions.

A wave of ferocious, intense pleasure roared over her, sweeping her up, taking her by surprise.

She came hard and fast.

Sheiking. Crying out.

Thrashing against the window, leaning half way out of it, trying to gasp for air.

Peter grabbed at her hair to yank her back inside like he was terrified of losing her over the edge.

“Fuck, princess,” he grunted. “Where ya goin’?”

Her ears defended under the rush of blood swelling to her head but she was certain she was screaming in ecstasy from the way Peter’s hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her sounds.

She contracted tightly around his cock, squeezing him, using him to further her explosion of pleasure, still feeling the stinging pain of her breasts to only shove her deeper into subspace.

On and on her orgasm went. Unstoppable. As Peter kept driving into her and furiously rubbing his fingers over her clit.

He kept her heightened. Overloaded. Knowing that it would destroy her.

She had the brief sensation of feeling him cumming inside of her. Feeling the spurt of warmth. Feeling full.

But her agonizing long orgasm only served to weaken her rational thinking. She no longer existed. She was no longer on solid ground.

Floating. Drifting through space.

Lost amongst the stars.

Finally, her body gave up.

Finally, the orgasm came to a simmering hault.

She was done.

She hung limply against the window pane. Eyes rolling in her head. Twitching and whimpering.

Peter scooped her into his protective arms, cradling her against his chest, peering his face to see their onlookers.

“Shows over!” He called down to them. “Fuck off!”

Without his raging, pent up, sexual energy to seize control of his brain, he no longer liked the idea of anyone getting to view his naked wife besides him. His protective nature spiked to replace his dwindling arousal and he turned his back to the window to shield her with his body.

He carried her away from their stares back into the safety of privacy where she belonged.

She made no protests or struggles as their game finished. Her head hung limp against his shoulder.

“My sweet girl,” he murmured in her ear. She was being placed on their bed. “Daddy’s going to clean you up. Wait here.”

Time wasn’t real.

She blinked and he reappeared holding a warm, wet cloth to her legs.

Over her thighs.

Spreading her open.

Cupping it against her used and battered sex.

Gently cleaning away their mess.

“There,” he whispered. “All better.”

Peter crawled into bed in front of her, wrapping an arm over her waist and kissing at the tip of her nose.

Gradually, she returned to her body, her mind drifting slowly back into her skull.

“Mmmm,” she groaned. “Everything hurts. Think you broke me.”

He chuckled to himself, soothing a hand over an abused nipple, “Sweet girl. I’ll try to find you some ice in a minute. But, right now, I’m not leaving your side until you fully wake up. Rest, baby. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

When she adjusted herself on the bed, sliding a leg through his, she took note of the fact that the plug was still snuggly lodged inside of her.

Their night was only just beginning.

He had left it there on purpose.

She kind of liked it.

Maybe she would wear it out to dinner…

#andrew garfield #tasm #the amazing spiderman #peter parker #tasm x reader #tasm fic #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #tasm peter #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter x reader fic #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker x reader fic #spiderman #spiderman fic #the exhibit #blooming violets fic #blooming violets

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dariwrites03 · 3 days

Text

Fucked up Monday. 2/3

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/daribertduck/748615753776955392/fucked-up-monday

A/n: Before you guys kill me; I’m already writing part 3. don’t you worry it’s coming your way. Please comment & repost, it’s giving me much motivation!

Summary: After Ellie kissed you on Patrol, everything was turning weird, you’re full of guilt and other feelings... What happens when your life turns from agonizing to better to so much worse? And why exactly can a few letters change everything?

Warnings: none? I think?

Taglist: @bready101 @lia-winther @liciapeonia @darkerstarsstuff @patricks-fabulous-face ( I tagged some people from my comments, hope that’s alright)

-5700k words

„And I thought I was weird for feeling uncomfortable at that, you know? They broke up, it's not really his place to say anything like that especially after telling Dina he's over her anyways" You're best friend said, finishing up her explanation of yesterdays event with Dina and Jesse. He found the two of them smoking near a warehouse and from what you made out of Ellie's explanation, he wasn't too happy to see them sitting so close.

You and Ellie were having another movie night, those happen pretty often. ( Every Wednesday, to be exact.) sitting on the old sofa in your living room with you're legs resting on hers. „Well, it's still fresh. Don't think he's jealous of the two of you spending lots of time together but maybe it's just a weird feeling seeing her with someone else, though there's absolutely nothing between you and Dina" you replied, chuckling at the thought of Jesse being all jealous over nothing. You rested your head back against the many sofa pillows, enjoying the comfy half sitting half laying position you're in. „Yeah.. totally" Ellie mumbled, looking down at her hands resting on top of you ankles, shifting uncomfortably. Knowing Ellie probably better than anyone else, you knew right away that something seems off.

„Wait.." you said, sensing the weird vibe from you're best friend. „There is nothing between you two, right?" you said, lifting you're upper body into a more sitting posture. „Ellie?" you said her name as you're so called friend didn't answer right away. You felt you're heart stink, not really being sure of what's going on exactly. „uhm.. I don't wanna talk about it?" she said, looking at you with an apologetic look, making it sound more like a question than an real steady answer. „Hell no, remember our ‚no lying rule'?" you said. „Cmon we made that rule as we were 15, that's childish." she said while caressing through her hair, suddenly looking all exhausted. „It wasn't childish when I had my first kiss and didn't want to talk about it" You mentioned. Remembering the night you ran about 2 miles to Ellie's house after spending the afternoon with some other kids in the pub, playing some stupid games. After you kissed Sophia as you're truth or dare quest you took of running, straight into the arms of the brown haired girl who couldn't participate that nights event due to a cold. Ellie knew something must've happened and as you really didn't want to talk about it, embarrassed by the fact that everyone could probably tell you never kissed anyone ever before, Ellie set up a rule. *„Let's promise to always be honest, life is too fucked up to screw it up with lies"* you knew she was right and since that night you tried to always be honest to each other.

„Cmon that's totally different!" Ellie defended herself, crossing her arms above her chest. „Jesus, Williams, answer the fucking question and stop being difficult" you said with a light voice, feeling like Ellie was some deer that takes of running as soon as you're tone was slightly off. „I mean, there is nothing between me and Dina.. so" she explained and you could tell that She was satisfied with her answer since her shoulders became less tense. „But you wish there was?" you asked, not able to look at Ellie you decided to give you're hands something to do, grabbing the soda can you had standing infront of you at the table. „I.. yeah, I guess? Okay. Who am I kidding" she said, her hands running over her face. She revealed a slight laugh. „Oh god" she groaned, now fully blushing like a 13 year old teenager. „Yeah, yeah I do like her. Fuck, this is the first time admitting it out loud" she said.

You took a sip from you're soda, the carbonic acid being long gone since you opened the can almost 2 hours ago, giving you a second or two to continue to stay silent. Having the opportunity to ignore the trouble of you're mind right now

The Jealousy building up inside of you made you think like you're going all crazy, fighting against the urge to scream inside a pillow you took that energy elsewhere. „okay, good for you" you said, taking another sip from the drink, hoping to put out the fire building up in you're chest. Ellie looked at you saying „it's not weird, right? Falling for her?" you looked at her again, considering of telling her what you really think. You consider of telling her that's it's not weird, but you don't like it either. No , you hate it. You hate it so much because you want Ellie to fall for you instead of her.

But you didn't say that. Instead you betrayed your 15 year old self by lying to Ellie and yourself.

It's been three months, 4 days and 2,5 Hours without a word from her.

Ever since then , You are entangled in the delicate web of grief for what felt like for two people, where the threads of loss and longing weave intricate patterns within your heart. Two souls, distinct yet equally significant, find their place in the chambers of your being.

Dylan, now resting six feet under, has embarked on a journey beyond the veil. His earthly vessel lies cradled by the soil, while his essence pirouettes among the constellations. The wasteland of the unknown stretches before him—And then there's your best friend, a constellation of memories and shared secrets. But her presence has become elusive, slipping through your fingers like sand. She chooses silence—a withdrawal that echoes louder than any spoken words. And you tried. Oh, how you tried to get her to speak—the silent symphony of longing, the unspoken words that hung in the air like dew-kissed spider silk. Your gaze, a language of its own, whispered secrets that transcended mere sentences. But she? She met your offerings with silence—a void that echoed louder than any spoken syllable. She stopped coming over. The threshold of your space became a chasm, a bridge severed by unspoken truths. The door, once a portal to laughter and whispered confidences, now stood closed. The only ever time you got to see her, to give yourself the inner peace of her being okay, was on the weekly parol meetings. She attended, her presence a fragile thread connecting you both. But she mastered the art of departure—slipping away before your eyes could catch hers. The opposite direction became her refuge, a path untrodden by your footsteps.

Talking wasn't what Ellie needed. You sensed it, that unspoken ache in the air—the need for silence, for space. So you stepped back, honoring the boundaries she drew around her heart. But your longing couldnt be unoticed by you any longer so after three weeks, you started writing to her. Youre desperation spilled over, ink bleeding onto paper. You became a clandestine messenger, slipping perfumed notes into the small slit of her mailbox. Each letter carried a piece of your soul—a plea, a confession, a desperate whisper. It lingered on your fingertips, a bridge between worlds. And as you pressed those letters into the darkness, you imagined her fingers brushing against them. Would she feel the urgency? Would she hear your silent screams for her friendship? Handwritten letters—those delicate vessels of ink and paper—weave memories that transcend mere words. Each stroke of the pen, each carefully crafted sentence, carries a piece of the you in them. The intimacy lies not only in the content but also in the act of creation itself. You decided to write her if shes unable to talk, you wanted to give her the space she needed, you tried to be as understanding as you could. But one unanswered letter turned into two, three, four. You stopped putting them into her mailbox after five.

Now, you're trying to ignore the pain in your heart every time you wake up. Ellie's childish behavior hasn't stopped you from living your life. Instead, you channel your anger and sleepless nights into your work, making each patrol count. Working alongside Jesse has become a bright spot—a fun experience you eagerly anticipate. It's not the same as those moments outside the gates with Ellie, but it's different in a way that doesn't breed resentment.

You and Jesse share a closeness that predates his separation from Dina. The heartbreak they both faced has left its mark, and you find solace in each other's company. Jesse isn't thrilled about the situation either—the breakup and lingering jealousy still gnaw at him. On that second day of patrol together, he broaches the awkward topic between you and Ellie. "So, you gonna tell me what happened or not?" Jesse's voice cut through the quiet of the abandoned checkpoint. He pulled a sandwich from his backpack, the crinkling of the wrapper echoing in the dim light. The two of you sat there, weary from the day's patrol, the weight of your assigned route still clinging to your bones. Nightfall had descended too swiftly, and the dangers of this post-apocalyptic world made it impossible to venture home safely after dark. You shifted uncomfortably on the hard ground, the rough edges of the old checkpoint digging into your back. The makeshift campsite was a stark reminder of the life you now led—constantly on the move, always vigilant. Jesse's eyes bore into yours, waiting for an answer.

