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farfromstrange · 9 months

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Just Let Me Love You | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (f!Reader heavily implied)

Summary: You're struggling with your body image and Matt notices

Warnings: Angst, TW: allusions to an ED, self-deprecating talk (Reader has internalized fatphobia toward herself), not proof red (I was too emotional for that)

Word Count: 2.1k

A/n: So, my body is changing and I hate it. As someone who was the Fat Funny Friend growing up, I got inspired by the song. Now I wasn't sure if to tag for a plus-sized reader because when I wrote this, I had myself in mind, and I'm not even sure what "category" I fall into, so this is pretty universal and I think any of you who are struggling with body dysmorphia might appreciate this. Heed the warnings before proceeding and don't forget to eat if you haven't already! (Also, I used my tag list to tag for this, but don't read it if this triggers you, please!)

Our brains are wired to function in a certain way. But not every brain is balanced in chemistry.

For the longest time, she thought there was something seriously wrong with her. She never fit in anywhere, so she tried to make herself fit. Change her attitude, change her behavior, change her hobbies, and change the way she looks. She did it so many times, she lost count.

She relied on humor, telling funny little anecdotes to make whatever friend group she was a part of at the time laugh at her. But that was all she could do. Make them laugh. She lit up the mood, lit up the room, but she seemingly never lit up anyone’s heart the way her friends did.

They talked about their relationships, talked about their families and friends, and she played along. She listened. When she talked about her likes, they pretended to care, but within minutes, they lost interest. She thought it just wasn’t that important. Not as important as how beautiful they all were, anyway. And they were striking, she thought. That’s why everyone always chose them and never approached her. But she swallowed it to at least be a part of something.

She always helped everyone but herself. She was there when no one else was, but even when she was a part of something, she never fully fit in. There was an impossible standard looming over her head, and she couldn’t possibly reach it.

Don’t be too loud. Don’t be too silly. Don’t say no. Don’t talk about your problems, only listen to everyone else’s. Don’t believe that he wants you because he is too good for you, and all he wants is your best friend who is ten times prettier than you. And don’t believe that personality and humor will get you anywhere; you will end up miserably alone the same way people who look like you always will.

The same voice, over and over again. Word turning into knives. It was exhausting to fight against the demons within her because they just sounded so damn convincing.

When she met him, the man who stole her heart, she never thought he would ask her out. When he did, she was dumbfounded. In every possible situation, he found himself assuring her that he wouldn’t drop her for the pretty blonde in the office, or his psychotic ex-girlfriend who just happened to have the most beautiful body known to man. To her, at least. Everyone around him was just so beautiful, and he was even more so–he was the prettiest specimen in the world, and everyone desired him. Of course, she grew insecure. She couldn’t help it. It was a reflex.

She fell in love with a man who finally saw her for who she was and he loved her despite—no, he loved her regardless. For who she was. He took her, accepted her, and began seeing her as the most beautiful person in the world. For the first time, she felt appreciated, loved, and not so miserably alone.

Yet, the fear continued to linger. The fear that one day, he would notice that perhaps, a woman of average looks wouldn’t be enough for him anymore. That she was, indeed, as unconventionally unattractive as everyone said she was from the first day she actually understood what was being said to her. She was just a child then.

The funny friend. The awkward friend. The weird one. The girl without real friends. The girl with the silly clothes, the silly smile, the slightly crooked teeth, the belly pouch… The girl who lost weight, the girl who gained weight, and the girl who shouldn’t be so proud of herself because she had nothing to be proud of.

“Sweetheart?” he asked her, yanking her out of the downward spiral that only continued to get worse over time. “Did you have anything to eat yet?”

He stood in the kitchen, the sleeves of his dress shirt bunched around his elbow. It was hot outside, too hot for her liking, and even his clothes were slightly stained with sweat.

She looked up from the couch, still wrapped up in a blanket despite the high temperatures, a book resting on her thighs. He met her eyes with a smile.

“I noticed your leftovers are still in the fridge. Could smell them,” he clarified. “I was just wondering whether that was on purpose or not.”

Worrying fit it better, she thought to herself. He always worried too much.

She closed her book. “I might’ve forgotten,” she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

His eyebrows furrowed. “You forgot?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but it never reached his eyes.

“Yeah. I probably got too caught up reading or something. It’s no big deal. I’ll eat later. Or drink another latte.”

He hummed. “You know, iced coffee is not considered a healthy diet. Your body needs fuel.”

“Jesus Christ, Matt,” she raised her voice, “I’m okay!”

“You don’t look okay,” he stated as a matter of fact.

“And how would you know?”

“I just do.”

He approached, his muscles straining against his shirt. It wasn’t fair, how good he looked. How well he carried himself. And he still had the audacity to look at her and tell her she had much more going for herself than just her humor. That she was beautiful. Pretty enough.

“Hey,” Matt lowered himself on the couch beside her, “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, huh?”

“I forgot to eat, I told you,” she said.

“I don’t believe you.”

“But it’s the truth.”

“Not if you did it on purpose.”

The book landed on the coffee table and she got up, pacing the small space of their shared apartment in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen. He could hear her heartbeat pounding against her ribcage, the pent-up tears, and the tension, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out. But he waited. He gave her the space she needed to collect her thoughts.

“I forgot,” she repeated. “At first. And then I just happened to pass by a mirror and…and I looked at myself. I mean, really looked at myself.”

“Oh–” He sighed. “Baby…”

“I’m smaller when my stomach is empty, you know. And I thought it wouldn’t hurt me to, uh…cut back a little?”

He was about to respond, but she cut him off. “I don’t mean that I’m starving myself. I just…I forgot to eat, and then, when I remembered, I remembered what I saw and I was just…I’m not hungry anymore. I…I don’t think it’s a big deal. I’m not doing it on purpose, I’m just…”

She stopped pacing. She met his unfocused hazel eyes that held so much pain when he looked at her. He reached out, not saying a word, and she extended her shaky fingers toward the lifeline he was throwing.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. She realized then why he looked so hurt. “It’s getting bad again, isn’t it?”

The question hung in the room as he pulled her toward himself.

She didn’t protest when he pulled her back onto the couch, his arms engulfing her and pulling her back against his sturdy chest.

“What makes you think that you need to hurt yourself to fit some unrealistic beauty standard?” he asked softly, his voice merely a breath tickling her ear.

She whimpered, not wanting to answer.

“What makes you think that not being healthy is the solution to the way you see yourself? Wouldn’t that just make it worse?”

“I just…” She took a deep breath. “I just… I just want to be enough.”

“But you are enough,” he answered in a heartbeat, placing his hand on her neck and turning her face to him. He missed her face with his gaze, but she could still feel him in every fiber of her being as he sat there and felt her pulse, and she matched her breathing to his.

A tear rolled down her cheek. “You don’t understand what it’s like,” she whispered back. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be only seen as the comedic relief in every relationship you have ever been in while your friends pulled the guys you wanted. Because they never wanted you, and they never saw competition in you either because you were just never the center of anyone’s attention.”

He was silent for a moment. The taste of her tears reached his tongue, and he visibly recoiled at the pain she held inside of her. Matt pulled her closer, holding her a little tighter. She melted.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of leaving her to deal with her thoughts, he placed his lips against her ear again. “You’re the center of my attention,” he said. “Of my world. My universe. And I couldn’t care less about the way you look.”

“That’s because you’re blind,” she shot back, a sob rippling through her body.

He shook his head. “No. Those who reduce you to your looks are blind, and they don’t even deserve you in the first place. What matters most is this–” his large hand found its way onto the left side of her chest, above her heart. “What’s in here is what makes you beautiful, not what covers the outside.”

“But that’s not enough, is it?”

“To me, it is.”

“Not to me, Matthew. Like I said, you don’t get it.”

She struggled against his grip, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Then let me rephrase it,” he tried again, pressing his hand further against her chest. “I care more about who you are inside because I love you. But I don’t need sight to appreciate your physical beauty along with the sound of your heartbeat. Your breathing. Your touch. You know why?”

She shook her head. “Enlighten me.”

“Because I can feel you, sweetheart, and you are the most breathtaking human being I have ever had the pleasure of laying my hands on.”

If words were enough to make a person pass out, this would surely have been her breaking point.

“You mean that?” She turned around, her tears now glistening with a taste of hope.

He brushed them away with his thumb and nodded. “Every last word.”

Her eyes fluttered closed at the ghost of his touch. “I don’t like my body,” the admission came quietly.

In response, Matt nodded. “I know, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. That body deserves to be loved. You deserve to be loved.”

“I feel like…like I don’t deserve you. I don’t want you to leave me for…for Karen.”

The mention of her name caused him to frown. “Karen?” he asked. She nodded. He sighed, forcing her head to his chest, forcing her to listen to his heartbeat the same way he always did to her. “Don’t even think like that,” he told her. “I would never leave you for someone else. For no one, for nothing. I need you to stop assuming that, sweetheart. It’s not true.”

“It feels true,” she cried.

His lips brushed the crown of her head. “But it isn’t.”

“But–”

“I love you,” he said, a bit more insistent this time. “Only you. I would rather die than never be with you again. And I mean that. Bring me the poison and I’ll prove it to you. I’ll get on my knees and worship the ground you walk on if that’ll make you believe me, but I won’t leave you.”

She clung to him, her nails digging into his shirt. Matt shushed her, his fingers brushing through her hair. The rhythm was soothing.

She sobbed until she had nothing left to give. She cried because she knew he was right. She knew she was overthinking, but she was powerless to fight it. He was the only one who could open her eyes, and even then, she more often than not slipped away. She hated it. She hated the way her brain was wired, the things she was taught, and the things she continuously and wrongly kept teaching herself.

Eventually, though, she slacked in his arms.

“I don’t really like myself right now,” she confessed. “But I don’t know how to stop it.”

Matt chuckled softly, his chest rumbling. He tilted her chin up. “Then let me help you,” he said.

“How?” she asked.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a gentle kiss. “Just let me love you.”

Tagging from Matt Murdock Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @ravenclaw617 @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #no y/n #tw: ed #matt murdock imagines #charlie cox

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syoddeye · 2 months

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useless, part three

Part three (and the finale!) of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. As a reminder, I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. I finally used my third prompt.

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years

14. Opposites attract

66. Price or Reader is auctioned off for a date as part of a fundraiser

cw: one pregnancy mention (Reader does not get pregnant, has never been pregnant)

Read Part One, Part Two. Tag list: @v1x3n @kiranezra

~4.2k words, Price x f!Reader. This is the most self-indulgent shit I've written in awhile. Please enjoy.

It's past midnight when you limp through the front door of your flat, dropping belongings and articles of clothing alike, shedding both the weight of personhood and your eighteen-hour day. You set your keys down on the end of the counter, ignoring the thin folder for the umpteenth time. James will undoubtedly text about it in the morning, his patronizing messages more reliable than any alarm clock. A half-hour commute home, and you didn't even glance at your phone in fear of accidentally seeing another email from his lawyer. Solicitor. Whatever.

Hamhock slinks out from his lair beneath the bed, weaving between your ankles when you drag yourself into the bathroom.

"Hello Hammy," You whisper, eyeing the newer crop of gray hairs near your roots with a weary neutrality. Definitely the fundraiser's fault. Your hair started to change long before this year's planning began, but this is the longest period you've gone without dyeing it. One thing to thank James for. Not only did his departure give you a crystal clear focus, it freed you from his ridiculous expectations. He'd've commented the moment he spotted the wisps of silver, then casually worked something like anti-aging cream into the conversation.

The prick poisoned the well, and now the only man in the world for you currently lies at your feet. How it should've been from the start, really.

After checking the orange menace's automatic feeder, you slip into bed, allow him to assume his nocturnal throne—your armpit—and plug your phone in one-handed. Your eyes glaze over at the sight of notifications, thumb swiping by muscle memory, and set an alarm. With two weeks left until the big day and more than a hundred unsold tickets, you need every moment you can get. You sigh, counting the tasks of the day ahead instead of sheep.

You'll sign the divorce papers tomorrow.

Naomi practically forces the granola bar into your hands. The assistant stage manager and the props lead—the younger woman is the glue to your glue. A newer fixture at the Bramble Theatre, she was you to an extent, maybe a decade ago: fresh-faced, eager, and optimistic.

"I didn't like how you were looking at the wax fruit."

"We should swap the oranges for plums. Or pears."

"We've been through this. The oranges fit the palette, from the paintings to Dotty's–oh, quit pulling my leg."

You grin, then jut your chin at the stack of slips in her hand. "Are those the waivers? Did all the volunteers sign?"

"Yes, I can post headshots today on socials, so that should boost sales."

"Good. That's one fire extinguished," Rubbing your temple, you lean back in your chair. "I feel gross about it, though. I mean, we run shows that are hundreds of years old, but a date auction? Why don't we raise a guillotine out front and sacrifice effigies to raise money?"

Naomi blinks and whips out her phone. "...Okay, one, I'm noting the effigy idea for next year, but two, the auction won the vote, and everyone participating volunteered."

You grimace. "I know, it's just–"

The sudden opening of the door to your shoebox office interrupts. Theodore, business manager, director, and occasional movement coach, bursts in. Everybody's a multi-hyphenate.

"Terrible news!"

Wonderful. A new fire. You squint, chewing, and watch Naomi try to stifle a laugh valiantly. "Whatever could this be about?"

The older man slams his palms onto your desk, his layered pendants tinkling. "I've punched the numbers, including a best scenario, stars aligning–"

"Teddy. Out with it."

"–we're going to be £40,000 short. Even if we sell out, even if we raffle off the company like cattle, we are circling the drain!"

The tired amusement leaves your body, and in its wake sits a five-digit number and the distant idea to schedule a salon appointment.

The annual fundraiser for the theater, your hard-won home, is a dramatic, demanding, and near-disastrous event every year. The theater has continuously operated a hair above the red, but the laundry list of expenses from the last year cannot be ignored. The new light rig, the stage flooring replacement, the curtain repairs—they never stop. Sponsors and grants only go so far.

Originally, you took this job for its laughable but slightly higher pay and because running around like a madwoman between four gigs at a time wasn't as thrilling or charmingly bohemian as it was in your twenties. Your livelihood depends on the playhouse's success. And the economy. And the general public's attitude toward the arts. All wildly variable. It made you resourceful, and already, you were composing a mental list of people to politely bully for pledges promised in years past. You need time and a phone charger.

"Teddy," you set the half-eaten granola bar down. "Go get ready for afternoon rehearsal. Naomi, cover for me today?"

"'Course."

Theodore swipes his spindly fingers over his brow, nodding fervently at your resolve. "If anyone can pull it off, it's you. Do tell if there is anything yours truly can do." With a flourish, the director departs your office, but Naomi lingers.

"You know if it's donations we need…"

You shake your head, immediately knowing what she intends to suggest. "Out of the question."

"But think of her–"

"I'd rather debase myself and resort to dinner theatre."

"I'm just saying–"

"Naomi," You stress. "I am not calling my mother."

She frowns. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Are you really so proud you wouldn't leverage your family's connections to save the Bramble?"

It makes you pause. As usual, she's right. Irritatingly so. You could take another salary cut, but you'd need to find a flatshare, a humiliating idea. Hammy wouldn't survive it, the sensitive thing. You sigh and dismiss her with a wave.

"Fine I won't rule it out. But I'm going to shake down half the city first."

An hour later, you've managed to secure a percentage. Not too shabby, but far from the goal. You take a break to read James's team's latest, vaguely threatening missives and entertain the idea of withholding your signature until he makes a donation. What's a little extortion in the name of art?

You know it's wrong to delay this ugly process. How close relief is should you simply sign the papers. But it's another failure, another black spot in your life's ledger. Another dream crushed beneath the boot of reality. With a wave of bitterness, you type out a curt reply, ensuring you will sign the papers and ask them to arrange for a courier tomorrow.

Naomi's suggestion takes advantage of your mind's lethargy, testing the strength of your will and stubbornness. The last time you phoned your mother was months ago, on the anniversary of dad's death. The old man took his last bow five years back, and it destroyed the last bridge between you and your formidable mother. In retirement, she still holds court with major political players stateside…and across the pond.

Before you let your loathing catch up, you pull up her contact card and dial. It's after noon in D.C., the middle of the week. You might get lucky and reach her voice–

"Is everything alright? You're not in the hospital, are you?" Her donnish, sharp voice hurtles you through time and space to your teenage years.

"No," You answer with gritted teeth. A headache waits in the wings. "No, I'm fine, mom."

"Then why are you calling?"

This is why dad handled conversations. You stand, swiftly shutting the door to your office and locking it. "Can't I just call my mom?"

"Of course. Historically, you do not," There's a low murmur of chatter in the background. She's at a luncheon or at the club. "So I assume there is a reason."

Having an ex-ambassador for a mother is a joke. All that practised charm for everyone else in the world, none of it reserved for you. "Okay, yes, there is a reason."

"Thought so. Well, darling, what is it? Is it James? Don't tell me you're pregnant."

You return to your desk and eye the bottle of bourbon on the corner. "No. James and I are divorcing, remember? This is about my work."

There is no acknowledgement of the separation. Instead, your mother pulls the phone away from her mouth, excuses herself from wherever she is, and the background noise dissipates.

"Your work."

"Yes, the Bramble? Look, we're two weeks out from our big annual fundraiser, and–"

"Oh, you need me to write a check." The clicking of her heels halts abruptly, and if you didn't know any better, she wilts. "Fine. How much do you want?"

Your face heats with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "I am not asking for money. If you would stop interrupting me…Ugh, mom, I need help contacting some of your old friends here. If there's anyone you know looking for tax deductions or a pet project to brag about, the Bramble is in a bad spot financially."

In the past, whenever the theatre and, by extension, your chosen profession came up, your mother took the opportunity to lecture. She reminded you of the wasted opportunities she afforded you. She brought up your old schoolmates and their current positions. And most insulting of all, she always, always compared you to a certain soldier. Bracing yourself for her monologuing, you reached for the bottle.

"Why didn't you open with that, darling?"

Your fingers close around empty air, and you nearly pitch out of your seat in surprise. "What?"

"Send me the information. I've been meaning to reconnect with some old friends. When is the fundraiser?"

"In two weeks," You repeat, scrambling to pull up your email on the ancient desktop. "Tickets are–"

"Email it. I'll book my flights today and let you know when I'm getting in."

Your hands hover over the keyboard, and your neck protests the angle it bends to keep your phone lodged between ear and shoulder. "Oh, no, mom, you don't need to come."

"Nonsense. I'll, of course, make my own donation, and as a donor, I ought to see where my money is going."

Christ. For the Bramble, you remind yourself and exhale. "Okay. You do that. Listen, I have to get going…but mom?" It kills you to say it. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome. Oh, this will be so much fun. I haven't visited since before your father. You know, on the topic of reconnecting, I happened get an email from the Prices the other day, and John–"

There it is. You kick into fourth gear, rattling off your exit. "I've really got to run. Thanks again mom, send me your flight info. Love you. Bye!"

You feel like you've run a marathon and dodged a bullet. And yet, as you send the email and file the waivers, your mind snags on your mother's words. On a name. His name. It's not the first time your unhelpful brain's waylaid you with a trip down memory lane. Admittedly, it's happened more since James asked for the divorce. Most nights, if it isn't life's stresses hounding you, it's an endless parade of what-ifs behind your eyelids.