"Don't really know what's there to say, to be honest," you replied, your fingers tracing the edges of the food you'd prepared hours ago. The silence now haning between the two of you wasnt uncomftable,punctuated by the distant howl of a lone infected. "Maybe explain why we're now patrol partners? I thought you and Ellie made such a good team. Not that I'm complaining, though—we're badass too. Just wondering why you suddenly decided that Ellie wasn't good enough anymore," Jesse's voice cut through the dimly lit space of the makeshift camp. He lay down on the sleeping bag, using his right arm as a makeshift pillow, his gaze fixed on you. The flicker of confusion danced through the forest of your mind as you replayed Jesse's last words.

"What? I didn't decide that," you replied, studying your friend's posture as he took a bite of his cheese sandwich. "I asked Dina what happened earlier today." Jesse mumbled, his mouth still half full. "Ellie told her it was you who decided to change partners. Don't get me wrong—I feel honored to be your new partner in crime. I was just curious about what happened." - ''the fuck?'' You said more to yourself than him. ''Thats so fucked up..'' -"Okay, c'mon, I need the drama. Please explain to me like everything. Consider me one of your gossip girls," Jesse quipped, his unseriousness bringing a smile to your face. You took another bite of your food, savoring the dry bread as you gathered your thoughts. Trusting Jesse, you decided it wasn't a bad idea to share what had transpired between you and Ellie. So, with a deep breath, you began recounting the events of your last patrol with her. Jesse leans in, eyes wide with curiosity. His sandwich forgotten, he hangs on every word as you recount the events of that fateful patrol with Ellie. The tension, the unspoken words, the ache in your chest—it all spills out, painting a vivid picture of the fractured bond between you and the girl who once felt like your world.

"Damn," Jesse mutters, running a hand through his hair. "That's heavy stuff." His gaze lingers on your face, searching for answers. "You think she'll come around?'' You shrug, the weight of uncertainty settling on your shoulders. ''Dont think so, I think she regrets even kissing me. She has dina now, dont think that she'll need me anymore.'' Your gaze drifts down to your wrist, where the matching bracelet still clings—a fragile thread connecting you to Ellie. You wonder if she wears hers. Jesse, now leading forward, nudges your shoulder playfully. "Well, partner," he says, "we'll keep kicking ass out here. Fuck them both".

After that night, you felt like Jesse and you were attached at the hip. Somehow, you both helped each other navigate the jagged terrain of heartbreak, spending time together and letting the hours slip away. Being friends with Jesse had its perks. He acted as a bridge to Ellie, still maintaining a sort of friendship with Dina, getting slim updates from her. Through Jesse, you received updates about Ellie—whether she was safe, whether she'd eaten enough.

But it wasn't the same. Those impersonal updates couldn't replace the warmth of setting eyes on Ellie, hearing her voice—the cadence of her laughter, the way she'd say your name. You missed the little things, the mundane details that had once woven your lives together. But over the time you started to accept the turn of events, knowing you cannot force Friendship on somebody.

You started to distract yourself outside of work, whether it was with Jesse or... Sophia. After that encounter where Maria broke the news to you about Ellie changing everything, you did the only thing you knew you were really good at: You ran off.

Weirdly enough, two weeks after that pivotal moment and your patrols with Jesse as your new partner, a knock on your door interrupted your vegetable-cutting session in the small kitchen. As you walked toward the door, a million possibilities raced through your mind. Was it Ellie, knocking on the wood on a late rainy afternoon? Or perhaps Jesse, wanting to talk? Dina? Or maybe Joel, coming all the way to the comfort of your four walls to deliver news about his beloved Ellie being hurt.

Secretly, you wished it was Ellie. So you ran a hand through your hair, glancing into the small mirror hanging near the door to check yourself out before opening the squeaky wood. But on the other side stood Sophia, holding a plate covered in aluminum foil. "Uhm... hey," she said, her cheeks flushed with red. "I've made some cake—way too much to eat all by myself. I wanted to share it. If, um, you want to, of course. It's chocolate cake." Her words tumbled out in a rush, and you sensed her nervousness. A Small smile spread across your face as you stepped aside, making space for her to enter the house. "That's too kind," you replied. "You've got impeccable timing. I just finished dinner—perfect time for dessert. Come inside." You didn't mention the comforting fact that her house was all the way across town, meaning she'd walked quite a distance just to bring you cake. Nor did you acknowledge that it was common knowledge that Sophia is allergic to Chocolate but it was your favorite.

One hour with Sophia turned into two, and before you knew it, the entire afternoon was filled with your laughter. She ended up staying over, making your house feel less empty. Since Dylan's passing, sleep had eluded you. Without Ellie by your side, it felt impossible to quiet your mind. Sophia changed that somewhat, but it didn't feel the same. Perhaps your own mind betrayed you, clouding your thoughts about her presence. You didn't want her to leave, yet you didn't necessarily want her to stay either. The universe seemed to decide for you, as the strawberry-blonde girl drifted off to sleep on your sofa after what felt like an eternity of talking.

You settled into your gray armchair, gently covering her thin body with your favorite blanket—the same one Ellie used to take whenever she stayed over. The entire night, you found yourself comparing Sophia to Ellie—the way she moved, the cadence of her voice, the sparkle in her eyes when she spoke about her interests. It wasn't a good thing, you must admit. Sophia is a nice girl, but you never really considered her a potential friend, especially since you both shared your first kisses with each other. After that, things got weird, and you both grew up, walking different paths.

Yet now, here she was—baking you cakes, making you laugh, and filling the void left by Ellie. The universe had a funny way of intertwining lives, even when hearts were tangled in memories and unanswered letters. Having someone else in Ellie's place is like trying to fit a puzzle piece into a space that was uniquely shaped for her. It's both comforting and disorienting—a blend of familiarity and foreignness. Her presence brings warmth, but it's a different kind—the soft glow of candlelight instead of the blazing fire that Ellie ignited.Sophia's touch is gentle, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin. But it lacks the electric charge—the pulse of longing—that Ellie's touch carried. You wonder if Sophia noticed the way you hesitated, the way your heart stumbles when she leans in too close.

The day with Sophia didnt end there, it stretched into a comfortable rhythm, covering the next two days of your life —a dance of shared meals, laughter, and quiet moments. Her presence filled the spaces that Ellie had once occupied, and you found yourself not minding it at all. The awkwardness of those initial conversations melted away as you both peeled back layers, revealing stories and dreams that wove your lives together.

But life has a way of interrupting even the most harmonious melodies. Jesse, with his uninvited pizza and the entire Twilight saga in tow, barged into your living room. You tried to politely decline the teen romance marathon—you'd seen it one too many times—but Jesse, being Jesse, brushed off your protests. His eyes widened when he saw Sophia sitting there, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. You knew he'd milk this moment, teasing you about having a cute girl over at your house.

After Jesse left, well, pratically run out, you settled back onto the sofa next to Sophia. "That was... Jesse, right?" she asked, her fingers playing with her curly hair. You leaned against the soft material of the sofa, nodding. "Uhm, yup." Sophia's gaze lingered on you, and you sensed her curiosity. "You two do spend a lot of time together—even after patrols," she observed."Oh? You noticed that? Stalking me, huh?" you teased, making Sophia blush. Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. "Well," she replied, her voice soft, "you just always catch my eye." And then, without warning, her body shifted closer. Her hands found their place on either side of your waist, and her lips met yours—a sweetness that tasted like possibility. You hated yourself for it, truly. Because here was a girl with good intentions, almost on top of you, and your mind couldn't help but wish it was Ellie.

Another two months slip through your fingers, ephemeral as morning mist. Life, once heavy with the ache of Ellie's absence, begins to lift itself up. Sophia becomes a constant presence—a sunbeam that warms the corners of your heart as you allow yourself. Your growing relationship with Sophia blossoms, and you find comfort in her laughter, her touch, and the shared moments that weave your lives together. The unspoken question lingers: Are you allowed to call her your girlfriend? After all, you've shared more than just cake and conversations. Perhaps labels matter less than the way she looks at you, the way her fingers intertwine with yours.

And then there's Jesse—the steadfast friend who bridges the gap between patrols and pizza nights. His teasing about Sophia doesn't go unnoticed, but he's also the one who brings laughter into your home. Everything else remains unchanged—the memories, the unanswered letters, and the quiet longing. Life moves forward, and you find solace in the delicate balance of old and new. Patrol was as good as it could be, once you and Jesse found a way to connect your abilities, it didnt really feel like work anymore.

"Yo, little one," Jesse's voice cut through the quiet of the stables, interrupting your grooming session with Lacy. You turned to meet his gaze, immediately noticing his patrol clothes—fitting perfectly against his frame. "What the hell are you doing? We have the day off, remember?" you asked, your fingers still caressing Lacy's mane.

"Not anymore," Jesse replied, already opening the door to his horse's stable. "Dina apparently has the flu, and they both forgot to sign in at the station outside. Maria asked me to take their route for today and look for anything weird." He led his dark brown horse out of the stable, determination etched on his face.

"Good luck with that," you said, turning back to continue your work. But Jesse wasn't done. "Nuh huh, lover girl. You're joining me," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Pardon?" You looked at him, confusion knitting your brows. "Don't hit me with Spanish,"- ''Its french'' Jesse chuckled. "well whatever it was,I don't speak it. Come on now, get ready. We don't have all day." He saddled his horse efficiently, his movements practiced. "Why should I? You said yes, not me," you replied stubbornly, even though you gathered all the essentials needed to prepare Lacy. "Well, because I'm your partner in crime? Your work husband? Love of your patrol life?" Jesse grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief. "And because I'll get bored alone. You don't have anything better to do anyway." - ''Rude?! maybe i had things planned?!'' You said, jokingly offended as you grab your stuff ''You can meet sophia and have all of those important 'converstations'' he made weird kissing noises ''later.'' He finished his sentance, making you laugh ''Well first of all I-'' You got interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. You looked into the direction of the noise and saw the last person you wanted to see today. ''Sup, Ellie.'' Jesse said, leaning against the stable door. ''what can I do for you?'' He asked, eyes stuck on ellie. But her gaze lied elsewhere; On you.

You shivered under her gaze, your heart racing. As you looked into Ellie's eyes—the first time in forever—you sensed something there, something you couldn't quite put into words. Her burning gaze finally shifted from you to Jesse, arms crossed at her chest.

"Earlier, when me and Dina were at the station, I lost my journal," Ellie said, her voice close, intimate. "Can you look for it? Kinda really need it back." Her words echoed through the stable, and suddenly, the air felt too thin. Your knees wobbled, memories of Ellie cascading down the memory bridge, crashing into your stomach. You felt like you might throw up. "Sure, we will look for it. Anything else?" Jesse asked, glancing between the two of you. Ellie's eyes traveled back to you, and silent hope bloomed in your chest. Maybe this was the moment—maybe Ellie would finally have the guts to talk to you directly, to say she's sorry. But as her gaze wavered, you felt the familiar pang of disappointment. Once again, Ellie remained silent.You felt a strong hand on your shoulder, silently offering support. Jesse's familiar scent enveloped you. "Thought so," he said, ending the conversation. Ellie nodded and turned away, leaving the two of you alone. The barn was filled with silence until you spoke with a shaky voice. "Okay, let's just go." And so you did—you and Jesse left for patrol. But with every passing second, the memory of that confrontation lingered, and you realized how much you still craved her.

"Jesus, I hate this path," Jesse grumbled, pushing open the old, creaky door to the station. His face turned red from the effort, and you couldn't help but giggle. "Stop crying like a baby. Let's sign in and leave," you said, walking toward the desk on the opposite side of the room. As you approached, you noticed that a pen was missing. Without it, you obviously couldn't sign in.

"Jesse, there's no pen," you called out, looking at your friend. "Really? Look under the table or something. We'll find one," he replied. You followed his suggestion, getting down on your knees. Spiderwebs greeted you, along with the encroaching dusk. You pulled out your flashlight, shining it underneath the table for a better look. And there it was—an old, leather-covered book. You'd recognize that book spine anywhere, even in the grandest libraries.

You picked it up, wiping away the dust that clung to its material. The thickness of the journal reminded you of what you were holding—a door to Ellie Williams' secrets and mindful thoughts. "Found one!" Jesse's voice snapped you out of your reverie. You turned around, hiding the journal behind your back. Jesse joined you, writing your names on the slim paper of the checklist. ‘Partner in crimes ( Jesse and y/n)’

"Did you find anything? The book, I mean. It's not somewhere I looked," Jesse asked. You shook your head, slipping the journal into your bag without it being noticed. "Nope, didn't find it either."

''Every poem I ever wrote was about her. That smile of hers, those golden eyes—whenever she's too close to the sun, it's impossible for me to stay away. The day I left, my heart shattered into a million pieces. In my head, inside my perfect self-made world, she never left me. All my thoughts revolve around her—the memories etched into my mind. Her touch, so soft—I never wanted to let go. The scent of her clothes, stealing my breath away. The nights we spent dreaming together, the minutes I never want to regret. I never dared to imagine a lifetime without her. Yet here I am, writing these words with a hole in my chest. I'm bleeding out, the wind kissing my mind, refreshing memories of letting go. The silence surrounds me, a reminder to hold on.

I search the past for redemption, but it eludes me. The only thing left of me are broken pieces of her.”

The words were carefully etched onto the paper, making it hard for you to breathe. You hadn't intended to overstep her privacy—why had you taken that journal in the first place? You dont know. But here you were, sitting with the book in hand, the only light in the living room emanating from the countless candles you'd lit.

The journal looked thicker than usual, and that's what caught your attention first. You knew that book well, even though you'd never seen what she put inside—except for her drawings of animals, Joel, Dina, and you. She'd never shown anyone what she wrote between the pages.

The reason you'd decided to open the book, against all your inner morals, was the fact that as you carefully pulled it out of your bag—treating it like fragile glass—multiple letters fell out. You noticed them right away. They were yours—carefully written letters she'd never dared to answer. The envelopes ripped open showed you she defenetly read them all. You dont know how to feel about that yet. Relieved that she cared enough to read them? Happy becasue she carried your letters with her, doesnt matter where shed go? Or mad, because she never replied? You know nothing. The only thing you're able to do now is bury yourself in the book, reading what Ellie never dared to say out loud.

''Ive been having a hard time adjusting, I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting. I didn't know if you'd care if I came back, I have a lot of regrets about that. Pulled the car off the road to the lookout, Could've followed my fears all the way down. And maybe I don't quite know what to say but I'm here in your doorway. I just wanted you to know that this is me trying''

The words cut deeper than a knife,

before you knew it, your eyes traveled to the next phrases, crossed out, you could barely read them:

"It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you.

Seeing you with Sophie burns me from inside out.

Why are you with her?

I know I don't own you, perhaps I never will,

so the anger inside of me when I see you with her

is something I'm not allowed to feel.

What I feel, I shouldn't show you.

So when you're around, I don't.

I let you walk away with her.

I know I don't have the right to feel it,

but it doesn't mean I don't."

The rest of the book was empty, besides some skteches of eyes that look dangerously like yours. You swallowed hard, not really sure of what you should feel. You re-read the sentences out loud, letting the bittersweet aftertaste of them making you feel alive. Your heart has been Ellies since the first time you both laughed together; yet you were so sure of the fact that she would never feel the same. Considering the words in the journal, maybe it wasnt one sided after all. Youre confused, being with Sophia was easy, comftable. But with ellie, it was different. better. You miss the butterflies in your stomach, miss her touch and her closeness. The rollercoster was everything you ever had, after all.

Two days of full selfishness carried its weight, and you continued to keep the journal. The guilt crept in, stealthy as shadows, finding you at night, when the world slept and your thoughts roamed free. Those written pages from Ellie, inked with longing and crossed-out confessions, haunted your mind. You tried your best to hide the pain, a fragile masquerade. Distancing yourself from Sophia and Jesse, you walked the tightrope of deception. It wasn't deliberate; it was survival. The what-could've-been danced like a ghost, whispering secrets in your ear. You wondered if Ellie's heart echoed the same unspoken words.

Sophia, her presence a comforting harbor, yet her touch felt like borrowed warmth. And Jesse, his eyes— The guilt gnawed at you, a relentless hunger. You held Sophia too close, fearing Ellie's phantom gaze. You looked into Jesse's eyes, and the lie about keeping the Journal tasted bitter on your tongue. Ellie, elusive as a wisp of smoke. The barn encounter—the air thick with unspoken truths—left you breathless. You havent seen her since. You called in sick for the patrol meeting, a desperate escape from the inevitable. The fear of facing her again, of unraveling the fragile equilibrium, gripped your heart.

In the quiet of your room, the journal lay open. The crossed-out phrases, the sketches of eyes—they were your silent companions.

——————————————————-

"Okay, Miss being all sad and distant, I'm not having this anymore. Tell me what's going on right now or I'm killing you," Jesse declared, pressing past you as you opened the door. His urgency hung in the air, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

"Jesus, very aggressive today, aren't we?" you quipped, trailing after your friend into the living room. The door closed behind you, sealing you both in a cocoon of tension. You sank into the couch, and Jesse settled next to you, his gaze drilling holes into your soul."Therapy session. Now. What's going on?" His hands clasped together, a makeshift gavel. The room felt smaller, suffocating. You glanced at the coffee table, considering the whiskey bottle, but thought better of it. "Nothing? Do you want to drink anything... or?" Your voice played innocent, a fragile mask. Jesse wasn't fooled. "The jury says stop trying to change the subject." His tone held a mix of exasperation and concern."The jury...?" You grinned, despite the weight in your chest. "Yeah, me." Jesse's eyes softened, and you chuckled. "It's nothing, really.“

"You're completely distant," he said, his voice calm. "Even Sophia asked me if I have any idea what's going on." The truth hung between you like a fragile thread, ready to snap.

"I don't know... it's, urgh, weird." You fidgeted with the edge of a cushion. Jesse leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "Tell me!" His insistence bordered on desperation

"Okay, but promise me not to hate me?" You gave him a side-eye, afraid of meeting his gaze head-on. "Could never hate you," he replied, and the words carried weight. So you spilled it—the secret you'd harbored, the journal you'd found.

Ellie's words, inked and crossed out, danced in your memory. You didn't reveal the exact phrasing, but you shared the confusion—the way her emotions bled through the pages. Jesse listened, his eyes wide, and you wondered if he saw the echoes of your own heartache.

In that quiet room, the truth hung heavy. You'd kept Ellie's words hidden, but now they spilled forth. Jesse's hand found yours, and you clung to it, hoping for absolution. "It's Ellie," you whispered. "It's always been Ellie." His silence spoke volumes, eyes carrying the weight of unspoken understanding. He'd always sensed your feelings for Ellie, perhaps even before you did. It wasn't a secret to anyone but her—the way your heart gravitated toward her, like a moth drawn to a flame. “You guys need to talk.” Jesse said.

"I can't," you whispered, the words fragile on your tongue. The weight of unspoken truths pressed against your chest, threatening to spill forth."And why the fuck not? What do you have to lose?" Jesse's voice held a mix of frustration and concern. He saw through your defenses, stripped away the layers you'd carefully woven. Ellie—the enigma, the ache—loomed between you like a shadow."Afraid of losing her? I think you already archived that." His bluntness cut through your heart. You knew it too well—the missed chances, the crossed-out phrases, the silence that echoed louder than words. Jesse could see the pain in you and the bluntless paired with that slight tinge of what appeared to be anger slowly disappeared into thin air, much like the smoke of a lit cigarette blown into the night sky.

"Look" he begins, sighing while he considers the phrasing of this. He means no harm, but being too gentle could erase the importance of the situation "I want to help you, but you cannot hide yourself away. If you truly want this girl, you need to be able to put in the effort. Dina and Ellie arent dating either, dina told me herself that the two of them thought there was something but ended up with nothing. Be honest with yourself, but also with everyone else" You exhale deeply, relief floods your system despite the heavy heart still pounding against your chest.

Jesse is the kind of friend you can never let go. He's just that important.

Between the soft tunes of comfortingly familiar songs and a few shed tears, the two of you scheme together... Creating a, hopefully, foolproof plan on how to finally approach the elephant in the room. Ellie and you; it wasn't over, was it?

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hyuuukais · 6 hours

Text

⋆.˚𖦹°‧✮‧°𖦹˚.⋆ ERROR 404

pairing ~ yang jeongin x fem reader

synopsis ~ y/n starts getting messages from an unknown number after buying a used phone for cheap. as she finds out more about the boy she's talking to, it turns out there's much more to this than a wrong number --- he died, and she's talking to his spirit, yet he has no idea what happened to him. will y/n have what it takes to solve the mystery of his death? or will the boy's spirit remained trapped in his phone?

warnings ~ gen, drinking

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CH 4 ~ ENERGY (wc: 2.7k, 7 screenshots)

Flipping the open sign to 'closed', you wait for Minho behind the counter. There hasn't been much more communication from him since the last time you talked, only a confirmation of when you're meeting. Changbin made sure to leave before he decides to show up, feeling too uncomfortable facing an old friend. Other than the occasional check-in text from Jeongin, you haven't had much ghostly interaction either, which you think is for the best.

Each interaction so far has taken more and more energy, starting with the man on the bus and then the elderly woman. A headache, then nearly passing out? At this point, you'll end up in the hospital. A chill goes down your spine thinking of that; would it be easier for the ghost to get to you unprotected like that, lying in a hospital bed unconscious and exposed?

The sound of the bell alerts you of Minho's arrival. Adjusting yourself to lean against the counter, you watch him close the door and lock it. When he turns around, he catches your eye and gives you a light nod of acknowledgment. Slowly, he makes his way toward the counter, fingers trailing over an arrangement of pink carnations mixed with greenery. Minho stops, letting a petal fall between his fingers and onto the floor. Shaking his head, he closes the distance between himself and the counter with a couple of strides.

"I don't know if I believe you," Minho says, leaning on the counter; his face is too close to yours. "But I'm willing to try and help. I owe Changbin."

"How so?" You ask, unsure if you'll get a reply when he places his bag on the counter and takes out a sleek laptop.

"Why do you need to know? That's between me and him," Minho doesn't even spare you a glance as he opens the device and starts typing. "What's the kid's name again? Any lead suspects yet?"

"Yang Jeongin and no, not really," You answer with a shrug. "I guess the most notable person is his best friend, Hwang Hyunjin."