What if you studied economics instead? What if you stayed in America? What if you hadn't gone to that stupid New Year's party? What if you hadn't kissed John? If you didn't get on the train?

The people in your circle frequently speak about living life without regrets. It's a romantic notion and a highly unrealistic one.

Your phone buzzes—Naomi. You're needed. Pushing the past where it belongs, back on a dark shelf, and head out to put out another fire.

Three days before the fundraiser, your mother lands in London and hosts you at her hotel for dinner. Playing catch-up is a professional sport with a whirlwind of names you barely remember and memories you remember very differently.

You pick at dessert, listening to another story.

"–and he was so insistent that that school of yours was a breeding ground for monsters, and I told him, isn't that what's needed in today's society? People need thick skin in politics and business. You'll be happy to know, though, he bought four tickets to the fundraiser."

You don't remember who you're talking about but smile and nod. It's a tough pill to swallow, your mother's success at rallying old friends with deep pockets. Teddy's practically in love with her despite having never met her, popping his bald head into your office to sing her praises whenever another pledge arrives.

Your response is rote. "That's wonderful, mom. Thank you."

She prattles on for another half hour before you decide it's time to return home to Hamhock and burn the midnight oil on the fundraiser's date auction. You asked the company for fifty-word bios and actors, bless them, struggle to contain their self-praises. When she finally pauses to take a sip of wine, you rise. "I should head home, lots to do–"

Ignoring you outright, her head turns, and she grins. "There you are!"

Following her gaze, your brow lowers in confusion until you clap eyes on a trio headed in your direction in the company of a server. Very briefly, you consider the melodramatics of matricide. You've been set up.

Mr. and Mrs. Price look well for their age, puttering toward your mother. They are greyer and a little shorter, but the warmth is there.

John, however…

The universe is intent on humbling you.

The hair is the first thing you notice. Short, kempt, and annoyingly a dark shade of brown. It's crept southward onto his face in a beard of a choice style. There is comfort in the finer details that clarify as he nears. He hasn't escaped time's passing with a face marked by crow's feet, frown lines, and forehead furrows. Beneath his shirt, there's a slight suggestion of a belly, though, with his thick arms and the narrowing of his waist, he's clearly a wall of muscle.

The worst part is how infuriatingly kind his smile looks. It's the beard. Softens him. Once an arrogant prick, always an arrogant prick.

John rumbles your name in a whisper, reeling you in for a polite peck on the cheek. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

You're years beyond fifteen and twenty-five, but how swiftly the impulse to snark resurfaces is alarming. Maturity tempers you. "You look good, too."

After a few minutes of greetings, the two of you are tasked with heading to the bar to fetch drinks. Wholly unnecessary what with a server, but it's a clear command to let the 'adults' talk for a spell. Nevermind being shy of forty. John's quick to try conversation when the order's in.

"You haven't changed a bit," He observes, leaning against the bar beside you.

"Now there's something a woman wants to hear after a decade." You huff, casting your eyes across the restaurant, finding it difficult to look at him. The dark blue of his sweater makes his eyes pop.

"Fourteen years, actually," He corrects. "Drinking martinis, actin'…"

You snort. "You're half right. The Martini half."

His elbow gently knocks into yours atop the bar. "Apologies. My mother told me you'd been in My Fair Lady last summer."

That draws your attention. "No. The theater put it on, but I'm the stage manager. I haven't been on stage in ages." Your eyes flicker to the table, then back to him. Heat crawls up your collar. What other information has your mother passed along? Glancing down at your bare ring finger, you turn the conversation. "Not so different from a Captain, I reckon. How's that going?"

John squints a little, and his mouth pulls into a familiar smirk, tugging at old strings in your stomach. "Can't complain."

"Riveting stuff," He chuckles at that, a deep rasping sound, and you find yourself grinning. "Don't suppose that bit of clandestine, secret agent-type shit your mom's talked about?"

"Secret agent?"

"Yeah. Mentioned it in a Christmas card maybe three years ago?" You smile triumphantly into your glass. Seems both your mothers have a penchant for dressing up the truth.

His jaw works a tick, and something heavy passes behind his eyes. "Well, 'm not. Not exactly."

"Let me guess. If you told me, you'd have to kill me?"

He refocuses some, and a short laugh leaves him. "Something like that."

It's all painfully familiar, but it feels different with a little more life under your belt. His mere presence keeps you on your toes, yet you haven't felt this comfortable in months. For all the history and tension, talking to him is easy. A silence passes, the drinks arrive, and you ferry them to the table.

The night passes better than you expected when you first saw the Prices. They express belated condolences over your father, you chat about the fundraiser, and John politely navigates questions about his work. It frightens you when he briefly mentions Piccadilly to know he'd been there in the carnage. Part and parcel of military life, you guess.

"John, be a gentleman and walk her to the station," His mother chides as the five of you congregate in the hotel lobby.

"He doesn't need to do that," You hastily say. Not again.

"'Course."

There is something dreadfully giddy to how your parents wish you both goodnight.

At least you do not need to take his arm this time. Still, there is no way John isn't thinking about that night. Not when that look of quiet desperation he wore is seared within your memory. It's silly, but you peeked at his hands earlier, and like yours, they're naked.

You break the silence to fish. "How long are you on leave?"

"A week. Got in yesterday."

"Do you normally visit your parents?"

"Often."

Doesn't mean there isn't a woman in his life. 'Often' is not 'always'.

"Visit anyone else? Friends?"

He chuckles. "Sometimes."

You roll your eyes. "You know, you haven't changed much either. Aside from the beard and smoker's lung. Still a stunning conversationalist."

John smirks down at you. "Picked it up in the army."

Oh, yes. He remembers.

The conversation lulls, and the walk is short. You figure John's keen on a repeat when he wordlessly escorts you to the platform. But today's not a holiday, and the station is reasonably busy. He watches like a hawk, nonetheless, when you check the time.

"Brings back memories," He quietly comments.

Nodding, your thumb rubs where your wedding band used to rest. "Sure does." You respond and meet his gaze.

You studied theater, moved back to London, went to the party, and kissed John. You didn't regret those choices—only one.

The invitation flies out of you as your train emerges from the tunnel.

"Do you want to meet Hamhock?"

"He's…certainly orange."

"Don't rush to spend all your compliments at once," You glare, arms full of Ham, then coo at the cat. "John's jealous because he's going grey in the beard."

"I am not."

"Saw them on the Tube. Can't those from me," You tease and set the cat down, giving your kitchen a quick glance. A silver lining of work eating up your schedule is that you last cleaned two weeks ago, and it's held.

"What're those on your head then?" He gestures with a finger and toes off his shoes.

"Details of a person ageing gracefully." You play it confidently, but part of you holds a breath.

He hums and sidesteps Hamhock. "Suits you. It's pretty."

Maybe inviting him over is a mistake. The bolt that runs through you from the compliment pokes at something you thought buried. "What a gentleman," You try to inject as much sarcasm as possible, but your voice quivers. "I'll be right back. Sit tight?"

You leave John in the kitchen to retreat to the bathroom to regroup. Come on, you scold yourself over the basin for getting worked up. It's just John.

And yet, what remains of your confidence perches on a cliffside at the sight of John pointedly staring at the folder of your copies of the divorce papers on the counter. Fantastic.

His small smile is genuinely sympathetic. It's enraging.

"Y'know, I knew you were married…When I didn't see a ring at the hotel, though, I wondered."

Your chest tightens, and you shove the folder into a bookshelf. "Yep. Finalized the divorce two-ish weeks ago."

You're not in the mood to be reminded of your failures.

"Sorry it didn't work out," John murmurs.

"That's life. That's how it works sometimes," You exhale, then force a smile. "Want a drink? Bourbon? Wine?"

He lets you change the subject, and you let him have a glass of whiskey.

You sit on opposite ends of your short couch, Hamhock acting as a gentlemanly barrier. The conversation rekindles itself after a few fingers of liquor, and eventually, John migrates to the floor, idly playing with the cat. You confide in him about your worries about the event and whether the funds raised will be enough, and he listens. There is no condescension, no bulldozing. Not a trace of smugness at all when he makes suggestions. You don't realize how you've slipped into an old, practically ancient formation until he peers back, eyes creasing from laughter. You're fifteen again, and it is useless to deny it – you are regrettably in love with John Price.

"Can I confess something?" He suddenly asks as your cat waddles off with a catnip toy in his mouth.

Your heart lurches. "If it's a crime, I'm a terrible conspirator."

"No. Nothin' like that, but I lied earlier." He chuckles, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. "My mother didn't tell me about My Fair Lady."

"What do you mean?"

John turns sheepish. "I came an' saw it when I was on leave last summer. Thought I'd surprise you, but I got to the theater and lost my nerve."

Instantly, you pick through scraps of memories from the production. There is no way you would have known he was in attendance, not with how hellishly busy you are.

"You, Captain John Price, lost your nerve?"

Color blooms high on his cheeks, and he turns on the floor, rubbing his neck. "I knew you're not acting but I didn't know how to mention it without soundin' like a prick." His eyes look soft. Different from how they looked that night in his parent's garden. Steady, unwavering, but soft. "I know I'm not good with words. I seem to have a talent for making you angry. But I really am happy to see you. Didn't think I'd get another chance after how I bungled it all those years ago at the train–"

At your grown ages, the angle of the kiss is inadvisable. The two of you fix it without parting, and his hands cup your face when you're finally standing toe-to-toe.

He touches your foreheads together when breathing becomes necessary. "Change anything?"

You don't answer. You lead him to your bedroom and exile the cat.

The fundraiser goes off with a predictable amount of hitches. The caterer is an hour late and forgets half the hors d'oeuvres. The bar runs out of red wine early. Two actors from the children's company slap-fight on stage. Nothing you, Naomi, and Teddy can't fix with elbow grease and stage magic. The caterers re-course. Naomi calls in a favor from her bartender girlfriend. And the children forget their quarrel when they're called upon to defeat Captain Hook.

What you are not prepared for is one of the actors calling out sick, leaving you one date short for the auction. You waste an hour trying to convince one of your fellow techies to step in.

Naomi corners you when you stress-eat a comically tiny piece of toast swiped from a tray.

"You know, if one person is all we need…"

"Your girlfriend won't be mad?"

"Ha-ha, don't get cheeky. C'mon, isn't it time you got back out there?"

You suppress a smug smile. Naomi has no idea. Nobody does. You've gotten back out there and then some.

"Did I not tell you I was grossed out by the auction?"

She's relentless. "Are you really so proud you wouldn't debase yourself a little for the Bramble?"

"Absolutely not."

You'd said it with such conviction, so it's a puzzle when you find yourself waiting in the stage wing, makeup hurriedly refreshed. It takes all your courage and grace not to stumble to Teddy's side when he calls your name. He improvises an introduction on the fly, and you nearly laugh when you realize this is the first time you've been on the stage, under a spotlight, in years.

The bidding opens, and you hold your breath, letting it go when a few unfamiliar voices call out numbers. A humbling embarrassment clutches you by the throat. But then a paddle raises more confidently in the front row. The light is bright, but you know whose hand hoists it high.

He collects you at the end of the night as you lock up.

"There's my prize."

You can't stop the grin that splits your face. "It's just a date, John."

"Yeah, doin' things a bit out of order, aren't we?" A glimmer of his younger, puffed-up self shines through, and his hand envelops yours.

As you walk, your elbow digs into his ribs, "What will our mothers say?"

"That a big deal to you?"

"To some people."

"Well, love, you're not 'some people'."

#ocaptainchallenge #john price #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #price x reader #price x f!reader #lieutenant john price #cw alcohol #i love love #i love corny shit #i needed to write something soft okay?#lightly edited bc i don't think i'll have time to write tomorrow and the deadline is tomorrow!

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ivystoryweaver · 6 months

Text

Jingle Bells

Summary: Santiago is a flirty cute dork and you can’t stop me

Pairing: Santiago Garcia from Triple Frontier x gn!reader

Word Count: 800

Content: fluff, mentions of Christmas songs (but story doesn’t indicate what Santiago or reader celebrate, if anything), not beta’d

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"That'll be $73.07," you mumble to your customer, waiting as she runs her credit card through the machine before handing her a receipt.

Twelve hours on the cash wrap at work, scanning grocery item after item, dealing with faulty coupons, the holiday rush and fussy customers. Your feet are sore and you're dying to get off your shift in thirty minutes.

You picked up back-to-back shifts to pay for a plumbing bill your landlord refused to cover.

"Plumbing is the responsibility of the tenant," he groused at you last week. "Read your lease."

Without even a glance, your hand reaches to scan the next customer's items.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Happy holidays," a soothing tenor voice greets you.

"Happy holida - " You trip over your monotonous reply when your eyes meet the most beautiful man you've ever seen in person.

Sparkling brown eyes dance underneath thick eyebrows, arched in playful curiosity. A sprinkling of gray dusts his dark curly hair.

"Hi," he greets you, chomping playfully on his gum, which draws attention to the curve of luscious, full lips and the sexy stubble on his chin.

"Good afternoon," you manage, reminding yourself to continue scanning his groceries.

"Afternoon?" He shoots back, nodding toward the darkened windows at the front of the store. "It's 9:15."

"Oh. Right," you sheepishly chuckle.

"Long day?" the handsome man genuinely questions.

Your first instinct is to shrug him off with the run-of-the-mill small talk that comes as naturally as breathing to you, as a cashier.

But something happens - a contradiction that has your heart tripping over itself.

His eyebrows shift curiously, like a puppy, while, at the same time, a smug smirk curls the corner of that mouth.

"Uhh, yes," you admit, pausing, "the longest."

"I'm sorry," he sincerely returns, reaching to swipe his next grocery item for you. "Must be busy this time of year."

"Oh, god...sorry," you stammer, reaching to finish up his order.

"'S okay," he shrugs one shoulder. "You gonna be able to get out of here soon?"

"Not soon enough," you joke. "If I hear 'Jingle Bells' one more time, I can't be held responsible for my actions."

"Hmm," he nods and then he sings, "Dashing through the snow in a one-horse open sleeeiigghh..."

"Nooo, please stop," you find yourself laughing. Out loud. When was the last time you laughed?

"Are you sure? Because I do all the hits. Siiiilent niiiight - "

"Oh my god," you giggle, "you have a terrible voice."

He pretends to be offended, "Is this how you treat all your customers?" The corners of his warm brown eyes crinkle with amusement, letting you know he's still teasing. "Because if you smile at everybody like that, you must be the best cashier in this place."

"Could you hurry it up?" A grouchy customer behind this gorgeous man interjects, almost bouncing on her toes.

And just like that, you're deflated. This is why you don't waste your time caring. No point, no time to truly connect. Everyone is in such a damn hurry, especially this time of year.

"Sorry," you mumble, flustered as you start to bag the man's groceries.

"Hi, I'm Santiago," he greets the grinch behind him. "And this is... " he glances back at you, reading off your name tag. "Been a long day. Just trying make 'em smile. I'll get out of your way."

He flashes a stunning, yet disarming smile and the woman falters.

"Oh. I-it's okay."

"Thanks," he nods, shifting his attention back to you.

You give him the total. “Hang in there,” he winks. “Bet this place would fall apart without you.”

He leaves you stupefied, but smiling.

You can’t even remember the last time someone showed kindness and warmth to you, a simple cashier - let alone made you laugh.

The remaining 27 minutes of your shift feel a little lighter.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

One week later…

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Dashing through the snoooowww…”

Your eyes snap up to find Mr. Handsome next in your checkout line.

“This is gonna get awkward if you don’t remember me.” His dark eyebrows shoot up questioningly.

“Santiago…right?” Your cheeks feel warm as he flashes you that smile.

“Guilty,” he chuckles. “I really am dying to see what happens when ‘Jingle Bells’ pushes you over the edge.”

“Don’t try me,” you laugh, scanning his grocery items. "Nobody wants me to lose control in here."

"Maybe somewhere else then," he cooly suggests, with the cutest eyebrow wiggle. "Maybe a restaurant? Or a bar? We could grab a drink when you get off?"

Your mouth drops open. "That...was..."

"Pretty smooth, right?" He grins. "Yeah, I've found that singing off key holiday songs is the way to go."

You laugh for about the twentieth time since you met Santiago.

And you go for that drink.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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#santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x gn!reader #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #1000 followers #oscar isaac fic #holiday fics #holiday celebration #oscar isaac characters #celebration #1000 follower celebration

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ambrosialdesire · 11 months

Text

down boy, down

18+ DARK CONTENT BELOW, MINORS + BLANK BLOGS DNI

pairing: gorou x fem!reader word count: 6.5k warnings + tags: general yandere and obsessive themes, explicit sexual content, unhealthy relationships, kinda pwp, slight misogyny, dubcon, edging, male masturbation, heat (rut), knotting, breeding, innocent virgin (for now) & pervert gorou, mentions of panty stealing, brief sub gorou (he's just insanely horny), begging, degradation sorta, religious guilt implications, power imbalance/abuse of power, corruption (kinda, it's just yae miko is just nudging him), all characters are 18+ synopsis: generals are supposed to be the prime example of rigorous restraint and complete self-discipline, but this doggy general can't control himself when your presence is around. gorou feel like he's losing his mind with the way his thoughts only contain the need to completely breed you and it's getting worse as time goes on. a/n: yes i can write something else besides aot lolol some terms are not officially in-game (mostly the military terminologies) and some parts of the lore i sorta forgot because its been so long since i played inazuma's story. i tried as best as i could to fill in. there's not a lot of yandere gorou so i wanted to try my hand at it. this is technically my first smut fic in a while so apologies in advanced if it's bad (i'm terrible at dirty talk cause it's so awkward to write lol). in my mind, he has scars, muscles (but not super super defined ones), and is slightly taller than his in-game model. i wanted to try and write in the guy's perspective cause it may or may not be a practice for some incoming fics hehe enjoy!! note: please keep in mind of the tags above and do not proceed if triggering or uncomfortable, especially if you are a minor!! do not read my or any other writers' dark content if you are underaged. this is a fictional work and does not reflect irl morals, do not believe this is how a real romance works or functions.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

For Archons' sake, Gorou's a general.

Someone who has the respect of all that he swore to protect. He's the supposed "top-dog" soldier of Watatsumi Island. He built his reputation from the ground up, spent years upon years training himself to be the best soldier on the island. He's the number one supporter of Sangonomiya Kokomi, the Divine Priestess who entrusted him with leading her army safely through the throes of this terrible war. He's been told he was a humble leader, a man of sincere righteousness, a good person.

Internally, he knew that everyone had it all wrong about him.

They don't know that this man, this soldier, had become a disgusting degenerate of an animal.

Sick, sick thoughts filled his mind when the nights grew quiet and the bonfires outside had soon slowly burned out. The innate want — no, need — to breed, consistently grew stronger with each passing night; it was a genetic predisposition that he felt like he had been cursed with. If he thought about it for too long, he could feel himself harden and strain against the restraints of his garments. He'd get himself to the point where he'd slowly palm himself, his body growing warm and his breathing quickening, but he'd never finish. It was frustrating from the way he'd get oh so close but he just couldn't cum, no matter how much his cock was twitching or how much his tip was leaking out precum.

It was too shameful, too scandalous.

Gorou wasn't always like this. For the longest time, his urges had always been easy to control. His mind had always been focused on battle positioning plans and extreme training regimes, anything to get the upper hand against the Tenryou Commission. It was like everything in him was suddenly rewired the day you joined the ranks.

Usually it was not his place to oversee newcomers, the lower ranked captains were assigned for that position. However, Her Excellency wanted him to train this group of newbies this time around. She told him that it was the utmost emergency, resources and people were running low and she needed time to gather more support. Gorou would never refuse her request so he obeyed her command, preparing himself with speeches and strategies.

Very few people were willing to go up against the Shogunate and her powerful army; he was the one that had to inspire them and ensure that their minds were set for fighting for what was right. They had to fight, not only for the island but for the people who were currently being persecuted in the Inazuma mainland.

As he approached the training area while reading over the speech, he stopped dead in his tracks. A light scent, almost a sweet floral, lingered in the air. It was a complete contrast against the sweat and dirt so he followed after it, his eyes finally landing on you.

You were sparring with one of the other newbies, pinning him to the ground while laughing. You held your own well, the man was twice your size and there he laid in a dazed confusion. His tail fluffed up as he watched you get up and stretch, the disheveled training uniform pulling up and revealing the smooth skin of your stomach.

He felt himself swallow nervously as you noticed his presence, your body stiffening and going into the position of standing at attention. You were the only one to do so, the others scrambling to copy your actions as they finally realized he was watching them.

It was rare to see women in Watatsumi Island or in the village, much less so his age. Most of them either were dedicated shrine maidens, women who were already happily married, or the elderly taking care of their grandchildren while their parents worked outside of the island. To see you was quite a surprise, especially since the other trainees that surrounded you were all men. There was a small handful of resistance soldiers that were the opposite sex, all working alongside Her Excellency as her advisors.

Gorou had to regain his thoughts, trying to shake out your smell out of his head. He began to speak, slowly pacing back and forth as he recited the whole trainee speech in verbatim, finally turning towards them and saluting a dismissal. The crowd saluted in return, soon dispersing to carry out other assigned duties and he opened his communication box to send back a message to Kokomi when all of the sudden, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

It was the flower-smelling soldier, you. He tried not to stare at you while he was talking but your scent was so enticingly distracting, he couldn't help but take a few glances. You were even prettier up close, the particular aroma was even stronger as you stood in front of him.

"General Gorou sir." You saluted quickly, your posture unwavering. You positioned quite well for a starting soldier, color him impressed.

"At ease. Do you need anything—?" He didn't know your name yet, lightly trailing off. You seemed to catch on with his hesitancy, perking up immediately.

"L/N. Private Y/N L/N. And yes General sir, I would like to ask when will we be doing weapon and hand-to-hand combat training."

"In a few weeks. The skills that we will be teaching this week is all physical activity training. It's quite necessary. It would be pretty embarrassing running down the battlefield and falling just because your body can't hold up the armor." He heard you snort, your hands going over your mouth almost immediately. His face grew warm as he stared at you with wide eyes, your gaze casting itself to the ground.

"Sorry General sir, I couldn't help but laugh."

Gorou's tail started wagging, his hand immediately catching it before it could move any noticeably faster. With his other hand, he placed it on your shoulder and smiled.

"Please, you can just call me Gorou. I'm not fond of formalities when we aren't on the field." Your eyes lit up once more, that was the funny thing about newbies. They always look up to the more skilled seniors, especially if they were a high rank like him.

"Yes sir- Gorou." You corrected yourself quickly, causing him to chuckle. The two of you began to discuss, mostly small talk to fill up the time. It was supposed to be a professional conversation but the more he spoke with you, the more personal he wanted to be. The two of you were soon interrupted however, you were needed by one of the captains. He quickly dismissed you, not wanting for you to get any bad first impressions from his colleagues. He didn't realize that his tail had drooped down low when you disappeared from view, the fur flattened down completely.

As the weeks went by, you proved to be a diligent and hardworking soldier, carrying out tasks with no complaints. During his observations, you rarely had any struggle keeping up with the men, not that it mattered in the first place. You were more nimble than most during close combat and you did better with a polearm than a bow or sword. During those weeks of training, he was only observing you. He swore it wasn't stalking, God forbid.

It was innocent at first, what he thought about you. He liked you, he usually liked all of his subordinates but something felt different about you. Was it because you were the only woman in the ranks at the moment? He wasn't like this around Her Excellency nor her advisors, but that was completely out of respect. Didn't he respect you?

The realization hit him when he saw your hair down one night while making his rounds around the camp. You were returning from the bathhouse, most likely bathing after all the men so you could have the well-needed privacy.

You spotted him first, waving a hand from afar. He only noticed when the floral scent hit him, barely smelling the hint of soap along with it. He finally became aware of the fact that your hair was still damp, pooling down over your shoulders. The moonlight bore down on you, giving you a glow that was absolutely breathtaking and then you smiled.

You smiled and everything suddenly felt tight in his body, as if he was being restrained by his own skin.

Gorou was lucky that it was nighttime and he was a distance away. Any closer and you would have been able to see how red his face had gotten. He'd only seen your hair up, a military standard that must be followed for all who had a hair length that went past their shoulders, so to see you like this left him dumbfounded. He quickly waved back and jogged off to his housing early, feeling his heart beat hard in his chest as he shut the door harder than it needed to.

He went over to sit on his bed, doubling over as he clutched a fist over his chest. His body was warming up and it felt like he couldn't breathe, only able to take in quick, sharp inhales. His mind felt like it was all over the place but still was able to only focus on one thing: you.

It was unethical with what he was feeling. He could only remind himself that he is a general — a rank higher than most — and here he was, thinking about a private. You looked up to him, you were supposed to because he was your leader, your guidance in this kind of world. Yet the way you gazed at him with complete adoration and fascination, the way you cheered praises at him when he showed off during sparring, it was getting to him when it shouldn't. Others had done the same but when it came to you, he just couldn't have enough.

Gorou's body felt like it was on fire and he moved to lay down, wincing when he finally noticed that he was hard. This never happened, this never happens. Maybe he could just sleep it off. In the morning, all of this would be gone. These... feelings.

He couldn't relieve himself. If he touched himself and came, it would be considered a sin. He had no room in his plans to visit the shrine maidens and confess something so innocuous. What would he even say? Forgive me, for I have thought and climaxed to one of my lower subordinates inappropriately. He'd prefer getting incapacitated by General Kujou Sara than say anything relating or similar to that.

He sat up and carefully removed his clothes, shuddering as the chilled air touched his bare skin. The bandages that he wore in his lower half were still intact but there was a definite outline of where his stiffened cock was being restrained. Fuck.

Gorou hesitantly went to trace his fingers along the outline, barely putting any pressure against it before he sharply inhaled, looking over and seeing that he reached the tip. It felt good, the wrappings were thinner than he originally thought. Shame soon shadowed over him, his hand retracting to his side and clenching the once-neatly made sheets. He shouldn't be doing this at all. Not when the origin of this came from a subordinate, a subordinate he shouldn't be thinking of in the first place.

He laid back down and shut his eyes tight, ignoring the panging throbs that were tempted to be relieved. He wouldn't let this issue bother him, so long as he can endure it. If he started something he would regret, then may the fallen god Orobaxi strike him down mercilessly.

Days turned into weeks and then into months. No matter how much he slept it off, tossing and turning restlessly in his bed, he was never able to get you out of his mind. He tried to avoid you as well, attempting to limit the interactions to important business only but it seemed that luck had never been on his side to begin with.

It was you who was always initiating, asking if your form is right as you held up the polearm in a perfect defensive stance, making him come to you and press his body against yours to fix your positioning. It was you who was always questioning whether or not a planned attack was coming soon, eyes lighting up as he mentioned a hint of any sort of battle. It was always you. Even when he was trying to map out positions on where a possible vantage point could be in his housing, he'd hear you approach the door and question him about what was arranged for tomorrow.

Some days, he wouldn't let you in. Gorou would tell you that he's busy at the moment and like a good little soldier, you obeyed his request and began to speak behind the barrier. What you didn't know was that his hand was pressing against his bulge as you spoke, biting his lip as he tried to keep himself quiet. His high morals always bit at him, making it so he could never bring himself to finish, a painful shame bleeding into the depths of his soul.

Whenever he heard your voice, it was like something was injected into his veins every single time you spoke to him. Your smell was even worse for him, his tail curling whenever you passed by him. And those eyes, God those eyes. Staring at him like he was the light of your life, turning into little half moons whenever you smiled at him. Everything about you ignited something truly terrible within him and he was addicted, the feverish heat never truly going away as you finally left his doorstep.

Her Excellency was worried about his change of state, telling him that he can take a break if he needed one. She noticed the sweat pool and drip down his flushed out and dazed face, even when the weather was fair and he barely moved an inch besides the occasional shuffle of his legs and tail. He couldn't, he wouldn't, not when the war was still going on. What would she think if he confessed to her about what he was doing to the thought of one of her soldiers?

You were a compelling distraction. A small bump in the road, a large sinkhole that he was struggling to get out of, slipping in deeper with every miserable attempt. The constant arousal and burning heat had diverted his busy mentality, only focusing on how his cock was aching and stirring for any sort of release. It was to the point where he started missing out on his other job, papers and requests piling up on his desk until his incompetence began to not go unnoticed.

‘•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’

"My, my, my. I haven't smelled this kind of scent in years, no wonder my best writer has been slacking in his duties." A disappointed but amused tut had Gorou's tail bristling from the sound of a familiar voice, ears flicking and head turning towards the now-opened door. A decorative fan hid her face but he knew all too well who it was based on the red-colored shrine maiden outfit and the long muted pink hair.

"Lady Guuji! You're not supposed to be here on enemy lines." He got up from his desk and quickly closed the door behind her, nails digging into the wood as a pang of warmth ran through his body. Miko closed her fan and walked over to his desk, pushing and prodding papers around with it as she slightly clicked of her tongue. Shit, has he really been that distracted?

"Oh Gorou, as far as I know, the Grand Narukami Shrine sides with no one in this war. I just wanted to see why the aspiring Ms. Hina hasn't been sending over her column responses like usual, you know she's usually so punctual with her postings! But now, I can see — no — smell why." She sniffed the air once more, his cheeks growing redder by the second.

"It reeks of your rutting stench in here, would you be so kind and open up a window for me?"

He obeyed and barely cracked two of his windows open, his tail still puffed up with anxiety as she sighed with displeasure. "You can't just wait this out you silly little pup, you need a release in order for it to go away."

"Re... release?"

Miko blinked once then once more. As if she finally came to a realization, a smug smile grew, her purple eyes glowing with amusement. "Don't tell me this is your first rut, dear Gorou?"

Rut. He heard of it before, the desire to breed whoever his body had chosen as his sworn mate. His father had mentioned it long ago when he was a young teenager but he originally thought that he was excluded from the effects. Why did you have to pop up now, out of all times?

"I'm surprised that you haven't jumped on your beloved leader when it started, I must applaud you for the amount of self-control you have in yourself." Clapping her hands in false praise, he was tempted to snap back at his other boss for assuming that he would ever treat Her Excellency that way when a knock filled the room. Her attention was now at the front door, one of her ears twitching with interest.

"Afternoon Gorou! I have something I want to tell you, may I come in?" He wanted to tear his ears right out of his head, the same uncomfortable warmth bleeding through his skin like an infection. He could already feel the starting familiar stir within the confines of his bandages. He felt like screaming or crying, maybe even both.

Out of all times?! Miko made her way towards the door before he could realize it and nearly opened it, cracks of the outside sunlight peering through. His body collided with the heavy wooden door without him realizing how speedily he reached it, a startled and surprised cry coming out of the other side as he slammed it back shut. Fuck, you sounded so cute.

"Gorou? Are you alright?" You asked, concern lacing within your words and he chuckled internally, already imagining your eyebrows scrunching together.

"Y-yes, I'm fine! Sorry about that, I tripped on my... m-my rut— I mean my rug— yes, my r-rug." He winced afterwards, embarrassed of his unprofessional behavior. A stifled giggle was heard behind him and a low growl came out of him in return, blue eyes narrowed as he shot a look at the pink-haired kitsune.

"Um, okay. Is it fine for me to come in then?" He could feel his hard-on throb, the lack of touch and urge to be in something warm irritating him. Yet the Guuji was still in the room, waiting for him to be finished with this conversation, as much as he still wanted to talk to you. His forehead pressed against the door, eyes closed as he tried to imagine what you looked like behind there.

"No, sorry not today. I-I'm awfully busy, paperwork's been piling up." He was met with silence and then a soft sigh, the tip of his tail twitching.

"Oh. Okay, sorry to bother you again Gorou. I..." There was a light sound of shuffling and two turns, as if you had something else to say. "I'll — um — I'll ask you another day then. Good luck."

The sounds of dirt crushing under your boots slowly began to fade away and he finally let out a relieving sigh, laughter exploding behind him and suddenly all his nerves were on high once more.

"Hah! You haven't chosen the priestess, you chose a soldier. A nice smelling one at least. Why haven't you made your move huh? I'm losing precious Mora because of your interest in her." Miko teased, the sound of her sandals clicking on the floor as she moved around in the small space.

"First of all, I would be abusing my authority. I'd just be taking advantage of her and her respect towards me, God knows if she'd report me for being an absolute disgusting pervert." His fist clenched against the door, waiting for his body to calm down before he faced the fox yokai. Every little cell was begging for him to go and chase after you, to finally, finally claim you as his. A small voice of logic had still made its presence known however, whispering the futures of every consequence that could occur if he had chosen to follow his urges.

"Play your cards right then doggy, you have all the power and control compared to her. And it seems that your patience is waning thin." She ruffled through his bed and with the tips of her fingers, she carefully fished out a small piece of cloth from behind his pillow, a deep color of scarlet burning in his cheeks as he finally turned towards her.

It was an accident, he didn't mean to grab it when he was making his normal rounds. He wasn't supposed to be near the bathhouse but his thoughts were suddenly clouded with a searing appetite, one that he was unable to resist. He didn't even realize that he had grabbed the neatly folded white panty from the bench, his conscious suddenly clearing when the tip of his cock was messily spilling pre-cum all over it when he made it to his home.

Gorou snatched it from her and shoved it into his pocket, a furious snarl suddenly slipping through his bared teeth. He himself jumped at the sheer sound of it, putting another hand over his lips as Miko stared at him in shock before laughing once more.

"This is why I hired you, you keep surprising me general." She sighed pleasantly after, pretending to wipe a tear. She was extremely humored with his heinous actions, as if she didn't care at all that what he was doing was any short of shameful. Miko made her way finally out, her hand on the knob not before looking back at her underling.

"And Gorou?" He flinched, his shoulders tensed.

"Yes?"

"My advice is get rid of your rut, no matter what it takes. You don't want to hurt that little soldier, right? So get her in your bed before your instincts do."

‘•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’

Even if Miko had told him he should, Gorou couldn't bring himself to do it.

He had merely yielded, telling Her Excellency that he hadn't been feeling well recently and she agreed to let him sort himself through his "illness". She gave him some remedies and medicines, occasionally checking in on him when she wasn't busy planning. None of her treatments were working but she never gave up. News of him succumbing to a sudden sickness had spread through the ranks but their Divine Priestess had told them not to bother him while he was recovering, which he deeply appreciated.

He had locked himself in whenever she left, placing a chair against the knob to prevent any outsiders from entering and each of the windows were nailed shut. Even if he did open a window for a needed draft, he'd still be burning awfully hot. Plus, he didn't need the others to know why he was moaning and groaning in supposed pain. It sucked, everything about this sucked. Maybe if he had just a small taste of you, everything would go back to normal.

No. From the start, nothing about you was normal to him. Every time he thought about you, the heat would get worse and his already-sore dick would swell back to life. Were you thinking about him right now? Did you miss him? Gorou wasn't the type to get envious easily, but the rise of his rut enhanced those feelings to the max. He despised the image about you moving on to other soldiers, especially the higher ups. None of them were as kind and thoughtful as he was, clawing at his pillows at the idea of your sparkly eyes looking at someone else.

He couldn't do much to keep you away from those men, all he was able to do was finish up what he was behind with for Yae Miko and rest everything away, relieving what he can without a complete release. Would the ache go away if he finally did cum? Ugh, part of him wished she had explained this thing to him more but having your boss explain the birds and the bees for their kind would be horrifyingly embarrassing.

Nighttime rolled into the camp once more, his eyes shut in frustration and his hands restlessly grabbing and pushing around his sheets. He couldn't sleep, the pangs getting worse and his brain continuously fogging. If he went on a walk to try and clear his mind, he didn't trust himself not to walk into the sleeping quarters and not take you right there. So he decided to bathe instead, running cold water until it reached the right amount.

Since he wasn't on duty at the moment, there was no hassle in removing his garments, though he did keep the bandage wrappings on since somewhat helped control his urges. He carefully unraveled the cloth, shuddering as his already hardened cock sprung out of its restraints and lightly tapped against the skin beneath his belly button. Trying to ignore it, he stepped into the tub and sighed in relief as the water chilled his overheated body.

Only a few seconds passed by and he couldn't resist not looking. Observing himself, he felt strangely foreign seeing a swollen ball near the base of his dick as he bathed in the cool water of his tub. It was just as sensitive as the rest of him, exhaling a quiet whimper as his fingers brushed against it. As if something nefarious had suddenly grabbed ahold of him, his hand slowly wrapped around the shaft above the rounded flesh and began to stroke himself, the water rippling as he shivered from the feeling.

This was the first time he ever touched himself in this manner, his head arching against the rim as he tediously ran his thumb over the reddened, leaking tip. Despite the water, he could feel the smooth glide of the slick that was continuously leaking out of him. His canines gnawing at the side of his lips, eyes focused on the languid strokes. It was almost torturously slow pace, a building pressure forming at the pit of his lower abdomen.

This was bad, very bad. He needed to stop right now before he crossed a line into sin, an inescapable downturn into hell itself. But it felt so good, so so good.

Gorou panted, his mind forming the image that you were in the bath with him, that you were the one slowly stroking him off. He could feel the heat crawl up his chest to his cheeks, seeing your hooded gaze on him. Despite your training, your hands were always so soft compared to his callused hands. Was it because of the lotion that you used after bathing? God he missed your scent, the panty that he took was already losing your smell.

He let out a low groan as he thought about your flowery aroma and without thinking, he started to mutter your name. His hips bucked against his hand, the bulbous swelling preventing him from going further down to the base. With every rough movement, the water splashed out of the tub.

He imagined you teasing him, telling him that he's going to run the tub dry if he kept on moving so much. Still pretending that you were his hand, he began to pick up his pace, your name on his lips growing louder and louder. You called him a filthy general, asking him how he could think of you in such a way for a lowly soldier, simple cannon fodder. You then asked him why he decided to steal your used panty and he only could muster up a weak apology. He begged you not to tell the others, not to tell Her Excellency that he wanted you, that he thought of you for so long that it was poisoning him and his very soul. Gorou wanted you so badly but you were unobtainable, someone he could never touch. He loves his job, he really does but he loves you even more.