"Have you looked into him yet?" Minho's eyes dart up between yours, returning to the screen and starting to type. "Could be something there."

"I don't know-" You're interrupted by a buzz and look down to see a text from Jeongin.

Rolling your eyes, you place your phone face down and focus back on Minho's typing. He's not saying anything, but his eyebrows are knit together in concentration as his fingers fly over the keyboard. Other than the sound of the keys, the flower shop is eerily silent, making you slightly uncomfortable. Ever since this has started up, quiet rooms have you on edge, waiting for the next visit from another spirit.

Minho sighs heavily, stepping away from the screen and pacing in front of the counter. You let him take his time, a hand sitting in his hair showing he must be thinking hard. Hopefully. You'll see in a moment.

"Nothing is showing up," Minho stops in front of his laptop, slamming it shut with the hand not holding his head. "Absolutely nothing, just a warning- error, whatever."

"The same thing happened to me!" You stand up straight, fingertips holding the edge of the counter tightly. "When I found this blog that was talking all about his death, it wouldn't let me read the rest of it and said there was an error! It's like something is stopping us from finding out-"

"Invisible forces?" Minho raises an eyebrow.

"Isn't that the whole thing? Normally, people can't see ghosts. Why do you think probably half the world doesn't believe in them?" You say. "So, yeah, invisible forces."

"Alright, sure," Minho slips his laptop bag into his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. "I'll look into Hyunjin. Goodnight."

"Wait-" As he turns to leave, you call out; he looks back at you over his shoulder. "Would you... could you give me a ride? Being alone right now has me kind of freaked out."

"Won't you be alone at home?"

"Yeah, but it's different," You mumble, looking down at your feet. "It still feels safe there."

Minho hums in response and you don't move.

"Aren't you coming?" He asks after a moment, car keys jingling in his hand.

You lift your head and spot him holding the front door open. Grabbing your bag and jacket, you walk out after Minho and follow him to his car parked down the road. He opens the door for you politely and you step in with a small 'thank you', fiddling with your bag strap as he walks to the other side and lets himself in. The ride to your house is silent, save for the occasional direction from the GPS.

Along the way, you spot a few stragglers out on the streets, one catching your eye when you're stopped at a red light. An uncomfortable feeling washes over you as they keep staring and you shiver, breaking the eye contact and focusing on the road in front of you. When the light turns green, you take one last look and jump. They're right outside your window, the imprint of a hand left on the glass as Minho starts driving again. He gives you a weird look that you miss, too busy trying to learn how to breathe again.

Ten minutes later, you're standing outside your door picking up the keys you just dropped from your hands shaking too much. Minho is stationed outside watching you get in safely, your cheeks flushing from embarrassment when you struggle to get your key in the lock. Switching the light on, you can hear the rumble of Minho driving away and take a deep breath. You're home now, nothing can hurt you here.

Entering your bedroom, you flop face first into your plush bedding and stay like that for a moment. You feel a dip at the end of the bed, but it doesn't freak you out. By now you can tell when it's Jeongin; his presence feels familiar. The bed moves slightly as he adjusts and gets comfortable beside you and you turn your head enough to be able to peek up at him. He's staring straight ahead, hands folded in his lap, and you see he's even kicked his shoes off. Shaggy black hair falls into his eyes and he shakes his head enough to clear his sight, his eyes then falling onto yours- you've been caught.

"Like what you see?" He teases, head rolling to his shoulder to face you completely.

"No," You lie with a grin, propping yourself up on your elbow. "Not at all. Personally, I'm not a fan of having dead people in my bed."

Jeongin laughs at that, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. You watch him relax, sliding further down into your pillows with a content expression. As much as you want to join him in seemingly falling asleep, you still need to change and wash up. But-

"I gotta go," You say, rolling off the side of your bed.

"What?" Jeongin sits up, hands behind him. "Why?"

"Changbin wants to hang out."

"I thought you were in for the night?" Jeongin's voice goes higher at the end of the sentence.

"Me too! But it's been so long since we've done something fun. Now, which is better? This," You hold a plain black dress up to your body. "-or this?"

You switch the black for a dark red strapless shirt and some black pants and watch his reaction. Although he hesitates, you can already tell he's thinking the second and you toss the dress back toward your closet. After he covers his eyes, you change quickly and do some last touch-ups before leaving the room. Jeongin follows you and you both keep an eye outside for Changbin.

"Be careful, okay?" Jeongin talks low, keeping his eyes on the road when you look over at him. "Lots of energy in those kinds of places, don't need you getting hurt. Especially if you're planning on drinking."

"Are you worried about me?" You tease.

"No, I just don't want you to become one of us before my case is solved."

"Cold."

"Just like my case." This makes you laugh, a light catching the corner of your eye.

Changbin steps out of his vehicle and starts to approach, but you're already waving goodbye to Jeongin and exiting before he can get up the steps to the front door. The night air is crisp, goosebumps forming on your exposed skin, but you're quickly ushered into the warmth of the car. In the window of your house, you can still see Jeongin watching when you drive off. On the way to the bar, you and Changbin sing along to his daily playlist to bring up the mood, and it works incredibly well. By the time you're entering the building, any thoughts of ghosts and death are gone.

Ordering two of the same drink, you and Changbin sit with your backs to the bar and observe the others, making up backstories for each person who passes by you or seems interesting. About four drinks later, Changbin has convinced you to join him on the dance floor. One more drink, and you find yourself surrounded by strangers, distracted by the loud music flowing through your veins. It seeps into your skin and you can feel the beat moving inside you, letting your body take control. In front of you, Changbin shows off his moves and you can hear people cheering, but you know to him it's just the two of you here.

The music slows and so does your body, adrenaline leaving as you brush some hair out of your face. Changbin's expression is all scrunched up in a pout and you laugh at the way he appears to be going in slow motion; it's funny, that is until you notice how everyone around you is following his lead. Panic starts to settle heavy in your chest, turning every direction to try and spot what's causing this.

You sway on your feet as you see the first spirit weaving through the bodies toward you. There's a hole in the center of his head, dried blood crusted down his nose and chin. Moving back to the bar, you stop when you almost hit the chest of someone else; her eyes are dark as she towers over you and you step away. You let your body guide you away, walking turning into a frantic dance to avoid the mass amount of spirits that seem to be mixed with the crowd. The exit isn't too far now, but you seem to be getting sluggish purely from being near this many spirits. You can hear your breathing turn to wheezing as you stumble forward with a hand out, your fingers barely brushing the red handle before someone is wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you away. There's no fight left in you, your eyelids heavy and your body falling limp. Someone is calling your name as you're torn away from whoever is holding you, blurry visions of colourful figures above you being the last thing you see before your eyes flutter shut.

When your eyes open, you don't recognize the room you're in. Dust falls from the ceiling, visible in the moonlight coming through a window above you, white curtains pulled to the side. The bed you're in is much too small for your body, pale blue sheets twisted under your legs. Rubbing sleep out of your eyes, you sit up slowly, a wave of dizziness rocking you. Once it's over, you take in the rest of the room.

It appears to be a child's bedroom, string lights pinned corner to corner emitting a dim gold on the walls. Tucked in the corner is a small desk with art supplies messily organized in compartments, one cup of paintbrushes knocked over with dried paint water soaked into a drawing. You stand and pick up the drawing; there's two boys standing by water, but one has been smudged by the spillage. They seem to be watching something out there, but the drawing is unfinished.

Directly next to the desk is an open door leading into a short hallway. Stairs lead downward with candles melting over the railing, wax dripping onto the wooden steps. As you walk toward the stairs, you can't help but look at all the photos covering the walls. Most are artsy, decorative shots, but one in particular catches your eye. There's a family of four, but the photo is torn at the parent's middle, leaving only the children to be seen holding hands and smiling wide. It's almost unsettling.

Following the pathway, it ends at the doorway to what looks like a living room, but all the furniture is covered in white sheets. You cover your mouth to suppress a noise when you spot a man standing by a fireplace. The sound of your hand slapping over your mouth must have alerted him, his head whipping around to look at you.

"What are you...?" He's turning fully now, head tilted to the side and eyes squinting. You have to hold in another gasp when you realize it's Hyunjin you're looking at.

"I don't know," you reply quietly, bringing your hand back to your side. "I've never been here before. I don't know where I am."

"You shouldn't be able to get in here. You-" He stalks toward you and grabs your wrists, bringing you into the room with him.

You watch his eyes widen as the moonlight hits you, eyebrows knitting together and mouth falling open slightly. The grip on your wrists is bruising, and he gives no sign of letting go. There's a shift in the air and he looks away from you and past your head, eyes narrowing at something in the space behind you.

"Back off," He warns, and you're almost too scared to know what he's seeing. "Stay right there."

His voice wavers, hands finally loosening and you're able to pull away completely. This, however, is a mistake. Hyunjin is reaching for you again with a shout of your name as hands grab you from behind, tearing you away from the room, the house, this whole place.

With a gasp, you sit up in a hospital bed, lights blinding you. Someone is touching you, trying to calm you, but you fight them off; you've had enough of peoples skin on yours. Head in your hands, you take deep breathes and notice just how badly you're shaking. You hadn't even realized you were crying until now.

"Y/n! It's just me-" Changbin's voice is clear beside you now that you're a bit more adjusted. "Hey, it's just me. You passed out."

"What?" You finally let him settle you back against the stiff pillow. "I did?"

"Yeah, and I think it's ghost related, but I don't know," Changbin shifts in his chair uncomfortably. "Jeongin's been blowing up your phone."

He hands you the small device and you unlock it to see he's right, Jeongin has been blowing up your phone.

Jeongin replaces Changbin, sitting in the chair with his legs crossed at the ankles. Neither of you talk, but he does stare at you with concern visible on his face. You lay down on your side, keeping your eyes on him as you get comfortable, or at least as much as you can be. There's a moment when he opens his mouth, but a nurse comes into the room to check on you before he can say anything. She explains you'll be able to go home soon, just rest for now.

When she leaves, you sigh. "I wish I never left my bed."

"Me too," Jeongin admits quietly, a faint blush of red creeping up his neck and you giggle.

The energy with him is so different than other spirits and you can't understand why. With him, it's warm, easy; It's not draining or unwelcoming in the slightest. Being with him feels nice, like a dream you don't want to leave.

Jeongin follows you out of the hospital, into the cab they provide, and back into your home. He waits outside of your bedroom as you change, opening the door to let him back in. Crawling into bed, you catch a glimpse of Jeongin next to you. This is the first time you've seen him look so unguarded since you've met, so peaceful, and you drift into sleep thinking of him.

notes ~ this is unedited bc it's 2:30 am and i'm tired so pls ignore any mistakes lol

taglist ~ @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @bloomingstay @sona1800

@dollschan @defnotfertilizedtoesw @thisisnotjacinta @kayleigh-28 @kayleefriedchicken

@lailac13 @linocvp1d @ilov3jeong1n @mooseung @kkamismom12

reply or send an ask to be added (18+)^^^ green means i can't tag you

#⋆.˚𖦹°‧✮‧°𖦹˚.⋆ ERROR 404 #skz #stray kids #yang jeongin x reader #yang jeongin x fem reader #yang jeongin #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #yang jeongin fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz series #yang jeongin series #smau #partial smau #non idol au #i.n x reader #i.n x fem reader

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avtrxxx · 18 hours

Text

Did you?