You finally kissed him, the faint traces of his ghastly imagination touching his lips. His pathetic chanting ceased as a blinding white painted his vision, his face contorting and crying out in agonizing pleasure. The waves of his sudden orgasm flowed through his veins as he gripped the side of the tub. He felt the material crack under his palm, bits of it crumbling onto his fingertips. His ears flattened against the side of his head and his tail had wrapped itself tightly around his leg, his breathing uneven and slow.

Gorou finally opened his eyes, his mouth still parted open in a quiet breathless pant as he looked down into the water. A white substance flowed around him, his red face contorting to mild disgust. Short feelings of drowsiness and a small sense of relief that the pain was gone ebbed throughout his body. He unwrapped his hand from his shaft, slightly twitching from the lost feeling.

In a slow realization, he then registered that the burning simply did not die out. No, it almost felt like it had gotten worse. The warmth crawled up his stomach and flushed around his face, the once-cold water now displeasingly lukewarm. He could imagine the sinking fangs of Orobaxi pierce his soul and label him as tainted, a sinner. A small part of him felt no regret, that this is what was meant to happen but most of him — if not all — had a sinking, devastated feeling. He shouldn't have done this, especially with you in mind.

There was a small knock on the door as he got out of the tub from his second bath, almost inaudible if he hadn't had these ears of his.

Weird. No one should be up around this hour, they would most certainly get in trouble if he catches them. He huffed, rolling his eyes. Pranking the sick general, are we? Gorou quickly wrapped himself up with a towel tightly around his waist, approaching the front door with light caution.

"Hello? State your name and purpose." He called out through the closed door, ears perked and twitching around for any signs of life. Maybe it was just a passing animal.

"Gorou? It's just me, Y/N. Are you okay?" Fuck. He's so utterly fucked.

"Uh y-yeah, why wouldn't I be? You shouldn't be out of the sleeping quarters, I won't be able to save you if you get caught." He tried to be as stern as possible but the growing mass underneath his towel was starting to make it difficult to think.

You softly laughed and he could imagine you shaking your head. "Don't worry, I'm sneakier than you think. And I wanted to check on you because I heard yelling coming from your direction. I... I got worried since you're still ill."

Gorou's heart was leaping out of joy. You were thinking about him? Of course you'd worry about him, it was part of your character wasn't it? He could feel his hands grasp at the chair holding the door, almost tempted to rip it out of the way.

"I know I'm not the best at medicinal assistance like Her Excellency but I want to help you. I feel bad not being able to do much besides train without your guidance." You quietly mentioned and his mind suddenly blanked, the heat crawling up his nerves and limbs.

"I do need your help actually."

"Y-you do? Well, I'll do anything to help you get better sir."

Anything, huh?

Gorou pulled the chair away from the door and opened the door, finally seeing you. The glow of his lantern-lit room highlighted your features, admiring seeing your hair down and your sleeping attire loose on your body. He couldn't be more grateful for your naïve willingness. His little idiotic soldier.

He grabbed your shoulder and tugged you into his home, almost slamming the door shut before you could have any change of mind. Your eyes widened as you soon realized that he was fully exposed, his towel barely covering his throbbing lower half. He let you drink in the scars and the muscles he's worked hard to achieve before he finally made a move.

"Wha—" Barely a sound was able to escape you before he collided his lips against yours, bodies toppling over into the wooden ground. In the haze of his lust, he felt terrible that you may have hit your head onto the ground but your mouth was so warm and your lips were so plush that all of his empathy was washed away.

His hands grabbed at the thin pajama pants the military provided for every soldier and ripped them off of you. He made quick work at removing his towel, his heavily aroused cock springing out and brushing against your covered cunt. He could see through hooded eyes that although you were most definitely confused, your fear could barely hide the arousal pooling behind your pupils.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He whispered frantically against your lips as he tore off the white panties, almost salivating as he felt his tip catch onto your bare warmth. A few ruts against your pussy lips and he could already feel some slick gather against his shaft, not knowing if you were getting aroused or that was just his own pre-cum leaking down and making a complete mess.

Slowly or at least, as slowly as he thought he was going, he pushed the head inside. A long and relieved whine came out of him and your back arched, body pressing against his as you cried out from the sudden intrusion. Swiftly, his mouth enveloped yours to quiet you down. It would be a shame if any other soldiers made their way to his home, but then again, he could make them disappear without a single trace left behind. Curiosity is such a fickle thing to have as a soldier, it could end them up dead in a nameless pit or in your instance, speared by a horny general.

His head threw back as he began to thrust shallowly in quick succession, the knot preventing him from going any deeper much to his displeasure. Gorou had never felt such an indulgence in his life, he thought his little session in the tub earlier was everything but this? He could live with the sins building upon his shoulders as long as he could relish in your warmth for eternity.

Your hands gripped on the rug above you, clawing and grasping at it for dear life, moaning aloud as his cock dragged against your walls. The blouse that you were wearing was slowly loosening with every sharp movement he made against you, revealing your chest that he could never bear to look at before. He peeled back the fabric and grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing once before leaning in and sucking on the pert nipple.

His tail twitched in bold satisfaction as you started to whine out his name, begging him to go deeper.

"Yeah? You want that soldier?" His voice rumbled against your nipple, feeling you clench around his shaft as he spoke.

"Y-yes! Please, please just a little more." Obeying, he snapped his hips harder against the plushness of your thighs, the knot pushing and budging against your tight hole. You hissed at the sudden realization of the circular muscle swollen around the bottom of his shaft, but you didn't try to stop him.

Would it fit? No, it had to fit. You will fit him. His hands grabbed your hips, pulling you in until you were flushed against his waist. His mouth left your chest, moving towards muscle in between your neck and shoulder. Gorou wasn't going to leave you unmarked, the whole goddamn camp was going to know who he knocked his pups into. It would serve some good to the island, Orobaxi would be pleased to have new followers right?

"Gonna fuck — hah — gonna fuck you up, breed you full of cum. You're my mate, mine." He growled into your ear before he bit down into your flesh. At the same time, he forced his knot into you and clawed the plushness of your hips.

Your pussy stretched and gripped around the enlarged knot, trying to accommodate the sudden thickness. He could barely see your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you came, your walls spasming and milking his cock for his hot cum. Wanton moans were the only noise you were able to make as he continued to fuck deeply into you, his tongue licking at the inflicted mark.

The same pressure in his lower stomach that he felt in the tub overrode his system and he pushed his dick in a little more, feeling the tip hit against a barrier. White stars blinded his vision immediately, his body shivering and shaking as he came hard into your womb. He took in heavy breaths, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

The burning was gone, he could finally feel the air in his room as it cooled down both of your bodies. It was gone but he wasn't done yet, no, he was far from it. Now that he had finally had a taste, he wasn't going to let you leave, not when he had bound himself to you. Figuratively and literally.

His pupils were blown out with pleasure, the blue color barely making its presence known as he began to kiss up your neck. You were barely there, eyes heavy with sleep but still groaning as he began to move once more, walls too sensitive to handle anymore. That's okay, he would breed you in your sleep if he had to.

" 'm gonna put more pups into you." His words slurred as he lazily thrusted, his knot pulling and pushing into a particular nerve bundle. You could only whine in agreement, completely engrossed and fucked out on his cock as you quivered from the stimulation.

Gorou will take real good care of you. What was he thinking before? A general always will need his soldier, what a fool he was for trying to believe that he never wanted you. A rope can only be tightened so much before it inevitably snaps. You belonged here in his home, warming his bed so he could take you whenever he returned from the battlefield. He picked his head up from your neck, kissing you deeply once more.

You were truly a heaven-sent blessing, weren't you? As fate may have it, he had hope that Orobaxi and Her Excellency would bless the both of you with a beautiful litter.

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 1 year

Text

Otona Blue

Yandere Kang Yeosang x fem reader

a/n: this is by far the longest and most thought out fic i've ever written and i'm so proud of it <3 i put so much care and effort into it, so i hope you enjoy!

tags: @seojonneh & @thatswhywerefever

You've got your eyes on the new senior in your music class, and the feeling is unfortunately mutual.

✫彡wordcount: 8k

♡´･ᴗ･`♡ (ಡ‸ಡ)genre:

yandere, college au, angst

ಠ_ಠwarnings/contents:

long read, takes place over a few months, semi-slow burn, yandere behavior, age gap (19-23/college freshman-college senior), bullying, violence(not described towards reader), cursing, nicknames, threats of death(again, not towards reader), online stalking(kinda?), kissing, one(1) horn-ee line that implies they did the deed, emotional vulnerability, yandere&dark themes really shine towards the end, probably part one because i have so many ideas for these two

ヾ(´〇`)ﾉ♪♪♪ song recs:

OTONABLUE by ATARASHII GAKKO!! "i want you to connect to my heart"

Can We Lie Here? by Holy Fawn "the field grows taller and it will never let you go"

First Love/ Late Spring by Mitski "please don't say you love me"

Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain "i am the face of loves rage."

Darkness, I'll Always Be Your Girl by R. Missing "i'm always going to be your girl"

MATURE UNDER THE CUT MDNI

The fourth period of the day is always your favorite. The teacher is kind and helpful. You get to express yourself through music. No one in the class seems to bother you- in fact (even in a class full of seniors) you seemed to make a few friends. The teacher even let you hide out the first few weeks of school during your free period to avoid the chaos that seemed to follow you.

All in all, the music room is your safe place. A smile graces your lips as you round into the large room, greeting a classmate who's by the door gathering his book from the tall closet cabinet.

"Hey, (Y/n)." He welcomes you, turning into the storage and grabbing the book with your name on its spine.

"Thanks, Soobin." You take it with a small bow to your senior and turn to walk with him to your seats. "Oh," you sigh. Someone is in your chair, their face hidden by the musical sheet stand in front of it. You look to Soobin for help, and he simply shrugs before taking your hand and leading you to the back of the room, to your occupied seat.

"Excuse me," he speaks to the man. His head pokes up from behind the stand and he stares at the two of you with an unreadable expression. "Oh, uhm," Soobin stumbles over his words, gesturing to you.

"This is actually where I usually sit," you stammer, avoiding his cold eyes. When he says nothing, and makes no effort to move, just looking at you - Soobin kicks his shoulder with yours, making you stumble. "Well, the intructor likes us in specific places, so that the music is... y'know? Did he sit you here?" You ask slowly, looking at anything but him.

"Ah," he sighs, looking to the unoccupied seat behind him. "He must of pointed to that seat. Sorry." He speaks shortly, slowly setting his violin in the open case at his feet and sliding it back to his seat.

"Thanks..."

Soobin mumbles an apology to the quiet man as he nearly bumps into him on the way to the seat beside yours. You nod shortly at him and take his place, setting your violin in his' place. You fold your book open to the page scribbled on the blackboard behind the teachers piano.

As you set it down on the music stand, you see a book already in its rightful place. You roll your eyes, meeting eyes with Soobin, who has a teasing smile on his face. He knows you well enough to know that you already want to be done with the music room intruder.

You fold the book closed and come face to face with a name newly printed on the front cover with Sharpie.

강여상

"Uhm," you twirl around in the plastic chair, "Sunbae?" You know he's a senior. Everyone beside you and one other student is.

He looks up from the string he's fixing on his violin and his eyes go to his book in your hands. "Sorry," he chimes, slotting his instrument between his knees and taking the book with both hands. Your hands stay frozen in place as you finally take a moment to look at him. And, God, is he gorgeous. He has a birthmark under one of his eyes, that you can't seem to get over. It makes him look somewhat ethereal.

"Yeosang?" You ask, and he nods, eyes flicking away before coming back to yours. "Resonated sound," you offer a smile, and he's a bit taken a-back.

Your friend next to you is even more so. You're willingly conversing with someone other than him? Since when? Where is his (Y/n) and what did you do with her?

"It makes sense that you're a violin player! It resonates the most, I think."

"Oh, really? I didn't ever think of that," he laughs a little bit- and you swear it's the cutest thing ever. You go to speak again, when the instructor beats you to it by telling the class to turn to the song you'll be working on. You turn back around and offer Yeosang a final, small smile, and get your violin situated.

Thursday morning, the class is in a slight chaos as you turn the corner and enter. You, too, are buzzing with anxiety and anticipation. Yesterday, just before the bell, your teacher said that he would be asking a few individuals to try out for a special part in the song for your upcoming performance.

Soobin is already in his seat, bouncing his leg as he reads and re-reads the notes: trying to memorize them. The pretty new guy is one of the only calm ones in the entire room, gently working on one of the parts that he seems to have trouble with.

You take your seat wordlessly and immediately get to work, working the bow over the strings effortlessly. You block out all the other instruments and conversations, letting the music take over your mind. You had spent the better half of last night memorizing the notes and the timing, and the song already comes like a second mature. Music has always been your escape- your friend. You swing the bow away in the final note and let the sound resonate in your ears over the noise around you.

You smile, content with your own performance.

The hair on your arms stands up as an uneasy feeling washes over you. You glance around the room to find the source, and you don't find anything. "Hubae." The voice comes from behind you.

It's Yeosang, with his eyebrows creased in concentration as he looks down at the violin in his lap. You turn half way in your seat, humming in response. "Could you," he hesitates, "could you help me?" It seems like he's a bit ashamed to be asking, avoiding your eyes and mindless fingering out the cords.

"Sure, what do you need help with?" He turns the knob on the back of the stand loose and swivels it around to face you. He has his book marked up with circles and underlines and small singular-worded notes. One part, the one he's been practicing and messing up repeatedly is marked up the most. He points to it.

You slowly sit down your violin in its case and slide your seat beside his, taking up the empty space behind Soobin. "Ah, I had trouble with that too! You aren't the only one," you profess, smiling at him when his eyes flicker toward you for a moment. His face flushes quickly, and you pretend not to notice as you fix the stand to face you.

"So, it's the part where you go from G to A, right?" Yeosang nods, going from cord to cord slowly. "It's cause your fingers aren't warmed up enough." You take his violin gently and hold is loosely by its neck, holding out your other hand. You tap each of your fingers to your thumb quickly, going from your index to your pinky and then back. "Try." He does so, struggling slightly- but slowly getting up to speed with you. He continues the exercise as you sit his instrument in your lap, holding out your cupped hands. His movements halt, and he looks at your opened hands and his beloved instrument placed gently on top of your skirt.

"C'mere." Your reach out your hands and pick his up, slowly rubbing the lowest knuckles, "it's the ones that holds you back the most," you state matter-of-factly. You slowly work his hand for a few moments, before dropping it and handing him his violin. It takes him a few moments to recoup, and he shakes the thoughts from his head as he grabs it.

He places it under his chin and gives a final glance your way before he begins playing. When he reaches the line from hell, he passes by without any trouble, his limber fingers sliding into place fluidly, pressing down the right strings in the right place like he's done it a million times before.

"Beautiful!" He smiles at the compliment, lowering the violin to thank you before the teacher so rudely interrupts you again.

"Who's first?" He asks the class excitedly, locking the portable pianos wheels before leaning back on it. Everyone is silent, and you try to slowly maneuver your way back into your place. "Miss (Y/n)!" He points at your crouched figure, and you pop up from behind Soobins back with tight lips.

"No, thank you, Mr-"

"Come on down!"

You take a deep breath, gathering up your bow and violin and holding back a frown as you sit behind the piano with him. "Ready when you are." The rest of the class resumes their own practicing- save for Yeosang and Soobin: who watch you.

You lift your bow in time with him as he presses down the accompanying keys. You go through the entire verse, not missing a beat or a cord as you play your part. The ending note echoes out in unison with the piano, and you smile at the teacher as he takes down some notes before dismissing you to practice the next verse.

You walk toward Soobin with a new found confidence in life, pumping your fist and whisper-yelling about how you nailed it.

If only you looked back, you would see Yeosang looking at you with something dark swirling in his wide eyes.

Opposite to music and musical theory, lunch was the most dreaded part of your day. Soobin had his at a different time, and your friend Hiyyih was always late on Friday's because of her debate club.

You were left alone for the first 20 minutes of the hour long period, and it was the worst part of every Friday since the school year began.

How or why you grabbed the attention of such a foul senior was beyond you. But it seems like Un Ji has a personal vendetta against you- despite the fact that you had never even looked in her direction until she decided to trip you over during volleyball(why did she even do that? You were on the same team!). Perhaps she had some home problems, or had unpacked trauma, or was simply just that mean. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that she just can't seem to get enough of teasing you.

"There she is!" Her sing-song tone makes the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention. You're always in the same seat waiting for Hiyyih, so why does she bother acting surprised? "God, look at her. All lonely!" The condescending way she laughs alone is enough to make you want to curl up on yourself.

"Mind if we sit?" She and her goonies don't wait for you to respond, and you don't bother to anyhow. You just look down at your lunch with a forming frown. "Ah, don't frown! You'll get ugly..." You look up with your brows furrowed in confusion, and she has a serious expression on her face. A smirk slowly forms as she scans your face. "Oh," she draws out, "too late."

Some of the girls she's with begin laughing, and their giggles echo around your hot ears.

"Hey," Yeosang sits next to you with a smile directed towards you, completely ignoring the existence of Ji.

Your eyes flash to her, and back to him, and back down at your sandwich before you mutter out a hello. "Who's your friend?" She asks you, leaning her elbow on the table and holding her head as she gives him dreamy eyes.

"Oh," he dramatizes, hand to his heart. "I'm Yeosang." He says to her shortly, before turning back to you, "why aren't you eating?" The past two weeks, you and Yeosang have been slowly growing closer. Maybe he's decided it's finally time to join you outside of class.

"Psh, she doesn't need to. Look at her." Ji's desire to woo him is overwhelmed by her desire to tear you down. "So chubby, (Y/n), do you want to work with us during gym?"

Yeosang doesn't let the way your eyes widen with fear slide. His top lip rises as he looks at her in disgust. She seems like she's been knocked over with a feather, staring back at him as her face heats up. "What? I'm only looking out for my friend!" She swipes her hair over her shoulder and moves on from her brief moment of feeling scandalized. "Right?" She looks to her friend, who says something that doesn't quite reach either of you.

He's keeping his eyes on you again, watching as wetness builds up in your eyes. At the grating sound of her voice, he comes up with an idea. He sighs and stands up, "seems I've lost my appetite." You look up from beneath your eyelashes and watch as he takes the long way to a bin, passing behind Ji.

As he does, he makes an effort to cross his foot in front of the other, making himself stumble. "Oh my goodness!" He yells as she screams, the glass of water he had on his tray soaking into her back, loose pieces of food getting stuck in her hair. "Oh, I'm so clumsy." He deadpans as she stands to face him. "My bad." He looks over her shoulder to see you, quickly covering you smile with a hand over your mouth.

"You are so dead!" He slides away from her grasp and back around the table, grabbing your wrist and pulling you along- giving you just enough time to grab your bag before you escape the cafeteria: leaving a screaming Ji in your wake.

"Oh my god, Yeosang!" You begin to laugh as you run. His grip on you wrist slips down to your hand, and you don't protest as he holds it tightly, looking back as he continues to lead you away. His own laughter starts to sound out, dying down soon as you both slow.

He lays down on a cement bench, and you take a seat at the very end of it by his feet. Both of you breath heavily between broken chuckles. He props his head up on his hand and looks down at you.

"She had that coming, huh?"

"Oh, yeah!"

He leans back and gazes up at the clear sky, squinting at the brightness before he fully closes his eyes. "Hate people like that."

A silence envelopes the both of you, save for the blowing wind that cools down your flush face. He listens to your breaths, matching his own to them.

"Thank you, Sunbaemin...I could have handled it, you know, on my own- but I really appreciate it." You rant quickly, placing your hand on his lower leg in a show of gratitude.

He nearly twitches away at the feeling, eyes opening and finding you once again. "No problem." He sits up, "I have to admit... I've seen her bothering you before. I saw what she did to your book last week."

"Oh... yeah. That was one of my favorites."

I know. "I'm sorry I didn't step in earlier."

"It's okay, really. You don't have to stand up for someone you barely know." You offer him a sad smile, and he returns it with a wide one.

"I'll stand up for you." He says. He promises. "I'll protect you from her from now on."

"Really?" You ask abashedly, quickly correcting yourself to, "I mean- I'd really appreciate it, but, you know you don't have to do that for me!"

He tilts his head, seeming as if he's searching your mind. "Of course I do. You deserve better than to be treated like that."

Tears are building up in your eyes, and he quickly adjusts himself to sit with a leg on either side of the bench, scooting closer to you. "(Y/n)..." He draws out. "Please don't cry."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? Why are you sorry, it's okay, ba-It's okay. Come here," he wraps his arms around your shoulders, bringing you closer as you begin to cry silently. "It's okay," he hushes you, sending a death glare in the direction of a student who's giving you both a strange look.

"I'm sorry, Yeosang." Over your own ragged breathing, you don't hear his breath catch in his throat. He tightens his grip on you and rubs his hands up and down your arm comfortingly.

"Don't be sorry. Shh, I'm here now, don't worry, okay?"

His skin is lit ablaze when you wrap your hand around his wrist in search of comfort. "Thank you," you whisper, "no one stands up for me."

"I will."

"And then?!" Hiyyih urges you to continue, hugging her big rabbit plushie tightly as you tell the story of what happened with Yeosang earlier that day. You lean your head over the edge of the bed from your seat on the floor and smile.

"He just kinda... held me? It was really nice, actually. I mean- at first it was a little weird cause, like, obviously: but it was nice!"

"Oh my God," your best friend exclaims, flattening herself on the bed to be closer to your face. "That's so sweet of him! I need to meet this guy and give him the stamp of Hiyyih approval."

"Oh, it's not like that... He's just my senior, seniors take care of juniors they like right? He's just friendly." You back away in confusion when she places the back of her hand on your cheek.

"You're blushing!" She yells, flopping off the bed to join you on the floor as you begin screaming that it's just warm in her room, and she's screaming right back that you have a crush.

"Bahiyyih!" Her brothers voice rings out, making you both stop, making an 'oh shit' face as you hear his heavy footsteps come down the hall. The door opens to reveal her big brother, Kai, with his hand perched on his hip. You feel like he might scold you for being so loud, but he scrambles into the room and shuts the door behind him. He plops down opposite of the both of you and leans forward, "spill."

"It's nothing! He's just a nice guy from my music class." "She's totally whipped for this dude!" You and Hiyyih speak over one another, slapping each others hands down as you both try to emphasize your own point. "Good lord," Kai mumbles, rolling his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Start from the beginning."

You and Hiyyih continue interrupting each other every so often as you explain about Yeosang. And when she cuts you off for the third time, Kai reaches over and smacks her upside the head- causing a yelling match between the siblings.

You look down at your hands, thinking back to the way his skin felt under your finger tips. You don't even notice when the Huenings have stopped, now both looking at you. "Ooo, she's doing that thing again," she whisper yells, slapping his arm, "do you think she's thinking about him?"

"I can hear you, dickhead."

"My bad."

A round a laughs goes around, and she leans into your lap, looking up at you. "What were you thinking about, really? Him, right?" You nod a little bit, looking over to her vanity with an idea brewing in your head.

"You really think he likes me? I mean-"

"Of course!" "I think so, yeah."

"Hey, Hiyyih," you break the moment of silence. "Remember when we were in middle school and I had a crush on that one boy?" She looks up, searching her memory before she giggles a bit.

"You trying to say you want another makeover?" You nod with a smile, looking over to the mirror again.

"We're older now! I've been wearing the same lipstick since junior year of high school, I think I should upgrade, right?"

"Totally not to impress Yeosang, right?" Kai smirks, already scooting towards the makeup boxes Hiyyih keeps under her bed. "I can teach you how to do eyeliner, I'm better at it!"

"Hey!" She yells, offended he would make fun of her skills. He only sticks out his tongue and goes back to searching the shoe box full of eye and lip liners.

"You know you don't have to do this to impress him, right? He already likes you. I mean- it's totally obvious. And you're so nice, how can he not?"

"I know," you drag on, "but maybe if I looked a little nicer I would have more confidence? I don't know..."

"Whatever you want, chick," she sits up on her knees and gives you and aggressive forehead kiss before falling back and yanking the box away from her brother. "Give me this," she takes the liner from him, "this isn't her color at all, you crazy?"

"Hi," you slide into the seat across from him and whisper quietly.

Yeosang already has his nose in a notebook book, and he puts it down to smile warmly at you. It's Friday, three weeks have passed since he promised to protect you- and he did just that. He found every reason possible to be near, and his presence was welcomed. At this point, you would even consider him 'friend'. You were hanging out after school.

Your crush on him hasn't died down. Not in the slightest. The more time you spend with him, the more you found yourself drawn into him. He liked similar things and was a beautiful violinist and had a certain aura around him.

He could say the same things about you. The closer he got, the more sucked in he was.

"Hey, Petal."

"How's your day been, Yeo?"

He smiles at the nickname, that same glaze washes over his eyes- the one you catch every so often but you're never quite able to place before he blinks it away. He told you weeks ago you don't have to call him by any honorifics. At first you were hesitant, but soon enough you were Yeo and Petal (which he affectionately nicknamed you after he cought you playing the 'he loves me, he loves me not' game).

"Good, and yours?"

"Good!" You drop the whisper. No one is ever in the large library. Not even the librarian. Just you, Yeosang, and some girl named Lucy who reads on the other side of the room.

"Did Lucas bother you today?"

You roll your eyes. Lucas, also a freshman, has been harassing you to go out with him and won't seem to take no for an answer. "No, thank god. He wasn't there today. So... What are you working on?"

He sits and explains his project, then you explain yours. This is how it is on Fridays and Wednesdays. You sit in each others company and do all of your work, reaching out for help when you get stumped.

It's all easy today, so easy in fact: you fall asleep after you've finished your own work. It takes Yeosang no time at all to notice.

He sits up a bit and looks around. Then he stands up. He takes the seat next to you, slowly lowering his head to rest parallel to yours.

A piece of hair has fallen loosely over your face, swaying with each breath you take. Surely... you won't mind if he fixes it, right?

He moves at a turtles pace until he reaches your face and sweeps back the hair with his fingertips grazing your cheek.

As he studies you, he finally gets a chance to see the new makeup style you've been wearing as of late. It makes you look more mature, more confident. He can't tell if likes it quite yet. But, to be honest, he like's everything you do. Maybe he has a preference, but he can't tell. Because,

"always so pretty."

You stir a bit at his deep whisper, subconsciously leaning toward the warmth of his hand. He flattens his fingers and rests his palm against you. His heart seems to beat out loud: he's shocked it hasn't woken you. When you mumble something, he scoots his face a smidge closer. It sounds like nonsense, but your voice still soothes something that runs wild inside him.

His hand wanders down to the ends of your hair and he twirls his finger around them, letting go gently.

He himself nearly falls asleep, a peace he's never known washing over him with your shallow breaths in his ear.

He's teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when a loud noise disrupts the peace you've created for him. He places his hand on your shoulder, ready to wake you up at a moments notice as he looks around. As the panic settles, and his heartbeat dies back down, he registers that it was just a door.

"Hey," he lightly shakes your shoulder, "wake up." Your eyes flutter open and blink up at him as he cups your face in his hand. "Have a good nap?" He teasingly asks, stroking you cheekbone with his thumb. You groan in response, and tug your arm up. When you place your hand over his and hold it closer to your face, he almost moans at the feeling.

"Should have brought a jacket," you mumble sleepily. "So cold. Your so warm, Yeo." He looks over to his seat, where his large hoodie is draped over the back.

"Do you," he stutters, "do you want my hoodie?" You peek open one of your eyes and glare at him.

"Don't even play with me, really?" You sit up, and his hand falls back to his side. "It's not too much to ask, is it? What if- what if you get cold?" He reaches over the table top and grabs the fabric, handing it over with a promise that he'll be okay without it.

The warmth envelops you, and you sigh contentedly, wrapping your arms around yourself. "Thank you."

His heart flutters as he takes in the sight of you in his clothes and makes a mental note to make sure to turn the thermostat up even in the colder weather so he can hand over more. "Looks good on you." He tries to be nonchalant, but the blush on his cheeks gives him away rather fast. "Blues your color."

"You think?" You lift up the hood and pull the strings just enough to cover your ears before you tie it in a bow. He says nothing, just smiles fondly as you take up your phone. "Oh, I didn't sleep too long! Did you finish your work?"

He shakes his head, "I have some maths left. I just took a break before i torture myself with it."

"I can do maths!" You stand up and run to the other side, searching through his organized papers until you find the math. "Least I can do for you." He watches as you work diligently, the pencil scratching against the paper fills the comfortable silence. Only a few minutes pass until you slam the pencil down dramatically. "Boom, bam!"

He takes the paper and scans it over as he mumbles a thank you. You return to your seat next to him and begin gathering your materials. "Hey, (Y/n)..."

"Yup!" You face him, smile faltering as you see his solemn expression. "What, what's wrong? Did I mess up the work?"

"I really like spending time with you."

You're left with your jaw dropped for a moment, before you gather the courage to speak. "I...I like spending time with you too. It's easy, with you. Y'know? Just feels right! I'm actually... well, I'm really glad you transferred to Mr. Canessa class." You ramble on, speaking with you hands and not noticing that he's tearing up until one of his tears hit the table. "Oh, Yeosang! I'm sorry!" You scoot your chair closer and wrap your arms around his shoulders, cradling his head.

He sniffles quietly and simply lets you hold him, hushing him and sniffling along with him. "Why are you crying?" He asks through his sobs. "Why are you?" You ask right back.

"Because I want to kiss you so badly."

You pull away slowly and look at his teary eyes through your own. "I want to protect you from Ji, and from everyone. And I want- I want you to warm up my hands before I play. I don't ever want you to call me Sunbaenim again because I wish you saw yourself as my equal because that's what y-" You shut him up by rewrapping your arms around him, crying harder into his shoulder. The sound of your cries triggers his own, and he latches onto you like a kola, bringing you into his lap. "I'm so sorry, (Y/n), I think I'm falling in love with you."

There's a beat of quiet until you speak, "what if I'm falling in love with you, too?"

He cries into your shoulder, grip tightening around your waist. "Please, don't say things like that." He feels you tug at his hair gently and leans his head back to look up at you.

"Not even if I mean it?"

"Do you? Mean it?"

"Yes."

He grins weakly as you begin to wipe up his tears with the paw of the hoodie. "Petal?" He blinks anxiously as you hum in response. "Can I kiss you?"

You answer him with your lips on his, and it takes him a good moment to catch up. He closes his eyes and lets himself melt into you.

He falls into his back, a deep sigh passing his lips. He looks up at the ceiling and just thinks.

Your third date together had just ended: successfully in his opinion. It was barely different from the time you two had spent together before the library, but at the same time it felt all new. With your feelings out in the open you no longer had to hold back. He openly admired you, not bothering to hide his flushed face when you complemented him or avoided eye contact as his eyes shined with that unplaceable glaze.

He doesn't know why... he can't understand. How do you have him wrapped around your little finger so tightly in such a short time?

Is it the way your touch always leaves goosebumps in your wake? The way your hands work so diligently to make awe-inspiring music? Maybe, it's the way you smile when you see him. The smile that's reserved just for him? That could be it...

His phone buzzes with a small ding on his stomach. The ring tone he assigned just to you, a small bird song.

He opens the message in the next second, smiling like an idiot at the words you've typed out.

i had lots of fun ! i'm still laughing at your jokes haha

...

The phone vibrates in his hands.

where should we go next time ?

His thumbs work quickly to respond, going back and forth as he tries to come up with a good response.

You choose next time :) Show me someplace nice, Petal

He closes out the app and opens Instagram, hovering over the search bar for a moment before he finally typed in your user. He moves fluidly to it, having done this a million times before. You haven't posted in a while, but you have a new story. He clicks on your icon- a phone of you and your best friend (Bahiyyih, was it? He'll have to look into her.) making kissy faces.

The photo you've put on your story is on you took while with him. When a small lizard jumped on your table and tried to steal one of his french fries. You snapped a picture of him with his hand over his mouth in shock, staring at the lizard as it tries to drag a french fire that's bigger than it is.

He smiles fondly, snapping a screen shot of the memory. When the page refreshes, he sees that you have a new 'saved story' category. It's named "Yeo★".

The only other one on your page is called "Huening hoes". He's seen all of them a million times, but he still takes his time to click through it. It's pictures of you and Bahiyyih, of just her, and occasionally her brother. They, along with Choi Soobin, seemed to be your closest (if not only) friends.

At first, he was suspicious of the older Huening- but his nerves calmed down when he noticed the difference in your comments to them. On Yeosangs post of him playing the violin, he got a heart emoji. On kai.ning 's post of him and his track team: 'only went to see you fall... disappointed' followed by a sad face and a begging emoji.

His favorite by far was posted the day he stepped up to Ji. You are sitting in between Kai's legs as he does your hair, a bottle of nail polish in one hand and the brush in the other, a big grin on your face as your head is leaned back in laughter.

More often than not, he finds himself thinking what it would be like to have been there. To hear your laughter, to be the cause of it. He loves that laugh. He loves it so much. He'd give anything to have it all to himself. To have you all to himself.

He groans, locking his phone and rolling over with a frown.

He doesn't know why or how you have his heart on a string. You have him bewitched. How? Is it your eyes? Which look at him like he's a most valuable piece of art? Is it your lips? So soft and open for his taking? Maybe, your hands? Such a delicate embrace that leaves him begging for more?

God... he wonders what it would be like to fall asleep in your safe embrace.

He's fully fallen for you, and he's fallen hard. Why? Was it your kind nature? The way you didn't hesitate to help him when he acted like he didn't know how to play that verse? Was it the way you hung onto him when Ji passed by, silently begging him to protect you? Maybe- maybe the way that you held onto his shoulders as you moaned, so tightly that your nails left indentations for two whole days? It had to have been the way you rested your forehead against his with your eyes closed blissfully after your first kiss. The excited look in your eyes as you rambled about your interests?

He loved it all. He wanted it all. And he'd do anything to keep it. To keep you.

Kang Yeosang never knew fear until the day he answered the phone to your broken sobs at exactly 12:47 AM. You cried and cried for him, begging for him to help you. And he did. He took his keys and followed your shared location to the school. He ran all the way to where he knew he would find you.

He slams the double doors to the music room open and pauses for a moment until he sees your cowered figure by the rack of guitars, leaning on the wall with your head in your hands.

He yells out to you, sliding to his knees in-front of you. "Oh, precious thing," he pushes your hands down and takes your face in his own, "what happened to you?" His heart stops beating in his chest.

Your eyes are puffy and red. But that's the least of his concerns. You have dried blood that's dripped down your nostril. A forming bruise on the side of your face.

"Who did this to you?"

The second you explain what happened, he's back on his feet, ready to hunt down that bitch Un Ji.

"Yeo, please!" You hold onto the back of his calve, sticking him in place. "Don't," you plead, "please, don't go." He sits back down on the tile floor with you.

"My Petal," he begins to tear up, "they've crushed you." You can't say anything more, simply crying as you hold his hands tightly, attempting to stop the way your whole body trembles. "She put her fucking hands on you, (Y/n). She bruised you, she made you cry, look at what she did to your violin! She needs to learn her god damn lesson. She isn't better than anyone, and she certainly isn't better than you."

Your blurry vision turns to your prized instrument, now just a mess of broken wood and snapped strings. And the sight only makes you cry more. "Don't worry," he pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms around you, kissing the top of your head. "I'll fix it... I'll fix it all." You hang onto him for dear life, sobbing into him.

"Baby," he hums, swiping away your tears the second you lean away. "I hate to see you cry like this," he holds you gently as he leans his head on yours to imitate what has become a habit of yours. "Breath with me, c'mon. You're okay now." You bite your lip to hold back your cries, eventually evening out your breathing to match his.

"You'll be okay?" He goes to stand again, and is once again stopped when you keep your grip on his hand.

"What will you do?"

"I'll just scare her. Show her to stay away."

And he plans on keeping his word to you, he truly does, but when he sees Ji all alone on the top of the stairs, all his mind can think is how 'this fucking bitch deserves to die for putting her hand on you'.

"Un Ji!"

She stands up and looks down at him with an expression of coldness, mirroring the same one he has. Only, with less rage. "I'll fucking kill you," he grabs her by her neck and pushes her to the cold ground, following her as she tries to back away. "What the fuck, dude?!"

She grabs his wrist and tries to pry it away, but he won't let up: clouded by his anger. "You are such a stuck up little bitch! You think you get to walk all over her? You think you get to touch her and get away with it? Huh? Answer me, cunt!"

"You fucking psycho, get away from me!" She struggles. He throws her down by the grip he has on her neck and lets her head slam onto the hard floor.

She's still dazed, her vision blurry from the bang to her head, when he crouches down to her level. "I should kill you." He smirks as she uncoordinatedly tries to scramble away. "I really should, but... I don't think (Y/n) would come around to that. She will come around to this though."

"Wha-" her question is cut off when he stands quickly and stomps on her hand. "Fuck, what the fuck," she screeches, trying to pull her hand back when he steps down harder and a crunch rings out. She lets her head fall to the ground, soaking it with her tears.

"Was it this hand you struck her with?" He moves to kick the other one out from under her, and steps down lightly. "Or this one?" When she doesn't answer, he crushes her hand anyway. "Best be safe." She yells and yells, but the only other person in the building this late is you; and your too occupied with the remnants of your instrument to hear her.

"Please, stop!" He lifts his foot, and for a moment she things she's got through to him. Then he swings his leg back and brings it forward to her gut with force. She attempts to roll over, but finds no splice as he just kicks her back instead. "Low life," he groans, "fucking piece of trash."

He forces her to lay down on her back with a sneaker placed to her shoulder. "Are you crying?" He coos mockingly, "awww." He bends down, pinching her cheek harshly. "Should have fucking thought about the consequences."

He replaces his foot with his knee, putting all of his weight down on her shoulder until she's slapping his leg, begging him to stop as he crushes it. "When someone asks you what happened, you say Lucas Montgomery did it, got that?"

He plans on taking down two birds with one stone, knowing that the socially inept Lucas wouldn't have anyone to use as an alibi.

"Ye-yeah."

"Hey, Un Ji... who did this to you?"

"Lucas." She coughs. Blood dribbles down her chin.

"Un Ji-ah," he yells into her face, "who did this to you."

"Lucas did! Lucas Montgomery!"

"Good. Make it believable, too." He kicks her down and gives her one last glance full of hatred with a threat, "cause next time, I won't stop until I can hand her your head on a stick."