Neteyam (24) x female human reader (20)

Warnings: enemies to lovers, mafia au, forced marriage, size difference

Neteyam was a powerful mafia prince, feared by many in the criminal underworld. He was known for his harsh and ruthless tactics, always getting what he wanted through violence and intimidation. But what he didn't expect was to have you as his soon-to-be-wife. You are the mafia princess of the human mafia. And as to make a bond, both mafias decided to marry Neteyam, the oldest mafia prince and you, the youngest princess.

"This tawtute is gonna be my maye?" Neteyam tilts his head, looking down at you, his voice filled with amusement. He's gonna give you a hard time.

"Can you stop calling me that?" You asked back.

"Tawtute? What's wrong with that? It is what you are after all" Neteyam teased, still amused by your reaction.

"Yes, but I don't like it."

"Well then, I'll call you my little human" Neteyam smirked, he was enjoying you reaction way too much. "You gotta admit, it suits you"

You sighed through your nose, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Look, I'm not little, you're a freak of nature. Secondly, it doesn't suit me."

"Awww, are you mad because I'm taller than you?" Neteyam mocked, standing straight, he was more than three heads taller than you. "You are small, I can wrap my hands around your waist so easy. If that's not little then what is"

"Your dick."

"What did you say?" Neteyam's voice remained smug as ever, but now his tail was whipping aggressively behind him. He was fuming, though he'd never show it.

"I said you have a small dick. Why? Did I tell some truth?" It was your turn to smirk.

"I'd like to test that theory" Neteyam said, he was so hot-headed, he was now in your face. His voice had become harsher and more intimidating, as he got closer to the girl. He was so close you could smell his breath and see his sharp fangs.

With one arm, Neteyam picked you up like a child and pushed you against the wall, his body looming over hers. He was a big man, with muscles on each part of his body, a wide chest, broad shoulders and huge biceps that were almost twice the size of your waist. His face was close enough to you to make you shiver.

Your face flushed with a red color, your heart beat quickened. The way he was showing his dominance was so hot.

He could feel your body trembling, he was amused and delighted by how intimidated you seemed, this small human woman. With one hand, he grabbed your chin, tilting your face up so he could look into your eyes.

But you didn't. Your gaze was on the floor.

"Why are you avoiding eye contact? Am I that frighteningly handsome to you?" Neteyam said in a mocking voice. "Or are you scared? Do you just see me as this big monster? Are my muscles too intimidating, my big body perhaps overwhelming?" he looked down and chuckled, his voice returning to it's usual sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes at him.

"I thought so. Humans are so weak and vulnerable, the moment they see someone who's physically stronger than them. They lose all hope, they become scared babies. Pathetic" He lowered his hand from your face and let you down.

For the rest of the day, you avoided him. But little did you know you're sleeping with him from now on.

At night when you were back at your room, you could see a shadow standing at the door. Neteyam was standing with his arms crossed, a smug grin on his face as he was watching you without you knowing. The door was slightly open, so he was able to look in.

You changed your clothes into pijamas and let yourseld fall on the bed.

Neteyam could see every movement you made from where he was standing. He was pleased to see that you were finally done with your day and going to bed. He could hear a soft yawn before you settled into bed, he was gonna wait a bit longer before making his move.

A few more minutes had passed, the moonlight was making its way to the room where this beautiful, tiny human lay. Neteyam finally made his move, he opened the door slowly, shutting it after he had stepped in, making absolutely no noise.

He could see you sleeping soundly on the bed. He closed the distance between you quickly, he could feel the heat of your body, as he stood above you, over your vulnerable and weak form.

He then slid under the covers of the bed and placed his body next to yours, his warm body almost suffocating yours. He laid there still for a moment, just enjoying the moment of them being this close to each other.

Then he wrapped his arms tightly around you, bringing your body so close to his. He was so much larger than yours, his muscles completely overpowering you, his arm wrapped around you and the other one going across your body, trapping you in his embrace.

"what?" You mumbled, half asleep. You rubbed your eyes, looking around you.

"Wake up, little human" he mumbled out. He squeezed you tighter, his muscles now pressing you body down and making it a bit harder to breath. You gasped, the air getting kicked out of your lungs.

"You think I'm just gonna let you sleep in peace? Not a chance" He said, his deep and rough voice filled with dominance. He was enjoying every moment of his power over the little human, who he saw as no threat.

"Lose it a bit.." you struggled to breathe, lightly but repeatedly tapping his bicep.

"Oh you wanna tap me? You wanna fight me off of you? Sorry, little human, that's not happening" Neteyam squeezed you tighter and you could feel his other bicep flex as he flexed his whole muscle. He laughed as he felt you tapping. You were so weak in his eyes, and he liked it.

You tried pushing him away, pushing on him with all your strength but he wouldn't bulge. He was far stronger.

"You're so weak. I love it. You have no hope in fighting me. You really are just a small little human. You're powerless against a strong man" He laughed, tightening his grip around you. It was becoming extremely difficult for you to breathe, especially with his hot body pressed against yours.

Seeing there's no other way to escape this uncomfortable situation, you bit him, sinking your teeth into his thick skin.

Neteyam let out a muffled growl from the sudden pain. He was surprised you could hurt him, but he didn't mind it. It was actually kinda hot. He squeezed you tighter, he now wanted to see this little human fight back even harder. He liked a challenge.

You let go of his skin when you saw it didn't really have an effect on him. You wiggled around, trying to make yourself more room. In return, Neteyam tightened his grip on you, his muscles bulging with power. "Neteyam, I have a fucking dagger with me. Don't make me use it on you." you threatened him, trying to make him feel somehow vulnerable.

"You're gonna stab me? You really are a little savage. A very cute little savage" Neteyam squeezed you tighter, enjoying the thrill of this fight. "I'd love to see you try it"

When you wanted to lower your hand in your pocket and grab it, Neteyam's hand was already close to it. He lunged his hand inside and took your dagger, throwing it away somewhere in your room.

Neteyam chuckled as he saw the small dagger being thrown on the floor. It was no threat to him, but he was impressed by your attempt. The fight between you was starting to really turn him on, you were not as weak as he originally thought and that excited him.

Neteyam suddenly had an idea, and a smirk made its way on his face. He loosened his grip around you and as soon as you tried moving away, he grabbed the side of your neck, squeezing tight.

You let out a painful moan from the pinch of his fingers. Neteyam looked surprised by the reaction but he didn't care. You were weak and your vulnerable spot was your nape.. He looked into your eyes and gave you a quick playful wink. He then pulled you back towards him and squeezed her even tighter than before.

"Fuckfuckfuck!" you cursed, the pain in the nape of your neck becoming too much.

"So hot when you swear..." Neteyam's voice was deeper than before and his eyes were filled with desire. His muscles flexed with every movement he made, his grip was getting tighter each moment he squeezed her against his body. He wanted you to struggle more so he could feel the heat of your body.

"It hurts, you dumb fuck!" You said, lifting your hands up to his huge one that was holding you in your place by your nape.

"Aww, it hurts, does it?" Neteyam smirked and squeezed harder, his grip around your nape was getting tight. He wanted this to hurt his little human, he was getting really turned on by your struggling. Your neck and waist couldn't compare to his strength.

You squeezed his large hand, in hopes to get him off of you. But he didn't move nor did he want to. Then, you dig your nails into his hand, leaving marks behind.

Neteyam smirked again, he really liked it when this tiny human tried to fight him off of you. His huge body towering over yours. Your nails barely did anything to him, he didn't let you go despite you trying. Instead, his muscles flexed as he squeezed you even tighter, his grip getting tighter and tighter.

"Go on, beg me to let you go. I'm not listening till I hear you beg for me"

"I beg you! Fucking let go of my nape."

Neteyam smirked, you was begging him now and he enjoyed it. His muscles relaxed as he let go of your nape. "Good girl" his voice was deep and sarcastic, he was enjoying every second of this interaction between you, you had never made him this excited and turned on.

You quickly lifted yourself off of your bed, standing up and you went right to the door. You put your hand on the door handle and rolled it before you pulled the door towards you, opening it.

"Get out." you said calmly, not taking your eyes off of him.

Neteyam smirked again. If you thought he was leaving just because you said so, you were truly naive. "As if you can tell me what to do. I'm not going anywhere so get back in the bed"

"We're not married yet and this is MY room so get the fuck out!" you spat in his face, standing tall (short) with pride.

"Well we are going to become married soon, so this might as well start being my room too" Neteyam crossed his arms. He got up from the bed and stood beside the door, "I told you I'm not going anywhere, so you have two options here: You either accept that I'll be sleeping with you tonight or I'll drag you back to the bed and we can cuddle. Your choice."

As he spoke, Neteyam already made his way to your bed. He threw some pillows in the same spot before he laid down, resting his head on the mountain of pillows. He got hold of the blanket and pulled it over his body, covering himself.

"Hmm" Neteyam was getting more turned on by her stubbornness, he didn't like weak women, so when she kept resisting he wanted her more and more. He was laying there on the bed with a smug grin, his body stretching across it, it was so big he took the majority of the bed.

"I'm not gonna sleep with you." you said bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest. You wanted nothing more but for him to disappear from your room. Seeing him all spread out on your bed and taking all of the space made you want to slap him hard and send him across the room.

"You can say that all you want, but you know, just as well as I do, that we will be sharing this bed together" Neteyam smirked, his arms spread out on the bed as if he was claiming it for himself, and if this small human woman was gonna sleep next to him, you had to accept that he was gonna hug up on you the whole night.

"We won't." you grabbed a blanket and sat on the sofa, making yourself comfortable. You wrapped the blanket around you, it being the only source of warmth for tonight. "Go to sleep now, Sleeping Beauty." your tone was filled with amusement as you eyed him, taking in his big frame.

You were determined to make your point and it was hot. Neteyam saw you on the sofa and smirked. It was like you wanted him to approach you and drag you back on the bed. He liked the playing hard to get, you made him want to chase you and that was thrilling.

"I'm not going to sleep till you get back on the bed with me" he then crossed his arms and lifted his upper body, leaning against the wall.

"Then you'll stay awake the entire night." you whispered, already getting ready for sleep as the light was already turned off. You wanted to sleep now. You need your beauty sleep, not some jerk who annoys you only.

Neteyam had a smug grin on his face. He then folded his arms and tilted his head, "Just let me cuddle you. I promise nothing more. Just this once?"

"You won't try to kill me?" you opened your eyes and your voice was barely audible.

Neteyam smirked, his eyes flashed, he seemed to consider yoir question for a second before he finally let out a laugh. "Kill you? I'm not going to kill you. I may be a mafia prince but I'm not dumb enough to kill the woman I'm about to marry. Now get over here and let me cuddle you"

"You come and take me. Weren't you saying that you're strong?" you smirked back, wrapping the blanket around you tighter. He said he is strong, so why not let him prove it? You weren't heavy after all, but you were too lazy to get your ass up.

"Hmm" Neteyam smirked, you were right. You were daring him to come take you by force. You didn't know what you had just started. He pushed himself off the bed and then walked towards the sofa. He crouched down and got on the level with you, his eyes looking at you and his body almost bigger than the sofa itself.