He leaves her crying on the upstairs floor as he returns to you. He finds you, nearly unmoved from where he left you. Gathering up the broken pieces of your violin and attempting to do the same to your heart.

"Yeo?" You stand up and embrace him the second he crosses into the room, wrapping your arms around his waist and listening to his heavy breathing.

When you back up, you see a splatter of red on the tip of his sneakers. "Are you okay? Is that blood?" He cups your face in his hand and caresses his thumb over the bruise. "Yeosang!" He blinks back into reality. "Is that blood?"

You reach for the closed door behind him, when he grabs your wrist and pushes it back to your side. "You don't need to see that."

"Don't nee- what did you do?" He pushes you further into the room by your shoulder softly. "Yeosang, what did you do to her? You said you were just going to scare her!"

"She's scared," he says nonchalantly. "She won't bother you again." When you ask if he hit her, he almost scoffs a laugh. "I crushed her... I crushed her just like she did to you."

You don't know what's come over him, but you don't like it. This isn't the Yeosang you've been falling in love with. This Yeosang is scaring you.

"I want to go home, now."

He nods, "I'll take you."

"No." You speak all too quickly for his liking. "I don't want... I don't want to be near you right now. How can you... you did exactly what she did to me."

He grabs onto your forearm tightly, pulling you back as you try to leave and pushing you onto the wall next to the whiteboard.

"My beautiful flower," he hums, cool knuckle sliding down your cheek and across your jaw.

"Yeosang." His name is whispered like that of a devil, so quiet that he can barely pick up on the emotions lacing your voice. "We shouldn't... we should stop before we get more involved. I'm- I don't think-"

"No," he grumbles, pushing off the wall and going to pace around the music room. "You don't get it," he yells, kicking one of the sheet stands. You yelp involuntarily, backing into the chalkboard as his cold gaze finds you. "You don't get it," he begins to laugh, raking a hand through his hair.

"Sunbae-"

"Don't fucking call me that!" His conscience is filled with guilt as he hears the word, but it's quickly overwhelmed by the butterflies that fill his gut as he sees you cowering against the wall. "Don't call me that," he repeats in a soft, whining voice. As he approaches, you scoot behind the teachers piano, using it as a barrier between the both of you.

"Why are you scared," he asks. Wether it's genuine or teasing, you can't seem to tell.

"Please, stop. Lets just go our separate ways."

He places his hands on the top of the wooden piano, smirking as he unlocks the wheels with the tip of his sneakers. He pushes it to the side harshly, making the keys clang and echo around the room as it collides with the double doors. "Yeosang, please! You're scaring me!"

"Don't worry," he purrs as he crowds you, taking your hands in his and holding them between you: pressing his body against yours and effectively trapping you.

"Oh, Petal," his voice is truly mocking now, but it goes away as quickly as it came. "We are already involved. Do you have any idea what I would do for you? Huh? Any idea what I'm willing to do? What I did to that bitch is nothing compared to what I'm willing to do..." He places his forehead to yours, breathing in the smell of your sweet conditioner and listening to your ragged breaths. For a single moment, he feels like he's in heaven.

Then, the sirens come into ear shot.

Eyes wide, filled to the brim with tears that you refuse to let fall, you search his cold gaze. "What did you do?"

"I told you that I would protect you, yeah? That's exactly what I did." He leans his face impossibly closer to yours, "I have a feeling she won't be bothering you. Not as long as I'm around."

You turn your head to the side, avoiding his eyes as your tears fall. "Hey!" The grip he has on your chin is rough, probably rough enough to bruise.

"Yeo, please," you sob, subconsciously wrapping both your hands around his free one: which is still perched against your stomach.

"Look at me," he all but begs, shifting his weight around anxiously as you slowly turn your eyes to face him.

"I didn't do anything wrong, you know that right? She may have got hurt, but... after everything she did to you? That cunt had it coming. Okay?"

"Mhm." You bite your lip, nodding tightly in his grasp. "I'm sorry, Yeo."

"I know, baby." He places a chaste kiss to your cheek. He releases his death grip and taps your cheek gently with a smile. "I just want to protect you. You'll let me, won't you?"

The sirens are full force, ringing through the school. The lights flash through the tall window.

"Won't you?" He leans his head down and brushes his lips against you, almost begging.

"Yeah." You mumble into his lips, letting him kiss you deeply.

"Good. Let's get out of here, Petal."

#kang yeosang #yandere yeosang #ateez #yandere ateez #ateez angst #angst fic #yandere fic #yeosang fic #ateez fic #otona blue

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billsfangearring · 1 year

Text

11 Good Omens Fic Favorites

a.k.a. I was going to choose my personal top ten but was too indecisive

One of my fandom resolutions for 2023 is to get back into reccing, so here’s a very casual GO rec list to kick things off! Fics are ordered longest to shortest.

As with any rec list, please read the warnings and tags on ao3 and make whatever decisions are best for you. I hope you enjoy!

the bucket list by darcylindbergh (@forineffablereasons)

There was a certain look that Aziraphale wore occasionally—a pinched sort of moue that looked like he’d just taken a very large mouthful of cinnamon—which meant he thought Crowley was being ridiculous. He had put it on. “Hang on,” he had said. “You want us to do human things?” * If you're going to go native, you might as well go all the way.

absolutely stunning, I wanted to take breaks while reading to really let it all sink in, I felt ALL THE EMOTIONS (44k, incomplete, E)

Your Mirror by equestrianstatue (@justlikeeddie)

I'll be your mirror; reflect what you are, in case you don't know. Crowley drummed his fingers briefly against his mug, and then sat back a little in his chair. He gave Aziraphale a long, appraising glance, and then seemed to come to some decision. “Listen, angel,” he said, “let me pitch you something.” Lulled by the familiar patter of Crowley’s voice as he was, Aziraphale still recognised this to be vaguely dangerous territory. He swallowed. “Go on,” he said.

one of the best-executed non-linear narrative fics I've ever read—just masterful, really peels back the layers in their relationship (28k, E)

This Soul Outstreaming by Rend_Herring

“Why did you come here?” Aziraphale interrupts. “Why do you keep doing this?” All the saving, he means, all the chasing after Aziraphale he does. It can’t only be that he’s not keen to endure a replacement. That can’t be it, not anymore. He’s going to get himself in trouble, and then it’ll be Aziraphale’s fault. Crowley’s mouth shuts with a click. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, reaches for the handle of the fork and taps his fingertips against it before setting his hands in his lap. When he speaks, it’s very soft. “Don’t you know?” he asks. Aziraphale, unnaccustomed to his heart refusing to translate why it throbs with such haste, shakes his head.

sad, tender, funny, and romantic with beautiful prose, really just everything you want, so many quotable lines (22k, E)

Lay me down in Eden by caricari (@heycaricari)

Two supernatural entities go for a walk and Crowley gets more than he bargained for.

SO ROMANTIC OH MY GOD in the dialogue, interior monologue, and actions, excellent characterization, so pure (then explicit lol) (17k, E)

You've Got Kudos by curtaincall (@fremulon)

Aziraphale and Crowley both write fanfiction. As it happens, they both write Good Omens fanfiction. Of course, neither of them would ever admit this to the other. (A love story told primarily in AO3 comments)

this is the most meta thing ever lmao, really impressive skins for the ao3 look—pay attention to all the little details like usernames, etc. (4k, M)

build me a city, call it jerusalem by gyzym (@gyzym)

Man begets man begets The Tales of Men, and there's nothing godly in that; Those Above and Them Below haven't any need for the stories humans have been hungry for since the snake and the Angel with the flaming sword.

pre-show fic written in 2012, leans heavily into religious themes and Biblical references, melancholic, spare but beautiful writing style (3k, T)

The Gift by entanglednow (@entanglednow)

In which there is a little wooden elephant, and a long overdue confession.

simple yet checks all the boxes, very very soft and sweet, the DEVOTION, more biblical settings, truly just lovely (3k, T)

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon and Airbnb Superhost by TheOldAquarian (@darkpurpledawn)

What are you supposed to do when you've been fired from your sweet job in Hell for thwarting the schemes of Satan, you've got a swanky flat in Mayfair, and you're looking for an excuse to spend all your time in someone else's bookshop? Obviously, you turn to the dubious world of short-term vacation rentals. The resulting Airbnb property has been variously described as "an instagram trap," "a vampire den but make it botanical," and "the weirdest bed and breakfast in the shared history of beds and breakfasting."

a highly entertaining series of Airbnb reviews of Crowley’s flat—every single one kills me, as do our ineffable duo’s cameos (3k, G)

Kissing, Accidentally. by skybound2 (@skybound2)

Crowley doesn’t mean to kiss him, really. It just sort of…happens. An…automatic response, if you will. An unintended automatic response. Unexpected, even. It’s not planned, that’s what he’s trying to say. ~~~ Or the one where Crowley gives in and kisses Aziraphale while he has him pinned against a wall.

winner of best use of footnotes, hilarious, Crowley is WHIPPED and an absolute disaster of a demon, just delightful (2k, G)

Too Generous by rfsmiley (@redfacesmiley)

“You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.” Or: what happened after the [ we all got hit by a ] bus scene (aka "you could stay at my place, if you like")….

the TENSION, the PINING, ahh my heart was in my throat, excellent dialogue, and multiple P&P references (1.5k, T)

Interwoven Footsteps by skybound2 (@skybound2)

It takes them a while to get there. Six thousand years, give or take. But they get there.

criminally underappreciated (probably because it's super short), gorgeous, lush, sweet, their whole story in under 1k words (700, T)

#good omens fic recs #good omens #ineffable spouses #bfe fic recs #fic recs #long post

392 notes · View notes

eyelessfaces · 1 year

Text

wine stain

llewyn davis x reader

hi I started writing this in october but never actually finished it and I thought it was kinda good when I reread it but I hated the plot so I changed it. anyways I hope you like it! also please note that this is my first time writing detailed smut in ages and I'm very insecure about it so please be indulgent :(

summary: life isn't fair to llewyn, but the man isn't quick to give up. an audition in chicago might change his life forever, and it does, but not the way he expected it to.

warnings: smut (minors dni!!), unprotected piv, oral sex, language (they swear a lot), alcohol consumption, smoking. mentions of pregnancy and abortion, one tiny joke about it. I am pro-choice and I don't want to offend anyone so if it bothers you just don't read this ffs.

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers, mutual pinning, llewyn is insecure asf and believes he doesn't deserve anything good, fucking oblivious idiots in love

word count: 5.7k (this is the longest thing I've ever written.)

Hot smoke escapes Llewyn’s cup of coffee, subtly mixing with the intoxicating smoke of the cigarette he holds between his fingers. You watch as the smoke goes up in the air, disappearing at the same level of his crumpled shirt collar. You desperately want to get up and fix it. You look away from it and sigh before talking.

“Spill the beans. I know this isn’t a casual cafe meeting. Or what Jean would call our ‘definitely not dates’ or whatever.” you say sinking into your chair, crossing your arms. “What do you want. Need. Same thing” you ask, watching him blow out his smoke as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“There’s no good answer is there?” he chuckles, licking his lips awkwardly when he sees that you’re not reacting to his poor attempt at a joke. “I need money.” he continues, lowering his voice. He leans forward and looks at you sternly. “Listen I hate asking you for this, but if I could do otherwise I wou-”

"Seriously? You’re still not getting anything?” you cut him off, raising an eyebrow.

His face relaxes, and he contorts it to a frown again.

“Believe me I’ve harassed Mel, it’s a miracle he’s not kicking me out. Only real money I get is from the gigs and saying it’s not enough is an understatement.” he huffs out, looking around the barely crowded cafe. “Please. I really need it. I’ll make it up to ya.” he pleads, looking back at you.

You roll your eyes when you think about the extra hours you’ll have to do to be able to pay your rent, but it’s Llewyn, and you care about him, so it’s…

“...Fine.”

Llewyn nods, weakly smiling at you.

“Thank you baby. Thank you” he nods fervently, thankful. “I would also need a place to crash at tonight…” he whispers with a sour face, knowing that it may be too much to ask you at once.

You chuckle and give him a wave of your hand. “Whatever. But you’re taking me out once you have enough money” you say tilting your head forward, pointing at him.

“Sure thing.” he smiles. “Thank you dove.”

You send him a quick smile before hiding it with your cup of coffee.

A thought occurs and you lick your lips in reflection as you put the cup down on its saucer.

“Abortion?” you ask abruptly, and he looks back at you with a startled face.

“What?”

“Is that why you need money? Again?” you clarify.

His confused face relaxes and he chuckles with a frown.

“It’s nice of you to assume I’m getting laid.” he chuckles, scratching the end of his cigarette in the ashtray.

You shrug. “I don’t know. You’re a hot talented musician after all” you say with a smirk, elbow planted on the table and chin resting on your palm. “Makes everyone faint”

He snorts. “Come on. Not when the hot talented musician is homeless and a dick” he pinches his lips in a skeptic smile.

“Yeah well that’s just you. And I don’t see anything wrong here” you smile, and Llewyn clears his throat.

“Well Jean told me it’d be a favor to people if I never fucked anyone ever again so I’m taking advice” he affirms, eyebrows raised as he brings his own cup of coffee to his mouth.

“Jean’s a bitch” you spit, crossing your arms and leaning back into your chair.

He chuckles and smiles.

“That’s no news.” he smiles. “Hum... The reason I need money is because I need to go to Chicago for an audition.”

“Chicago?” you ask, startled that he needs to go so far away.

“Yeah. Chicago.” he affirms, and looks through the window. It’s pouring and the wet road reflects the light of one small ray of sunshine passing through the clouds.

“You’re fucking kidding me” you scoff. “Don’t tell me it’s an audition with that Bud Grossman guy” you sigh, slowly shaking your head.

Llewyn doesn’t answer and just looks back at you with a small pinched smile. You sigh. “When is it?”

“I’d need to leave tomorrow. It’s a pretty long ride” he affirms sinking in the back of his chair.

“No shit” you chuckle before taking another sip of your coffee. “It’s a whole ass trip.”

He nods and reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the table. You grab it before he can and he’s on the verge of calling you out for it but you speak before he can.

“You just finished smoking one. You smoke too much. Slow down.” you advise him putting down your cup of coffee, and he instantly rolls his eyes.

“Oh please.” he huffs. “Come on” he pleads, frowning.

You put the pack in your coat pocket and he sighs before laying further against the back of his chair.

His look darts to the window again. Few people are passing by and the rare ones that do are all protected by an umbrella and a raincoat. He’s just glad he’s crashing at your place tonight and not roaming around the whole city to look for a place to stay in this weather.

“You’re gonna kill this.”

“Mh?” he asks absent-mindedly, still looking outside.

“Your audition. You’re so talented Llewyn. The trip is worth it” your words make him look back at you immediately, a small gap forming between his lips.

He wants to tell you that you don’t need to do that for him. That you don’t need to be so positive because he somehow always ends up fucking everything up. He really does. But at the same time he doesn’t think he’s ever felt his heart beat so fast.

“My first groupie!” he exclaims, unsure of how to respond wholeheartedly, instead using sarcasm as it’s what he does best. “Here it is.”

“Fuck you you asshole” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Come on, I'm just messing with you” he scoffs. “Thank you for believing in me. You’re amazing” he nods and smiles. “You’re probably the only one that believes in me anyways.”

You weakly smile back at him. God you just wished this would work out for him. It’s all you ever wanted for him, truly.

“Can I get my cigarettes back now ?” he asks with a grin.

You roll your eyes and huff out a laugh before throwing the pack of cigarettes at him.

—

You gasp as you feel two arms wrap around your waist. You close your eyes with a sigh once your brain processes everything, and the corners of your mouth turn upwards.

“You scared me you moron. Nice shower?" you ask, still looking at the cooking pot in front of you.

Llewyn smiles as he nuzzles your hair.

“You have no idea. Probably the best shower I’ve had in ages” he affirms, his thumb caressing your clothed stomach. The gesture makes your heart skip a beat, but you quickly brush the thought off. You can’t think of him that way. “What you cookin’?” the question tears you out of your thoughts.

“Franks and beans. It’s a good thing you were able to come out of this bathroom, we’re eating soon.” you announce, stirring in the pot with the spatula.

“Awesome” he groans. “Thank you for letting me stay here tonight. The hell would I do without you” he sighs, and leans to quickly kiss your cheek.

You close your eyes and smile once again.

“Come on, go set the table. It’s ready soon” you affirm as you throw your chin towards the table.

“‘kay chief” he throws as he opens the cabinet where you keep your plates.

You eat while drinking some wine and end the evening watching The Seventh Seal, your head quickly ending up resting over Llewyn’s shoulder. You can feel yourself drift off to sleep as the end credits appear, and get up from the couch before you actually pass out on it and on Llewyn.

“Imma head to bed” you mumble sleepily, grabbing one of your plaids to hand it to Llewyn. “Goodnight” you tiredly say as he takes the plaid before you turn around to leave for your bedroom.

“Hey. I’ll probably be gone by the morning.” he declares as he gets up from the couch, leaving the plaid hanging on the armrest. “So I’ll just say it now. Thank you for the money and the food.” he says as he walks up to you, hands buried in his slacks pockets. “And the couch, and for everything you’re doing for me in general. I really appreciate it. I love you.”

You endearingly smile at him, reaching to gently stroke his wrist with your thumb.

“Good luck. I’ll be waiting for you. I love you”

—

When you come back home from work later than usual because of traffic three days later, Llewyn is curled up on your couch, asleep.

Your apartment is bathed in darkness and you watch his sleeping figure as you take off your shoes and coat before walking to him, kneeling next to him by the couch.

You reach to turn on the lamp on the side table next to your couch, looking back at him and finally being able to see his peaceful state. You smile to yourself as soft snores escape his slightly agape mouth and his usual grumpy expression is long gone, and you kinda feel like a creep for watching him sleep but truthfully he looks like an angel and you feel bad for having to wake him up.

You gently thread your fingers through his raven curls, softly calling his name, and he slowly opens his eyes, hazily sitting up and rubbing his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck” he curses under his breath. “Shit I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your couch. Sorry”

“That’s okay” you reassure him, smoothing your hand along his forearm. “How was Chicago?” you ask him softly, and he suddenly chuckles and shakes his head.

“Shitty.” he declares. “Useless.”

The blank that fills the air in your apartment is overwhelming. You get up from your knees and sit next to him on the couch, propping your elbow onto the back of the couch, your hand holding your head. “I’m sorry” you pinch your lips in an empathetic smile. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No. Yeah. I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter anyways” he smiles tiredly as he looks up at you.

“If you wanna talk about it I’m all ears, and if you don’t that’s okay, you don’t have to.”

He sighs and rubs his eyes again. “It’s just… It was all for nothing.” he huffs out. “All I do to try to make it work is always for nothing at the end.” You swear you hear your heart crack at that moment. “Grossman advised me to get back with Mike when I told him I used to have a partner.” he scoffs.

You chuckle and shake your head in dismay. “Well that’s gonna be complicated” you say as you raise your eyebrows. “What a fucking moron” you mumble as you get up from your couch, going to the kitchen.

“I don’t wanna defend him but he couldn’t know” he declares as he follows you, leaning his side against the wall as you grab two glasses and a bottle of wine.