"You dare me to take you by force, do you?"

"Are you deaf?"

"Alright, that was a dumb question." he let out another laugh as he stood up, he looked at the small woman's frame and smiled at the challenge, it was gonna be fun. He walked towards you and suddenly wrapped his arms around your small frame, he squeezed you tightly and lifted you up in one go, "There, I took you by force, happy?" he smirked.

"Very. Now get me to bed." you playfully commanded. His grip was suffocating but you couldn't blame him. He maybe didn't notice how strong he was.

Neteyam smirked, he could feel how strong his grip was and how you barely had enough breath to speak the words. "You are really asking me to get you to bed?" he laughed, before walking towards the room and getting on the bed with you, he then placed you gently beside him and he looked at you, he enjoyed the way you were breathing heavily now. "Happy? I took you by force and brought you to bed, I think that deserves some sort of reward, don't you think?"

"And what do you want?" you sighed. You already knew what he desired for but you wanted to hear him beg for it.

"Do I have to be so direct? You should know what I want," Neteyam smirked, he leaned next to you and he spoke softly, right next to your ear, "I want a kiss" he looked into your eyes, his bright yellow ones flashing with desire.

"You won't get one." you said so casually that it actually hurt him, but just for a moment. Neteyam liked when you played hard to get.

"What if I take it?" he whispered in your ear, his breath hot and his body heat making it even hotter, his eyes never leaving yours and his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you close to him.

"You can't force your soon-to-be-wife like that. You'll scare her away." you mocked him, your eyes flashing with amusement. You liked how easily you could turn him into a begging mess without him even knowing.

"Hmm, that may be true, but my instincts are telling me to do this anyway" He leaned closer to you, his body heating you up with every inch he moved closer and closer. Then, he stopped and he whispered, "Are you sure I can't force you?"

"It won't be enjoyable." you explained, your breath getting heavier. You thought he was just messing around but he did want a kiss. Now it was your turn to get shy. You didn't want to kiss him. No. You wanted to get rid of him...then why did the thought of kissing him trigger something inside you?

"Oh but it will be." Neteyam smirked, then he grabbed you by the waist again and pulled you even closer to him. His breath was hot on your neck and his hands slid around your body, one on your side the other on your stomach. He leaned in even more, his big body pressed firmly against yours. "Tell me how much you hate this" he whispered into your ear, his face so close to yours, he could see every detail of your features.

You could feel his hot breath against your skin and how wet he made you. His deep, raspy voice made you want to clench your thighs together but couldn't, due to him having his leg in between yours. He wanted to kiss you, to crush his lips against yours but you didn't want to...

Did you?

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2af-afterdark · 3 days

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Once a Decade Hobby

Fandom: What in Hell is Bad? Content: Foras & GN!MC (they/them), fluff turns into mild violence, MC is a little unhinged and selfish, Summary: MC asks Foras to teach them his hobby. They throw a tantrum when they don't get their way. A/N: You know what? I love terrible MCs. I love when they are absolute garbage. Long live these bitches! Word Count: 709

“I don't think I'm doing this right,” they say as they turn the thick horn over in their hand. The rough, bark-like exterior has chips and gnashes in it from where the knife had dug too deeply or had slipped out of their control.

They had imagined this would Be more fun than it actually was due to Foras unusually bright smile while widdling.

“The outer layer of horns like those needs to be scrapped off before they can be shaped properly,” Foras reminds them. “It also allows you to see if there are unseen cracks that run through the core or up the sides which could jeopardize the integrity of your sculpture.”

“I know that's what you said, but that doesn't make it any easier.” They look over at the horn that he's carving – a smooth, curved one that's marbled with turquoise and seafoam – and pout. “You didn’t scrape yours off? Can we switch? That one looks more simple.”

Foras looks at them with expressionless eyes. “This one is more difficult due to its shape and the fact that it is thinner and more delicate than usual. I didn't scrape its outer layer because so much of it is damaged. If I tried, I would have very little left to work with. The one you have may seem like more work, but that's because it's healthy and thicker horns are more forgiving if you make mistakes.”

“I can be careful. I promise.”

They're bored though. The horn Foras gave to them to experiment on and fiddle with is black and the shape doesn't inspire any creativity in them. They want something prettier. Something that shimmers. Something that inspires them.

“No. Beginners should work with sturdier materials that are more forgiving to mistakes.”

Foras is the type of devil that seems hard to approach because of his unintentional directness and tactless behavior. They couldn’t even recall how many times he had scared them after suddenly turning visible after following them in secret for an unknown amount of time. But, in this moment, he seems like a completely different devil. His passion makes him act like someone else.

They stare at him while he carefully works the sharp edge of his knife across the supposedly delicate horn. Each stroke releases a small sliver of the outermost, seafoam-speckled layer. Each shaving gathers as little curls in a messy pile in hip lap. They are beautiful flakes, like glitter under the light.

They place the rough horn with small notches down on the ground beside where they sit, having lost all interest in it. They stand with their knife in hand. Slowly, they take a step closer to where Foras sits, working on his once-in-a-blue-moon hobby. They sneak around behind him to watch him from the back. His eyes, that would normally be carefully watching every moving object in the room, flicking back and forth so quickly that they would almost appear to be staring straight forward. For once, he is so engrossed in a singular task that he isn’t watching the rest of the world as if it’s a play being put on around him.

Foras is cute when he’s passionate.

So cute that they can’t help but wrap their fist around his beautiful, shimmering horn and yank his head back.

“If you won’t share that one, I'll take this one instead.”

A coy smile creeps across their face as they lean in close, forcing Foras to look at them the way he usually did. They run the flat of their tongue from the base of his horn all the way to the tip, smirking at the sound of his surprise and arousal.

If the horn in his hand sparkled like glitter, then his own horn

“Yours looks healthy, so I can have it… right? Like you said, an amateur like me needs something sturdy so I can make lots and lots of mistakes. We can even start from the top.” They pull away, replacing their tongue with the edge of the knife they are still carrying. “Teach me how to saw this off. I'm feeling inspired to make something.”

Foras will look lovely with a collar made from his own horn snapped tighter around his throat than even Leviathan’s noose.

#2af writes #what in hell is bad #whb foras #gender neutral fic #cw violence

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dodorimo · 2 days

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WIP Wednesday Saturday

Stripper!Tav x Raphael

Just a piece of something that's been in my drafts since forever

· · ────── ❊ ────── · ·

People who don’t know any better think her strength lies in the art of seduction, but she believes it’s in the way she can read people at first glance. Whether it was the twitching of a finger or a sharp intake of breath, no sign was small enough to escape her trained eyes.

The man sitting at the front-row table would rather be anywhere else. Glancing at his watch discreetly, eyes glazed over with boredom. Tav has seen plenty of men like this come and go. Men who were pressured into coming to their club by their peers, out of a sense of obligation or just to keep up appearances, there’s no way of knowing for certain.

He’s handsome, in a timeless, elegant way. The kind you see in black-and-white movies. Chestnut-brown hair slicked back, sharp cheekbones and a mouth that promised to curl into the most sinful of smiles. In his late forties or fifties.

Two other men sit at his table, both younger and more enthusiastic, if the way their eyes almost pop out of their sockets as they look at her is anything to go by. She doesn’t spare them a second glance.

Of course, Tav knows she’s being partial. In her experience, older men are more likely to keep their hands to themselves and leave generous tips.

A part of her resents the fact that he isn't looking at her, craves his undivided attention. But then again, her show has just started.

“That girl looks like a good lay,” says one of the men in the front row, loud enough for her to hear even over the blaring music.

“The one with the awful dye job?”

Excuse her…? Her hair color is as natural as it can get, thank you very much.

“Nah, that one is a real blond.”

“I’ll only believe if I see it for myself,” the man says as his eyes run down her body in a way that leaves little doubt as to his meaning.

Fuck her this, fuck her that. Enough of these two jerks. She heard worse and with much more color. If her handsome stranger kept such rude company around him, maybe she isn’t so keen on getting to know him after all.

She often pictures someone while she dances—a prince from a faraway land, a movie star, a stern-looking madam. It gave her performance an extra edge, made it just a little more captivating. This time, however, she doesn’t need to superimpose her imagination on a poor bystander, she locks eyes with her mysterious stranger and gives everything she has.

It doesn't take long for her to lose herself in the carnal energy of the place, in the heavy beat of the music, in the pungent smell of smoke and sweat, until everything around her is a blur. It reminds her why she does this, why she dances.

The music stops and she slides down the pole, body aching and sweaty, a satisfied smile on her face. The men stare at her, lust written in their gazes, but she only cares about one set of eyes. At the front-row table, her handsome stranger is looking straight at her.

Not just looking at her. Devouring her is a better way of putting it, as if she were a fresh-from-the-oven—and entirely too irresistible—canapé being served at his table. She was right earlier: he does look good when he smiles. Although she had underestimated the wolfish nature of it, the way his eyes sparkled with newfound interest.

The moment is short-lived. A small crowd has gathered at the edge of the stage, pulling her from her musings. Her audience expects her to put on a show and she doesn’t intend to disappoint.

Her lacy garters are overflowing with cash by the time she’s done, some falling to the floor where she stands.

A flash of brown hair. Her heart beats faster.

“You were magnificent, my dear. Truly a sight to behold.” Lorroakan, one of her regulars, blocks her view of the crowd. Tav looks past him, but the seats at the front-row table are empty. “You must let me show you my full appreciation later.”

There is little to be said about the man, other than the fact that being around him was an exercise in endurance. Forcing a smile, Tav crawls to him on all fours on the stage. Lorroakan may be an insufferable bastard, but he had money to burn.

The fabric of her jeans shorts grazes the cold floor as she arches her back to be at eye level with him. Her outfit today is that of a naughty country girl, with a sleeveless white shirt wrapped around her midriff and stockings that went up to her knees. A little too plain for her tastes, but she knows better than to say no to Shadowheart (the flush that took over the woman’s face when she put on the outfit more than made up for her troubles, though).

“I’ll take your appreciation in the form of your tips.” Holding the ginger’s gaze, she splays her palms over her breasts and squeezes them together.

It is almost comical, the way he automatically reaches into his pockets and places the money in her cleavage, like a toy that was put to work, his eyes wide open and mouth ajar.

What happens next is a little more unclear. Lorroakan goes back to his seat—or is pushed, he doesn’t seem to have noticed either way—and someone else takes his spot.

#my writing #wip #4k and i'm not sure if i'm going to finish

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princess-leaorgana · 3 days

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What Tieflings Do Chpt. 3

Summary: After the takedown of The Absolute, Zelphie finds her city in need of more help and her home destroyed. She won't stop helping, but who can help her?

Rolan x Tav (Zelphie; ~30y.o AFAB, Sorcerer, Tiefling, not really described physically on purpose <3)

M/F

Author's Note: I fucking love tielfings. Along with this being a budding romance/smut/fluff/word vomit fanfiction, it's also my case study in DnD 5e tieflings, how they act, what sets them apart from humans and devils and elves. That being said, I have a few artistic liberties in here as well where I couldn't find a straight answer, if you'll amuse me.