“I’m not exclusively talking about that. He’s a fucking moron for rejecting you” you say as you turn back to him, handing him the glass. He takes it and shrugs and you sigh as you fill it. “How many copies of your record would I have to buy to make you rich?”

He laughs before taking a sip of the wine, and he raises his eyebrows in amusement.

“You ending up homeless in your turn isn’t the point sweetheart” he says as he watches you pouring yourself some wine before leaving the bottle on the counter.

“I just want you to be okay.” the words weakly escape your mouth as you walk back to your living room, and his eyes light up at your words. God, if only you knew how much it meant to him that you wanted him to be okay, if only you knew how much you meant to him.

“Don’t worry about me angel. I’ll just go back to merchant marines” he sighs as he sits down on your couch.

You look down at him with empathetic eyes and take a sip from your glass before putting it down on the coffee table. “It’s gonna be okay” you tell him sitting down next to him, mostly trying to convince yourself. Truth is you rely a lot on how he feels.

He hums absent-mindedly, gaze lost in the void of your living room and leans to put his glass down too before shifting to face you and taking your hand in his.

You look down at his hand, slowly and softly tracing his skin with your thumb.

“Llewyn” you whisper looking back at him, pushing away the curls falling over his face, threading your hand through the unruly dark curls.

He sighs softly as he looks up and down between your eyes and lips before his hands frame your face as his lips press over yours with more force than he had expected, like his eagerness to kiss you took over him.

He’s not sure of his action and he’s fully convinced he has, once more, fucked another thing up like he always does as he doesn’t feel you moving, until he feels your hands join at his neck to bring him closer, deepening the kiss as you hum against his lips and as your tongues meet.

It’s all the both of you had always been wishing for; diluting this unspoken tension between you, finally acting upon it.

You shift to straddle his lap and he groans into your mouth as he pulls you closer by your hips, savoring every second of that kiss as if you’re going to slip through his fingers once you pull away, as if you’re going to regret all of this once it’s over.

You know there is no reality where you could ever regret this; you had fantasized of doing this for ages and it’s even better than you had imagined this before; the wine somehow tastes better when it’s on his tongue, and you can feel the faint taste of cigarette in his warm breath as his broad hands run up and down your body, his body heat radiating against you.

You unconsciously hump against him as you want to get even closer, and a moan escapes your mouth, the friction against him deliciously relieving the growing ache between your legs.

“Fuck, Llewyn” you gasp against his mouth as you look down at your clothed crotches, evidently feeling his erection twitching under you even through the layers of clothes.

“Sorry baby” he whispers as his mouth chases yours, his gaze on you drunk and wanting. “Can’t really help it” the chuckle he lets out changes into a gasp when your hand shifts to palm him through his pants.

“The fuck are you sorry for?” you ask teasingly, a grin adorning your face as you leave his lap to kneel at his feet. He looks down at you speechless as you fiddle with his belt. “I know a way to make you feel better about all of this” He’s dreaming. This can’t be real.

“Sure but angel you– wh– you don’t have to–” he babbles as you’re working on freeing him of his confined space.

“I want to” you declare as you take his cock out, and fuck he’s hard and he’s huge and the heat pooling at your belly is becoming more and more pronounced. “If it’s okay” you look up at him, raising your eyebrows awaiting approval.

“Of course it is but we can– you don’t have to– oh shit” his pleas die on his tongue as you take him in your mouth, softly sucking his head as your hand strokes him. “Oh fuck” he groans, his head hitting the back of your couch.

This is a dream, it all happened so fast and there’s no way it’s real, he’s having another one of those dreams with you he’s so ashamed of, you never woke him up from his accidental nap on your couch, he’s still sleeping and this is not actually happening.

Coming back to reality will be hard because fuck this feels so good and he’ll probably have to lock himself in your bathroom to actually get some relief once he wakes up.

He is confirmed of the realness of the situation when you grip the side of his thigh as if to tell him look at me while you softly lick the underside of him, shifting to trace every vein along his length, pre cum dripping from the head to coat your tongue.

“Is this okay?” you ask pulling away, the tip of your fingers still gently skimming his throbbing cock. He laughs at your question.

“Baby fuck–” he bucks into your hand after you swipe your thumb over his swollen tip. “Yes of course it’s okay” he chuckles as his hand cups your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone. “It’s more than okay” he declares as he looks down at you with lustful, dark half lidded eyes.

“Good” you smile up at him before sinking down and taking him fully at once without warning.

The moan that escapes his mouth is sinful and it makes you clench, and the light tug after his fingers shift to grip your hair goes straight to your cunt.

You take him as deeply as you can, going up and down, tongue swirling around him from time to time. His head falls back against your couch once again, and he squeezes his eyes shut as his grip on your hair tightens.

“Holy shit dove– I don’t think I’m gonna last long” he manages to breathe out between whimpers, tightening his free hand into a fist to prevent himself from cumming right then and there into your mouth.

Then you pull away and he groans.

“What the fuck?” he asks startled as you get up, leaving him twitching and wanting, the feeling of his approaching orgasm slowly fading away.

“Jeez stop being so impatient” you taunt as you start unbuttoning your trousers, and his expression is priceless once he realizes what you have in mind.

“Oh–” you teasingly smile at him and slide your trousers down your legs. “Baby it’s not that I don’t want to but I don’t have any condoms and I can pull out but you know how cursed I am with all of this and–”

“I’m clean and on birth control it’s okay Llewyn” you cut him off of his tirade as you step out of the trousers at your ankles, throwing them to the side. “If you don’t want to do that it’s okay, I can finish you off by–”

You’re cut off when he grabs you by the hips, pulling you closer to the couch he’s sitting on, and you know he’s in for the ride – quite literally – when his thumbs hook into the hem of your underwear to slide them down your legs. He does the same, fully taking off his slacks and underwear and throwing them over the armchair across your couch.

He looks up at you like you’re a goddess, and even though his dick is aching and begging for release he takes his sweet time gazing at you like you’re the eighth wonder of the world.

You softly smile at him, brushing back the raven curls falling over his forehead, and giggles escape from your mouth when he unexpectedly drags you so you can straddle his lap.

He kisses all along your jawline, beard softly tickling your skin as he lavishes your neck next, his hands roaming along your curves, his right hand stopping between your thighs, two of his fingers gathering the slick of your folds.

“Shit– you’re fucking dripping” he breathes out against your neck, making you whimper at his touch. “Did you get that wet just from blowing me?” he teases, and you tug at the curls on the back of his head before reconnecting your lips to his, feeling him smirk against them.

Llewyn groans in your mouth as you wrap your fingers around his cock and slowly pump it, and he knows for sure that the gasp you let out when you slowly but easily sink down on his length will be engraved in his mind.

“Holy shit” you pant, burying your head in the crook of his shoulder once you’re fully seated on his throbbing length.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand anchored at your hip and the other one softly trailing up your bare back underneath your shirt.

“Yeah” you breathe out, frantically nodding against him as your arms wrap around his neck, and you slowly start rocking your hips. The little whimpers he lets out are music to your ears, and the way he softly gasps your name has you clenching around him.

“Fuck angel you’re so fucking tight” Llewyn hisses, leaving a trail of kisses along your neck as you thrust down on him, finally finding a steady pace that leaves the both of you sweating and panting, clinging to each other. “Taking me so fucking well” he grunts against the exposed skin of your neck, the roughness of his beard tickling the sensitive area. Tugging on his hair so he can look back at you, his hips jerk up, and you pull him in for a hungry kiss.

Of course he would like you pulling on his hair.

Happy with the reaction it elicited from him and the information you just got, your hands are gripping on his curls as you roll your hips against him. He practically fucks his tongue into your mouth, and you almost choke into the kiss when his thumb meets and massages your clit in small circles.

You gasp his name, and his hand that was stroking your back earlier is now tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear as he drinks in the sight of you using him for your pleasure.

“Wanna make you cum first” his voice is rough and deep with lust, and the way you bite on your lower lip as you slightly flutter around him because of his words seem to encourage him; his grip against your hips becomes more and more firm and controlling, his pelvis thrusting up into you with a force that you hadn’t expected from him, his movements meeting yours and making you throw your head back in pleasure.

“Fucking hell Llewyn” it comes out as a sigh, but if the walls of your apartment weren’t so thin you would have at least screamed it.

You know he won’t have much work to do as you can already feel yourself nearing your climax; it’s all starting to become too much, but the good kind of too much.

You gasp in surprise when Llewyn manhandles you with the force you ignored he still had from his merchant marines days and knocks over one of the glasses of wine on the coffee table, the liquid pouring all over the surface and dripping down onto your wooden floor.

“Shit Llewyn” you gasp, pushing your nails deeper into his arms.

It’s honestly a miracle you managed not to fall and you back landed on the couch correctly.

The mission isn’t a complete success, but you’re too caught up in the moment to stop because of some stupid wine so you just manage to tell him “Fuck it just keep going” while wrapping your legs around his waist so he keeps going, even more fervently.

You’re now laying on your couch, Llewyn hovering over you and hitting deeper spots inside of you, each movement faster than the previous one; the wet sounds between your legs are lewd and get even filthier each time he pounds into you.

He’s close. You can see it, you can feel it by the way his thrusts stutter slightly.

His head tilts down to where you’re connected, watching himself disappear inside of you, bringing his hand to you clit again.

“Fuck are you gonna cum for me baby?” he asks, his voice dripping with lust and desire as he toys and rubs circles over your aching clit.

You whimper and hiss and cry his name as you get lost in the feeling of his fingers and his hips ramming further into you, all the tension in your body morphing into waves of pleasure as you reach your climax, fluttering around him and cumming in silent gasps.

Llewyn is quick to follow you as your orgasm was all he was waiting for to finally let himself go; his movements become sloppier and his hips start to stutter, his eyes finally rolling to the back of his head and his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he stills, his cock spurting his cum deep inside of you.

He grunts, and your head falls back into the couch as you feel drained of all your energy. Llewyn curses under his breath as he rests his forehead against your shoulder, panting, before pulling out and collapsing on top of you, his head resting against your chest.

You both catch your breaths, staying here for a while with your fingers softly running through his hair before you start blissfully laughing, all the tension and seriousness of the situation fading away.

He rests his head to the side, facing the scenery of the knocked over glasses still swaying over your coffee table. “Fucking hell your floor” he gasps before looking up at you, realizing the mess you have made with the wine.

“I’ll just put a rug over the stain I guess” you sigh. “It was worth it” you chuckle and lean down to kiss him. “I’m glad you didn’t take advice from Jean after all”

“What?” he asks, still dizzy from his climax.

“Not fucking anyone ever again, remember?” you ask and he laughs, getting up and walking to where he left his clothes to get dressed again.

“Yeah, well you better be consistent on your birth control because apparently my spermatozoids are warriors, and I wouldn’t want Jean to make a point” he chuckles as he slides into his slacks.

“We should be fine” you mutter while sitting up, reaching to pick your underwear from the floor. “I’ll call you if I need an abortion” you joke, standing up to put your underwear back on. “Ugh fuck” you whine picking up your trousers, seeing the wine stain covering it.

“I’ll help you clean and I’ll just… go” he mutters, scratching his forehead.

“Why do you wanna go” you ask absent-mindedly, walking to the kitchen to try to save your trousers from the wine stain.

“I don’t know” he declares following you into the kitchen before standing against your counter, hands gripping the edge of it. You look at him and he looks absent, livid, almost sick, and it is too much just for it to be his post-orgasm haze.

You frown, and when you realize why he might want to leave your heart breaks a little.

“Did I do or say something wrong?” you ask. Maybe the abortion joke was too much, maybe you got fooled and he was just horny and needed to let it out of his system and regretted it now. “Llewyn do you…” you fully turn towards him, searching for your words. “Do you think this was a mistake?” you ask looking back at him, letting the garment rest in the sink. “Us sleeping together?”

“Me? No” he scoffs. The tension hangs in the air as you’re waiting for him to elaborate. “I figured you would”

You sigh and take a step closer to him.

“Llewyn no… Why would I?” you chuckle, almost offended at the thought.

“I don’t know. Nothing I do is ever good so why would this be any different?” he shrugs, closing his belt.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose and shaking your head.

“No. You’re a fucking idiot.” you mutter under your breath.

“I know.” he replies quickly, not wasting one second. He walks back to your living room, gathering his stuff to go, really wanting to avoid having a fight with you, and preparing to leave like he had planned to.

“I don’t mean it like that. You wanna know why you’re a fucking idiot?” you ask rhetorically, following him closely. “You think you’re not good enough for everything you do in life when truth is, you’re just really unlucky.” you declare, “And you act like a jerk because you’re scared of actually succeeding in something.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Well surely you’re right about that too” he scoffs, pulling out his cigarette pack from his pocket.

“Don’t smoke inside of my apartment” you hiss.

“I told you, I’m leaving.” he almost immediately snaps, putting the cigarette in his shirt pocket, taking his guitar case and his box of things, his coat thrown over it.

You sigh and put a hand over your forehead, and watch as he passes in front of you to go to your entry.

It is now or never, or else it will never be the same. Tonight you had taken a step forward, but by taking this step forward you had also taken two steps backwards, and if you didn’t try to save this now it would never be saved.

“Llewyn” you call, and something breaks inside him at the sound of your voice. You had never called his name so weakly, so pleadingly.

He turns and finally looks at you, establishing eye contact for more than five seconds for the first time since your sexual encounter. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“I fucked this up too, didn’t I” he mutters, and you pinch your lips as it is your turn to shake your head as you step closer to him.

“No. No you didn’t.”

He looks down at the stuff he’s carrying and sighs.

“I don’t really wanna go.” he declares softly.

“Then stay,” you nod. “Please. I don’t want you to go.” you say as you take a step forward, taking the box from his hands. “If you leave I would need to run after you in just my shirt and underwear, and frankly I don’t want to do that” you smile slightly as you put his stuff down on the floor.

He laughs and puts the rest of his belongings on the floor too, and when he looks back at you he notices you’re still looking down on the floor, gaze lost in your thoughts.

“Honey is there–”

“Do you think sleeping together was a mistake?” you cut him off, looking back at him.

“No. Of course not. I’d do it again.” he declares. “I mean if–”

“I get it. Don’t worry” you chuckle.

A small silence fills the room before you get an idea.

“Hey, follow me” you say as you tilt your head. You cross your small apartment, Llewyn following you closely, grabbing your wrist as you push your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart I’d love to but I don’t think I can go again– I mean not right now”

“I’m not bringing you here to have sex again” you declare, a chuckle escaping your lips as you see his face relaxing and his hold on your wrist loosening up. You sit on the edge of your bed, and he watches you from a distance, leaning against the doorframe. “Come here” you call, patting the spot right beside you. Llewyn hesitantly sits beside you, and his gaze shifts to your face when you grab his hand.

“This could be your bed, if you wanted it to be.” The sound of your voice rings in his ears. “You wouldn’t have to sleep on my couch again. Or any other couch.” you declare, brushing back his unkempt hair, and he looks at the bed behind him as if to contemplate what he could have.

He looks back at you, and he knows that he knows his answer. He doesn’t hesitate for one second on what he would rather have, because if he could be by your side forever, he would be. But something inside of him is not sure if you want him to be by your side forever.

He nods. He nods and he licks his lips in reflection, and he looks back at the bed before looking back at you again. “I don’t want this to be exclusively sexual” he declares, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Me neither” you smile, a wide smile that makes his heart sink. You grab his face and kiss him, and he savors this kiss like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do. But if kissing you was the last thing he’d do, he would be satisfied with that.

You pull away from his lips and lay down on the bed, and his hand rests against your bare thigh while he looks at you. And he looks at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

He lays down next to you with a grunt, facing the ceiling, and you prop yourself against your elbow to face him.

“I’ll just ask you one thing” you declare, firmly looking at him.

“Mh?” he hums, looking at you.

You lick your lips and let your fingers trail along the side of his face.

“Stop thinking you don’t deserve anything good.” you whisper, and his face shifts so he can kiss the tip of your fingers.

“Eh, I’ll try,” he smirks, shrugging. You shake your head and lean down to kiss him again, but he hovers over you and pins you down before you have the chance to do it.

You laugh and he kisses you, hungrily, and shifts down to leave a trail of kisses to your neck and collarbone as a defeated sigh escapes your mouth.

“Okay so I’ll give you time to work on the imposter syndrome. But now we can only have sex if you promise me you won’t hate yourself after we’re done”

He pulls away from your skin, and looks up at you.

“I can do that.”

You spend a long night offering Llewyn your bed, the uncleaned stain of wine on your floor long forgotten.

But at least years later, when you’re engaged to Llewyn and packing to move out somewhere bigger and the time comes when you have to remove the rug, it reminds you of that specific night, and you can’t help the fluttering feeling of the butterflies in your stomach, accompanied right away by a tiny kick. The very first one.

—

comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!

inside llewyn davis taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @beccabecs521

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playgrl0 · 9 months

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a/n: i.. have no idea what this is. it isn't a real fic it's just something that i needed to get off my chest... i think? idk man lmao. i wrote it while i was very high nd sad lol. also, i decided to not tag anyone since this isn't really a fic nd it's not about anyone specific. i imagined nanami while writing it tho, (well, the beginning nd the end lol) but u can ofc imagine anyone u want.

wc: 0,582

!! TW! implied suicide. poor mental health. just overall sad nd dark, very depressing i guess... i don't really know. please don't read if u easily get triggered, thank u !!

“Are you okay?” he asks. His voice is soft and careful. His hand resting atop your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze, his eyes showing a sign of worry while waiting for your answer.

“Yes” “yes” “yes” “yes” “yes” “yes” “yes”

But am i really?

No. I'm not okay at all. But if I give you that answer, then what? What are you going to do? What can you do?

Absolutely nothing.

I'm in way too much pain. Too much has happened. Too many things have fucked up my brain. There's nothing you could ever do or say to take that trauma and pain away from me. So “yes”, is the best answer i can give you.

You can't do anything about the raging storm that is happening inside of my head. No one can. It's loud. It's so loud there. Loud thunder. The rain,

So loud, so loud, so fucking loud.

And my head feels heavy. Really fucking heavy. It's like I can barely hold it up and I always have to lay down to make sure my body doesn't give out under the heavy pressure of carrying my head around.

And when the thoughts in my brain keep piling on top of each other, so much, and so high that I barely can fit inside anymore, that's when the thoughts get really dark and heavy.

That's where I know that not a single soul can help me.

That I'm lost.

That's when I want to hurt myself.

When I want everything to stop.

The thoughts. The pain. The numbness. The heaviness. The struggle. The tears. The voices.

When i want

Stop

Existing.

That's the deepest part of the hole you can fall into. The moment where you're only a second, only a millimetre away from hitting the bottom.

That's the moment you get rid of your existence and hit the bottom of the hole.

It's what I've been longing for for the longest time. I don't remember what it's like not to want it.

The best part about it is that you won't feel the impact. You won't feel the pain, the shame, the guilt, the heaviness of the world anymore because it's quiet.

It'll be so quiet and peaceful.

No voices. No storm. No pain. No thoughts. No tears. No harm. No danger.

Just

Peace.

That's the only thing that can fix me. That can heal me, make me be okay.

But until then, I'm not okay. I won't be. There's nothing, besides that, that can fix me.

But I can't tell him, or anyone else, any of that.