Warnings - Spoilers for Baldur's Gate 3, alcohol consumption. This bad Larry is another fluff. Don't worry! Also, if you catch the easter egg in this one I'll give you one lil forehead smooch.

Chapter One Chapter Two

One tenday spent in the luxurious wizard’s tower in Baldur’s Gate. The shop was still a little chaotic, but it was open for business and Rolan was hiring out for help. He had Cal and Lia and Zelphie, of course, but Cal and Lia and Zelphie were not learned spellcasters. Zelphie had the best understanding of the Weave, but she couldn’t understand conjuring the Weave manually. Rolan would attempt to spend time with her, teaching her how to read scrolls and tomes, but she was absolutely useless. And during their private lessons, Zelphie was usually very distracted with her strongly budding feelings for her teacher. That absolutely destroyed her concentration. Nothing had yet happened down that road, and it had almost been too long for Zelphie to feel comfortable bringing it up. She left the siblings that day to head out into the city. She had a few things to sell and was in the market for a redecoration for her room. Larroakan’s taste was high class but cold and dark. The room was beautiful, but it needed more love. She hadn’t done anything about it until then as she still had a gnawing feeling in the back of her mind that she wasn’t to stay with the siblings. She would get an occupation of her own and allow the family to be one again. It didn’t seem like that was going to happen. Lia would scold her if she ever brought it up.

Old potions and elixirs and small trinkets she had picked up on the road were sold quickly for decent coin. Anything she had that was impressive she donated to Sorcerer’s Sundries to either use or sell. Rolan fought with her on that, but she insisted it being a complimentary rent for now. Rolan still fought with her.

The streets were still a mess, but a livable one. People were back to life a little. It wasn’t normal, but it wasn’t apocalyptic. After a decent amount of shopping and many compliments from people who recognized her on the street, she headed for some lunch. She hadn’t seen any of the other tieflings since the battle, and she was very ready to see some happy and familiar faces. Lakrissa, an absolute menace of a thief, had gotten a job at The Elfsong Tavern, the nicest spot in the whole city for a pint and relaxation. Zelphie was very excited to see if her friend was there today, and if she had time for a drink. Walking past two hired hands at the entrance, she was met with the most people she had seen at the tavern. Good, she didn’t want any more compliments, she just wanted to be a normal patron. As she made her way to the bar, to order from the barkeeper, Alan, Zelphie stopped as she heard her name shouted.

‘Zelphie! The beautiful hellspawn who saved Baldur’s Gate!’ Lakrissa, the little shit. Zelphie’s nose scrunched as attention in the tavern fell on her. She turned her head to see Lakrissa sitting on a patron’s lap of all places and she was looking right at her, her arm raised in the air. Zelphie got a cheer and shook her head, staring at Lakrissa. ‘The person who buys our hero her first round wins also buying a round for me!’ She announced to roaring laughter. Lakrissa hopped off her perch and walked over to Zelphie. ‘There you are, hero,’ she said and Zelphie sighed.

‘Here I am, thank you for the announcement, pity, you used to be my favorite,’ she said and took an empty seat at the bar. Lakrissa laughed at her. Alan walked over with a glass full of ice and an amber liquid. ‘Hello Alan,’ she greeted the bartender and she gave her a charming smile.

‘Where’ve you been then? I need you to find me that Minsc fellow. Rented a room here after you all left and started fighting for coin in there. He owes me,’ he said and Zelphie laughed.

‘I wish I could say I bear responsibility for Minsc, but I’ll do my best to settle his debt,’ she said and smirked.

‘So, how IS your favorite, hm? Heard you got a room at the wizard’s tower,’ Lakrissa said, sitting next to Zelphie. Zelphie turned back to Lakrissa.

‘I got very lucky, Lia caught me while I was wandering the streets like a tom cat. I could barely stand. My place was absolutely decimated, I’m surprised the tavern is still around,’ she said and took a sip of her drink. Rum. She hissed and looked up at Alan. ‘It’s barely after breakfast,’ she said and Alan just grinned.

‘You are very welcome,’ he said and walked off to help another patron.

‘Come on, tell me, tell me,’ Lakrissa said and shook Zelphie’s leg. She took another sip and laughed.

‘What is there to tell? It’s not like before I wasn’t constantly on the move. I have a big beautiful comfortable bed to sleep in with a roof over my head. I get fed three times a day AND I’m bathing every day. I am living the high life,’ she said and Lakrissa shook her head.

‘Yes, that big beautiful bed, whose is it?’ She asked, leaning in. Zelphie leaned in with her, smirking.

‘Mine,’ she answered and Larkissa scoffed.

‘Either you’re a tease or Cal is a liar,’ she said, straightening up. Zelphie knew what Lakrissa was getting at, if involved Cal. Although nothing had really happened between her and Rolan and she would have liked for something to have happened, Cal was not being subtle at home about trying to get the two closer. She would have loved to be closer to Rolan, of course she would have, but she wouldn’t allow her new home to be ruined by those feelings. She would rather have good friends than anything.

‘Cal is a liar, but who said I’m not a tease?’ Zelphie said and Lakrissa laughed.

‘Oh, there she is. Gods I’m glad you are alright,’ she said and Zelphie smiled at her.

‘The feeling mutual,’ she said softly. The rum was getting to her quicker than she would have liked. ‘How is Alfira?’ She asked and Lakrissa smiled.

‘She’s perfectly fine, a little set back with her big plans, what with the total destruction of the city, your fault,’ she said and Zelphie nodded and laughed.

The two caught up and Zelphie was given a second drink and was quickly feeling silly. Lakrissa was forced to end her little break and Zelphie left the tavern, hungry and drunk. She walked very slowly back to the tower. On her way back, a little gray kitten began to follow her home. Zelphie swayed when she knelt down to pick up the little sweet thing.

‘Oh hello you little fella,’ she said and lifted the kitten in her arms. ‘You must be starving, come let’s fill that belly of yours,’ she said, deciding in her drunken state that she would adopt this little kitten. It clung to her with its little claws and Zelphie cooed down at it. ‘Oh aren’t you sweet?’ She said and rubbed the kitten’s chin. She continued to walk to Sorcerer’s Sundries and she moved out of the way of a very upset looking half-orc. She stumbled into the shop happily, her eyes and all attention still on the kitten.

‘There you are, I almost sent a search party out for you,’ Rolan called from the counter and walked over to her happily.

‘Look what I found Rolan!’ She cried happily and held the kitten up. Rolan’s happy face turned to concern as he looked at the little kitten in Zelphie’s hand. ‘He followed me home, isn’t he sweet?’ She asked and Rolan sighed at her, giving the sweet little kitten a pet.

‘Have you been drinking?’ He asked her, not ready to entertain the topic of the kitten until he squared away why her eyes were so sleepy looking and why she was swaying a little.

‘Yes, Lakrissa made me, but I guess she didn’t really because I did it anyway,’ she said with a snicker. ‘Only two rum drinks, but you know me, cheap date,’ she said and giggled and Rolan smirked a little.

‘I don’t know that about you, in fact,’ he said and she giggled.

‘Yes, because you’ve never taken me on a date,’ she said and poked him in the chest. She was plastered.

‘Alright, alright, up to bed with you, come now,’ he said, escorting her upstairs.

‘I said I was a cheap date, not an easy one,’ she said and barked out a laugh. She leaned on Rolan and held the little kitten close to her. Rolan burned red, but would ignore her. He wrapped an arm around her to keep her upright. She was loving that sensation. She was aware that she was drunk, and as obnoxious as she was, she wouldn’t make him angry. ‘Is it okay that I have a kitten? A little familiar? I can’t have a real one you see, I didn’t go to school,’ she rambled.

‘You’re fine, I’m sure with everything you’ve accomplished a cute kitten wouldn’t be much of a leap in responsibilities.’ He said and Zelphie giggled.

‘You do think he’s cute? Oh good. I always knew you were a cat person. All good people love cats. The real good ones, because dogs are all lovely and good but dogs love you unconditionally. Cats, cats are as smart as people and are choosy, so I say anyone who can get along with a cat is a good person,’ she rambled on and hiccuped. She felt his thumb rub her arm and the warmth and comfort of his touch led her tail to curl around his.

‘Yes, I do think he’s cute,’ Rolan said simply. Zelphie's attention went back to the kitten, who was very happy to be held. Zelphie scratched the little one under his chin. He was a perfectly gray cat with a small tuft of white on his chest. He was going to need a bath.

‘We are going to get you all cleaned up my little one, and we’ll feed your hungry little belly,’ she cooed and stroked the top of the kitten’s head. ‘How has the shop been today, and who was that lady who was leaving the shop so angry when I came in?’ She asked Rolan.

‘Oh, I’m very glad you’ve been off today, the amount of disappointing interviews I’ve had today…’ he said, tutting. He was much more comfortable talking about this sort of thing, others bothering him. ‘The last one, she claimed to be a cleric of Helm. More like a Paladin of Cyric the way she bumbled about. She couldn’t even bring a desert plant back to life. I’m not looking for a prodigy, but if your god doesn’t give you gifts, there is nothing I can do for you,’ he said and chuckled. Zelphie shook her head, Rolan was lying. He would only want the best in his shop. Perfection at the bare minimum. ‘We did find a budding wizard. She’s a bit under motivated, but I’m sure with my teachings she will flourish in no time,’ he told her and Zelphie put on a little pout.

‘Ah, so our lessons are all over? You’ve given up on me?’ She asked him and he looked down at her and laughed at her silly face.

‘Not even a little. I’m going to get you to master prestidigitation one of these days, I promise,’ he told her and she smiled. She hummed and looked back down at the kitten.

‘I’m jealous of your new apprentice, you’re a wonderful teacher,’ she said and Rolan sighed down at her.

‘Oh, do not be jealous. If she doesn’t perform, she’s out. You on the other hand, I’m too stubborn to let you quit,’ he told her and she smiled to herself. Was she jealous of this person she’d never met? A little. Would she keep up whining at Rolan? No. Did she want to? Yes. The pair got to Zelphie’s bedroom and Zelphie walked in, placing the little kitten on her bed.

‘Now, that’s nicer than the streets, isn’t it?’ She asked the little kitten.

‘Did you want help with him? He certainly needs a bath, I’m not even a fan of him being on the bed,’ Rolan said and scooped the kitten back up. Rolan did like cats, which was great for him; the streets of Baldur’s Gate were littered with them. The kitten took to him quickly, purring and rubbed his face hard against Rolan’s hand. Zelphie giggled and removed her bag and outer jacket.

‘I would love some help. And it looks like he loves you Rolan,’ she said and walked over to the pair. ‘Did you have cats growing up?’ She asked and Rolan nodded.

‘Yes, a lot of cats. Mother spoiled me a lot. She called me sensitive. I used to hate it when she referred to me like that. Like I was weak, but I know now what she meant by it,’ he said, still enjoying petting the kitten. ‘She meant that I was sensitive to others. Those smaller or weaker than myself. When someone needed my help,’ he continued and Zelphie’s smile grew.

‘Like me,’ she said softly and Rolan nodded.

‘Yes, you have the exact same instinct as me. You understand people who need help,’ he said and Zelphie shook her head.

‘No, no, I mean, I’m one of those people who needed your help and you gave it so freely,’ she said and walked closer, reaching out to pet the kitten. Rolan looked down at her and raised an eyebrow.

‘It was a privilege to help you, Zelphie. I finally had a way to pay you back for everything you have done for me. And my family,’ he told her honestly. She looked up at him and chewed on her bottom lip a little.

‘And when will this help run out?’ She asked him softly and he raised his eyebrows.

‘I don’t know…’ he whispered after a moment. ‘But when it does, I ask you to help me out once more by continuing to stay here. Because you being here, it’s more…a selfish want than a payback,’ he admitted and Zelphie’s eyes grew. There was another little silent moment and then Rolan looked back down at the kitten. ‘So,’ he cleared his throat and Zelphie’s eyes fluttered a little. She had been lost, sweet words from Rolan and two glasses of straight rum were an easy recipe for a mindless Zelphie. ‘Shall we start with his bath in the sink? You can’t get their ears wet, I think we’ll have better control of that in the sink than the bath,’ he told her and she sobered a little and nodded.

‘Oh, yes, yes, that’s a good idea,’ she said and the two walked to the bathroom together. She turned in the tap and walked to her bath for soap to use on the poor little kitten. She grabbed two towels as well, one for the inevitable mess and the other for the kitten. Rolan tested the water and held the kitten under the water, holding his scruff. The kitten immediately wiggled and cried. ‘Oh, no no, it’s okay, it’s okay little one, you’ll feel so much better,’ Zelphie cooed and helped get the kitten wet quickly and lathered up some soap. Rolan used his free hand to stop the kitten from swatting Zelphie. He was getting a few cuts, but was about as stubborn as the kitten was. The bath was very quick. The vermin and dirt and whatever else was in the little guy was removed and Zelphie scooped him into a towel, wrapping him tight. He kept crying. ‘Now now now, this is better, hm? Nice and warm, oh lucky you,’ she said and walked out of the bathroom, cradling the cat. ‘You can watch me take a bath later, you’ll see it’s not so bad,’ she continued to talk and Rolan walked out with her. ‘Thank you so much for helping. That would have been a fiasco if I had tried it alone,’ she said and Rolan grinned.

‘You did most of the hard work,’ he said and she shook her head.

‘Let me see your hand, cat scratches are awful things,’ she said and he gave her his hand with a little hesitation. She reached out and lifted his hand up, closing her eyes. ‘Te Curo,’ she whispered easily and with a cool blue flash of light, the scratches were gone from his hand as was the growing itching sensation he was getting from the cuts.

‘Well, thank you,’ he said softly and Zelphie smiled up at him.

The pair helped the kitten get as dry as possible and Rolan led Zelphie to the sitting room so the kitten could be in front of a fireplace. Zelphie began a fire as Rolan sat on the floor and let the kitten out of his towel wrapping. The kitten took his freedom happily and shook his body of water and took to licking the rest off.

‘I’m glad it’s still light out, he’ll be dry in no time,’ Zelphie said and sat down next to Rolan.

‘He’s a lucky little thing, finding you of all people,’ he said and looked down at Zelphie who smiled. She felt her own tail curl up happily. She scooted closer to Rolan and with all the liquid courage she had left in her system, she leaned against him gently and looked over at the kitten, who was fervently grooming himself. Rolan froze a little, the feeling of her body against his. She had leaned on him earlier because she was drunk. She was still drunk, wasn’t she? ‘H-how are you feeling?’ He asked her softly and she smiled.

‘I’m perfect,’ she said, meaning it. Was there a little rum floating in her head? A little. Enough to be a little sleepy and a little bold. But not enough to ruin her senses. The screams of a kitten in a bath had sobered her up considerably. But besides that, she was sitting in front of a fire, very close to a person she trusted and adored. Watching a kitten groom himself. She had no complaints. There was another moment of silence before Rolan’s arm coiled around her waist, holding her a little closer. Zelphie’s heart did flips in her chest and her tail found his quickly. She felt Rolan’s lips in her temple before he spoke.

‘Yes you are,’ he whispered and Zelphie felt the warm rush again. This time, she wouldn’t let it hang. She turned her head to look at him properly. He was looking right down at her, his yellow glowing eyes, his strong and sharp features. Zelphie wouldn’t remember who moved first or who moved the most. She just knew that both of them had and the pair kissed. Simple as that. Had it been too soon? Had it taken too long for such a simple, lovely little thing? It didn’t matter, it was happening, and Zelphie felt every spark of electricity in her body zap her skin. She refused to break this kiss. She had been wanting to kiss Rolan for a very long time. She felt his hand on her cheek and then the absence of his lips. He placed his forehead on hers. ‘Was that alright?’ He whispered softly and she nodded, a little speechless. He was more than alright, he was everything. She reached up again, needing to be back in their first kiss. A first kiss for lovers, what a dream. He kissed her back and she gave way to a grateful sigh. She felt his fangs against her lips, she could taste him. Her heart was beating terribly quickly.

‘How long have you been hoping to do that?’ She asked him softly, their foreheads and noses still connected. She was no longer drunk from the rum, but drunk from something else entirely. He grinned and nuzzled down against her.

‘A while…a long while,’ he admitted. She giggled in response. ‘Please tell me you’ve felt the same.’

‘Yes, if only you hadn’t hated me so much,’ she said and he laughed.

‘I did hate you, though, I’ve always been a supporter of the fact that hate and love are not mutually exclusive,’ he told her and her heartbeat quickly. He didn’t mean what he just said, of course. He couldn’t have. Love her? Love her. Not like that, certainly. ‘Because I do, I do love you, I cherish you. And I’m a fool for trying to hide it. I only wanted to make you comfortable around me, I…but everyone is so quick to poke and prod at my feelings for you, I wasn’t very good at hiding them,’ he told her. She felt his thumb rub her cheek gently. She could have melted into a puddle.

‘It shows you have respect for me, but you’ve made me comfortable Rolan. I trust you. I-‘ she said quickly and chewed on her cheek. ‘I love you too.’ She finished and looked into his eyes. He was as close as another person could be. She giggled again and he leaned down to kiss her again. Love. Real, trusting and respecting love. She’d never had that before. Love was more than kisses in front of a fireplace, love was bonding, understanding, trusting, wanting, caring. She would count what she and Rolan shared as love. But like lovers, they had that one more inch of feeling. For did she not love Lia and Cal? Yes. Did she love Jaheira and Gale and Shadowheart and Karlach and Wyll? Yes. Rolan was a different love, with that extra special something that made her stomach flip. He was handsome, he had a velvety low voice. He was commanding and mighty stubborn. Zelphie was attracted to him and it was clear, in the very least, that Rolan was also attracted to her. It was very nice to feel him want her. His hand holding her cheek, the other holding her side, holding her close. Possession. She felt fiery. She was all his. She placed a hand on his thigh and she heard him sigh out. She didn’t want to start anything else, but she did want to touch him.

‘Too, too long. You were right. Wizards are stubborn,’ he said and she laughed. ‘I should have done that ages ago, though…I don’t know if it’s stubbornness or the fear that…I was wrong about how you might have felt about me,’ he continued and Zelphie just kept smiling.

‘I’m glad for your new bravery,’ she whispered softly and Rolan took a minute and spoke again.

‘This isn’t all because you’ve been drinking, is it?’ He asked, clearly nervous about asking that. His voice quivered a bit and he was quick with his words.

‘No, but that’s a very kind question. No, listening to him screaming was enough to sober me up,’ she said and glanced at the kitten, who was still quickly attempting to lick himself dry. She laughed at the sweet sight and looked back at Rolan. ‘Like I said, I’ve been feeling a special way about you for a long while now, Rolan. Since the party, actually, back at our camp…’ she said and Rolan’s eyes widened. She laughed again. ‘Well, you were happy and a little silly, it was a very nice side of you to see,’ she said and Rolan’s smile widened.

‘Well, I can’t blame you then,’ he said playfully, Zelphie laughed lightly. ‘But…silly? Mmmm not my favorite word,’ he said and Zelphie laughed.

‘Then don’t act silly when you’ve had too much wine,’ she told him and he chuckled. ‘But you know, I feel very lucky to see a more relaxed side of you,’ she explained and Rolan nodded.

‘If you see me relaxed it's only because of how you make me feel, my dear,’ he told her and she smirked. My dear. It wasn’t the first time he had called her that. It was very sweet, maybe a little too innocent and careful, but too careful was better than too strong.

‘Now that is the best compliment I think anyone has ever paid me,’ she said and he laughed.

‘I don’t believe you, but I’m going to pretend you’re telling the truth,’ he told her and glanced at the kitten. Still going at himself. Poor little thing. ‘What shall we name him then?’ He asked and Zelphie looked at the kitten.

‘Surely Rolan Junior,’ she said and Rolan barked a laugh.

‘No, gods no, please do not call it that,’ he said and Zelphie hummed a laugh. He looked down at her and shook his head. ‘No, I know that look, I forbid it, both you and the kitten will be street urchins again,’ he told her and she laughed. She leaned over and scooped up the kitten who grumbled a little and went back to his grooming.

‘He is as stubborn as you, it appears,’ she said and Rolan smirked.

‘Hush you,’ he said softly and kissed her temple. She leaned back on him. This was very nice.

‘Ronald,’ she said and he laughed.

‘Please don’t,’ he said, his lips still her hair.

‘Rolanda,’ she added.

‘Zelphie.’

Silence passed between the two of them, Zelphie thinking and enjoying the moment, Rolan’s face buried in her hair. What was he thinking about, she wondered. Was he as happy as she was? She hoped he was, for she was very very happy. She continued to think about a good name for the kitten, no more teasing Rolan. After a moment she gasped.

‘What?’ He asked her, as if she had woken him up.

‘Elminster,’ she said and he laughed loudly and looked down at the kitten.

‘That is the most offensive way to honor Mystra’s chosen,’ he said and she grinned and rubbed the top of the kitten’s head. The poor thing was only concerned with drying himself off. Rolan sat up straighter and held his hands near the kitten, his hands beginning to burn hot. They stayed still together and very quickly the cat dried up. Zelphie looked up at Rolan and smiled.

‘Thank you,’ she said and Rolan smiled.

‘Lajy,’ he said simply. Zelphie blinked at him. Lajy was Infernal, Infernal for love. ‘I used love just then to conjure that heat. We should name him Lajy.’ He used love to dry off the kitten, wizards had to use emotions and memories to call upon The Weave, and Rolan has just used love to burn his hands enough. She smiled up at him, feeling as warm and as comfortable as she could be. She leaned back on him and his grip got tighter on her. He held her while she held the little cat.

‘Lajy,’ she repeated and stroked the kitten’s newly cleaned fur. He felt Rolan leaning against her temple again, their horns clinking a bit. Rolan’s horns were incredibly graceful, almost economical in their shape. They were large, but they swept back and up, out of the way. Zelphie’s were less economical. They went up and out. She found it very difficult to lay on her side at night, and with Rolan so close, she wouldn’t move, as if she did, she might take his eye out. They found a perfect position and the nice peaceful moment was only interrupted by the sound of a hungry belly. Rolan would blame it on Lajy.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 rolan #rolan x tav #holy rolan empire #rolan bg3

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