So i'll just continue to nod my head, give a assuring smile and say yes.

“Yes” “yes” “yes” “yes” “yes” “yes” “yes”

I wrap my arms around his torso, my head buried in his chest. “Yes.” I answer him. “Just tired, that's all.” I smile at him.

He smiles back, kissing my forehead gently. He doesn't believe me, I know that. But he doesn't want to pressure me. “You can talk to me. Always and about anything. You know that, right?” he reminds me, his soft lips moving against my forehead.

“I know.” I kiss him on the lips, he smiles against mine. “Let's go lay down and take a nap together, yeah? You need rest.”

love,

<3 @ playgrl0

#p!writes!%*#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento #kento nanami #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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underrated-adversaries · 1 year

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Have you, like me, been submitting your favs to every poll you see only to pretty much never get in because you're, like, the only one to nominate them? If yes, then you've come to the right place!

This tournament is for underrated characters & ships (they will be separate polls within this blog) that you really want to have a chance but they just can't against the Doctor Who's and Critical Roll's of the world, all you need to do is submit them in one of the attached forms which you will choose based on what you want to submit. After that, when we've either reached the week mark or rounded up an appropriately daunting amount of submissions, whichever comes first, we will have prelims which will probably be the longest lasting round. All and I mean all submitted favs will be in the prelims pretty much no exceptions unless they break the rules. Speaking of!

~The Rules~

(sorry they're so long)

• While the media the favs come from doesn't necessarily have to be underrated the fav has to be. For example Ace Attorney in it of itself wouldn't be underrated but characters could be, you could theoretically submit Ron DeLite and have him get in but you couldn't necessarily submit Edgeworth and have him get in.

• That being said I will make some caveats for things from super popular media like Star Wars for example because while a character could be underrated when somethings that popular its bound to have a ton of people know it no matter how underrated or obscure, I may be swayed with some convincing but don't get your hopes up.

• Some things I will inevitably have to ask about, because while some things are super popular I inevitably will not know something, so if I ask about something that should be common knowledge please don't make fun of me.

• Harry Potter isn't allowed here both due to the super popular media clause and also because I'm trans and don't want to worry about that stuff in my silly little tumblr tournament.

• Don't go ham on threats no matter how joking please.

• I am one person and also I've never done a tournament before and therefore know practically nothing about setting up brackets, please take this into account if you want to criticize however I end up doing it.

• Feel free to send propaganda in my asks! Also please tag me in it! Reading propaganda is my favorite part of other tournaments!

Additional notes - Macaque, Sun Wukong, MK, Mei, and Red Son from Lego Monkie Kid are all confirmed entrants as is Sebastian Debeste from Ace Attorney.

Confirmed ships are Shadowpeach, Spicynoodles, and Chimera also from Lego Monkie Kid if you want to submit other characters and ships from Lego Monkie Kid go right ahead!

Mod is @melodemonica

Character Form

Ship Form

Since a lot of other blogs seem to tag other blogs for reach I'm just gonna tag my favorites - @powerpolyculeshowdown @autismswagsummit @angerissuescompeticion @i-need-to-fuck-that-old-man @qpr-competition

tags are in order: underrated adversaries - main tag/for character polls, adversarial relationships - tag for ship polls, olly commentary - pretty self explanatory just olly's (the mod's) commentary, underrated advertisements - propaganda tag, askversaries - ask tag, alternate adversaries - other polls

#underrated adversaries #olly commentary #askversaries #underrated advertisements #adversarial relationships #tumblr tournament #tumblr competition

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ronearoundblindly · 1 month

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Ro's Monthly Edit

April 7th, 2024 - May 5th, 2024

In case you missed any of the new posted content this month, here's a handy-dandy list with short excerpts and links to all of them!

Warning: while none of the snippets are themselves explicit, a good number of the writings this month were 18+ only. Please read all warnings at the beginning of each post, and minors, please stick with works included in the Light Masterlist.

*I've only added excerpts of the two dirty headcanon asks that were written in a narrative/story style. The rest are on the list linked below.

Various Dirty Headcanons (see full list) featuring characters: Steve Rogers, Ransom Drysdale, Jake Jensen, Lloyd Hansen, Johnny Storm, Ari Levinson, Jimmy Dobyne, and Curtis Everett

Big Girls Don't Cry, from It Had To Be You (explicit) CEO!Steve Rogers x assistant/co-CEO!Reader

Steve sees you shiver and scrambles to find the blanket, tucking it around you but not giving you space to hide your face. He cups your cheek so you can't cover your eyes either, thumb sweeping across the wet streaks left behind, asking if you're ready to talk to him about it, but you shake your head. "I love you," you do say. "I just hate you a little right now."

Dirty Water, from Sun, Salt, and Shield (explicit) Steve Rogers x deep sea mermaid!Reader

Even in the very low light of damp room, he could see the lavender of your stare drop to his crotch. "You sing too?" Steve's an idiot. He didn't understand yet, so that dumbass actually began humming 'You Are My Sunshine' because nothing else occurred to him. Then he noticed your tail glowing beneath the scales. Then he realized you were pressing yourself to his legs. Aaaand then Steve Rogers looked down your body to witness his knee disappearing in a spongy spot where the armoring swelled apart. Oh god.

Untitled Ask, from Sun, Salt, and Shield Steve Rogers x deep sea mermaid!Reader

The most heart-warming thing Steve teaches you is the hug. So simple. So reminiscent of your first meeting. If you lay your head on his chest, your face can remain underwater to breathe and hold onto Steve indefinitely, and he's tried. The longest he's gone is five straight hours of just you two holding each other, brushing his thumb over your cheek, giving you soft back rubs, getting gentle back scratches from you, and loving every second. Sometimes he just talks to you, even when he knows you can't understand most of the words. It's shocking how much gets across by emotion and intonation alone. You squeeze him a little tighter when he's telling you a sad story, and you rub your forehead into his sternum when he laughs at something.

Pirate & Pin Cushion, part two (see JJ Masterlist) Jake Jensen x gn!ops!Reader

“Don’t worry, PC, they got you the good stuff. Heavy duty meds. Nothing but the best.” “PC?” you croak. Jake smirks warily. “For Pin Cushion. Eh, I’m test-driving it,” he shrugs. “You smile pretty.” Pink floods Jake’s cheeks. “Thank you?” Using all your might and concentration, your hand moves to his. “You got thick arms.”

Pirate & Pin Cushion, finale (see JJ Masterlist) Jake Jensen x gn!ops!Reader

“I’D KNOWN YOU FOR TWO WEEKS,” you explode, bolting out of your own seat. “Yeah,” Jake squeaks, “I know.” “Two weeks, and then you taped me saying ‘I love you?’” “But, like—“ his usually deep timbre pitches super high “…did you?” “Why would you just sit on that, Jake?!” “You weren’t exactly sober.” He shrugs.

Lease, one-shot (see SR One-Shots Masterlist) Steve Rogers x best friend!roommate!reader

“You don’t have to put photos,” Sam assures, “and you can stick with your first name only. I swear to you, man, this’ll be good for you. Get you out there more. Help me out here, Tagalong!” He turns to you for support. To be fair, you did quite literally tag along with your parents for years to the VA, and it stuck. Why it sticks as a grown-ass adult? You’ll never know. You just don’t mind Sam Wilson saying it because he means well and never uses it in public. “Uh, nooooo.” Sam’s face falls. “What?” You look at Steve and grimace, clicking your tongue. “He’s not ready for that,” you conclude. Steve jumps out of the chair, arms wide with victory. “THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING!”

No Promises, part one (explicit, darkfic) (see LH Masterlist) Lloyd Hansen x rival assassin!Reader

Easy pickings is what this guy is. All Lloyd has to do is make it look like the middle-aged, fake-tanned Pillsbury Doughboy down there had a heart attack…which might actually happen at the rate his target is shoveling antipasto down his gullet. Lloyd wipes his own mouth in disgust. The women have the right idea though, especially the one in the yellow bikini. His target looks like a desperate and lonely man, whether flashing around wealth or not, so leech away, ladies. Enjoy the free ride while it lasts.

No Promises, part two (explicit, darkfic) (see LH Masterlist) Lloyd Hansen x rival assassin!Reader

Lloyd keeps his steps forward into the room slow and casual, though his ire is obvious. He stops halfway across the carpet, unzips his leather jacket, and tosses it onto the foot of the bed. He seems surprised when you strut over without hesitation; he hasn’t handed over any weapons, but you haven’t asked for a reason. Lloyd’s reputation is cocky, commanding, and curious—in that order—so he won’t start speculating till it’s too late. Indeed, what possible harm could you inflict wearing this lil’ ol’ thing, huh?

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#ro's bi-weekly edit #in case you missed it #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #jake jensen fanfiction #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen angst #jake jensen fluff #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen smut #lloyd hansen x reader

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the-lincyclopedia · 1 month

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Pretending I got tagged by @cricketnationrise!

How many works do you have on ao3?

As of an hour ago: 214. I just recorded a podfic tonight.

What's your total ao3 word count?

494,201. I really hope to pass the half-million mark this year. It won't take much. I just haven't had basically any writing energy lately.

What fandoms do you write for?

These days? The Queen's Thief, when I write fic at all. Historically also Check Please, Carry On/the Simon Snow trilogy, Sherlock, the Lizzie Bennet Diaries, Yuri on Ice, PJO, Boyfriend Material, Good Omens, and more.

Top five fics by kudos:

Love in the Time of Influenza - Carry On - Snowbaz sickfic

Face the Future with You - Check Please - autistic!Jack x ADHD!Bitty

The Aftermath of Angelic Assumptions - Good Omens - Ineffable Husbands sickfic

Man Oh Man, You're My Best Friend - Check Please - Zimbits fake dating

Nightmares - Carry On - Snowbaz hurt/comfort

Do you respond to comments?

Basically always.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

the only soul who can tell which smiles i'm faking - a Kent-centric ficlet set just after Jack's overdose

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my 200+ fics have happy endings, so I don't really know how to answer that.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not recently, but it was a pretty regular and normal occurrence when I was on FFN in my teens. Once, someone sent me flames on 18 separate chapters of a multi-chapter fic in a two-day period. It sucked. But also, comments with concrit were so, so common for me to receive in my teens that I figured they were a normal and expected part of the fandom experience, and I have so much cognitive dissonance when people say they're not and never have been. I've neither given nor received unsolicited concrit in quite a few years, and I fully understand that they're not part of the culture on AO3, but two of my longest-lasting fandom friendships began with concrit on FFN (once giving, once receiving), and I think "this has never been a normal part of fandom culture" is an overstatement. I also think there's a difference between hate (which I've received several times) and the majority of unsolicited concrit that I've received. Not everything that's rude is hateful.

Do you write smut?

I have written M-rated grinding once and E-rated sex once. Not sure if I'll write either again. I'm pretty darn ace.

Weirdest crossover:

A Little Help - Lizzie Bennet (firmly of the Lizzie Bennet Diaries canon, not the original P&P) meets Eric Bittle at Vidcon and the two of them become close friends.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. I know of at least three spinoffs of fics of mine, though.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not exactly, but when I'm in a relationship with someone I share fandoms with, the alpha reading/cheer reading/yes-and-ing/etc can blur into co-creation. And honestly I've also had key alpha readers who I haven't dated.

All time favorite ship?

Gosh, I can't pick.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My Queen's Thief fic where the characters all study abroad together. I have a detailed outline and a few thousand words, but I've had so little creative energy for the past several months.

What are your writing strengths?

I usually say persistence, but I don't know if I've had as much of that lately. Um . . . clarity, SPAG, and like--I have a really clear memory of what it was like to be younger, and I think that brings life to the stuff I write about college/other parts of life that I've already passed through.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Describing things. I prefer writing dialogue, but I'm also never sure if my characters sound like people. Realism in general is tricky for me--I get too hung up on logistics and then completely fail at writing people with realistic motivations. So lots of stuff.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I almost never do it. I could maybe swing it with Swedish, although one time I tried and got corrected by a Finn (which was welcome and they were right, but it made me wary of trying again).

First fandom you wrote in?

I don't want to answer this publicly because I feel like the story of me getting into fandom/into writing in general is pretty unique, and I might tell it someday with my real name attached if I ever get published. (I just checked, and there are literally zero fics on AO3 for the book I first wrote fic of. The fic that I wrote is not on AO3, since I was ten years old and it was 2006, and I'm very grateful that, although I entered online fandom young, I didn't enter it quite that young.) The first fandom for which I posted fic was probably the wizard one that we're no longer naming. May have been Artemis Fowl or PJO, though.

Favorite fic you've written?

To Every Single Kid I Used to Be - an epistolary fic in which 25-year-old Jack Zimmermann writes letters to his younger self, one letter per year of his life. Featuring autistic!Jack and a whole lot of real details from my own life.

Anyone who wants to play, feel free to say I tagged you, but I'm specifically tagging @doggernaut, @eponymiad, @worldsentwined, @cartograffiti, and @the-knights-who-say-book!

#a lin original #fanfiction #tag game

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mybworlds · 7 months

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Chapter 5: Lessons of trust

Pairing: The Hound x Sansa Stark

Summary: the Hound teaches Sansa how to use a sword, but all they’ll do is argue...

Chapter Warnings: language, violence, blood, almost sexual violence, small description of a rotting corpse

Masterlist

Before to start... thank you to follow me, if you want to be tagged in the next chapters, please let me know! This is the longest chapter I’ve written so please take your time for reading. if you want to ask me smt you can write down here or you can inbox me.

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

"The sword must be an extension of your arm!" the Hound repeated to her.

Sansa did not know whether to call herself crazy for asking Clegane to teach her how to use the sword or to congratulate herself on the beautiful and useful idea, but most of all Sansa was surprised at how the man in front of her had agreed almost immediately.

"NO! By the Seven Damned Hells, not like this!" he blurted out looking at the wrong position of the young woman's arm "Like this." he told her by going close to her and extending Sansa's arm slightly outward, his movement was firm, but extremely gentle "It's heavy." commented Stark making to take the weapon with both hands "You have to use one arm only, two would only weigh you down. For quick combat, you wouldn't give more than two shots." he said.

"Please be patient with me. I have never used a sword, I was taught that there are knights for that, I did not think there would come a time when..." her voice choked in her throat and Sansa lowered her head.

He called himself crazy for agreeing to teach Sansa Stark how to use a sword, how did he come up with that?

For the seven hells!

He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him for the briefest of moments "I know, little bird, you've been sung so many good stories, but the world is not as the storytellers tell it."

She with her head down nodded "I just wanted to-- I'm just a stupid little girl who was taught stupid and useless things."

He felt a motion of pity, an unknown pity for her "You're a little girl educated to be a ruler, but you're not ready to live in the world. The real one, I say. Not the golden one of castles. Although after all, all this gold isn't even there, it's just a fucking world of appearances, a world where you play at who has more power, who can anticipate the moves of their opponents. Your world, the world you come from is a world of power games. My world, on the other hand, is one of blood, sweat, thirst for revenge and justice. And it is the real one. They are two totally different worlds.

I cannot and will not learn anything from you, but you can learn from me." and it was true, what could she possibly teach him? To make embroidery and lace? To use pretty words?

No, that was definitely not his world.

Sansa looked at him for a very brief moment: she was still too intimidated by those dark eyes and the man's burns; she knew how brave and strong he was with a sword, she should have felt safe, but he still could not convey peace of mind and trust to her.

How could anyone trust a man who killed those who had been his soldiers for money?

Sandor Clegane huffed and shook his head, "Winter will come before you can sustain my gaze. But after all you must watch how I move, certainly not my face! You don't look at dogs because they are beautiful, but because they can fulfill their task.

Mine now is to teach you what I know about the sword. And now let's not waste any more time and resume, which foot do you use the most?" he asked her impetuously approaching her.

"The right one." replied Sansa, backing away just barely, startled by that quick movement.

"Well, if someone attacks you raise your left arm," he continued making her raise her arm, "you block him and use his strength against him. You are small so wait for him to come closer, then push the sword into his body to the hilt if necessary and wait." he added looking straight into her eyes, into those frightened innocent blue eyes.

"What?" she asked.

"Let life leave his eyes." the man replied to her a short distance from her face, Sansa swallowed and then wrinkled her forehead "Don't hesitate, or you're dead." added Sandor moving away from her "And then it would all be wasted effort on my part as well as yours." having said these fateful words, Sandor barely moved away from her and the two resumed their training.

The two trained until almost sunset, then they set out again when the sky was now plunged into darkness. Sansa was exhausted, yet she vowed not to complain: she had already shown too many weaknesses to the man beside her; she did not want to give him further cause to be taunted.

The night birds slowly appeared, some chirping above their heads, others in the distance, the shadows gradually became thicker and more numerous, the river gurgled to their right, a few stones rolled as they passed by on either side of the small hill on which the two marched. Sansa thought for a moment that she found herself in one of Old Nan's eerie stories, only what the girl was experiencing was not a fantastic story with eerie folds, it was real, and it was horrible: Sandor was right, the world is not like the one sung about in the courts. There was nothing spectacular or compelling about what surrounded them.

If anyone had ever sung about the affairs of Sansa Stark, probably no one would have wasted their time in devoting more than a few words to her, they would have surely laughed at her: she did not feel brave, she did not feel valiant. If someone had for real told the story of the two wayfarers, Sansa thought, they would have focused on the massive figure of Sandor Clegane, the man with the half-bruised face endowed with great strength and courage, who disdained the title of knight while acting like one.

Stark seethed as she thought back to the song about Florian and Jonquil, how much nonsense she had been told to protect her and make her believe that her life would be full of love, lavish ceremonies, and lots of laughter. Her life was a nightmare, it would never be like one of those ballads.

"Have you lost your tongue, little bird?" the Hound suddenly asked her.

"No." she answered simply, however she gave no further explanation about her silence, how could she explain to someone like him, to a man who disdained ballads, knights, princely behavior, what she - a noblewoman - was feeling at that moment?

"Then why don't you sing? I remember you owed me a song," the man reminded her. It had only been a few days since they had left King's Landing, but to Sansa it seemed like months, she had forgotten the Hound's request.

"I don't know any songs anymore," she answered him simply.

"You mean it only took you a few bloody days to forget your beloved ballads from your storyteller friends?" he sneered at her. Sansa lowered her head did not answer, she just wanted to remain silent and hear the noises that livened the forest during the night.

"All right, as you wish we remain silent," he finally surrendered.

They walked for two days and nights, and on the third day Sansa found herself praying that someone fighting for the Starks would stop them and take her to her mother and brother, but that did not happen.

"Come." her traveling companion told her, taking her by the girdle and getting her off his horse, "Let's rest for a while here." Sansa saw the place the Hound had chosen: it was a two-story wooden house, the door had been torn off, the windows broken, someone had been there before, and surely - according to the man - no one else would come to such a place.

"Wait here." he ordered her as he entered with his sword drawn to check the interior "There is only one corpse, but it will have been dead for weeks, it stinks." Sansa swallowed "Take off that scared look, dead people are dead. I'll take it out and then you come in." the body was decaying, it stank, Sansa was forced to put a hand over her mouth and nose to keep from breathing in the death-pregnant air that made her feel very nauseous "Come, princess." said Clegane. Sansa looked around, everything was abandoned, the few pieces of furniture inside had fallen or overturned, dust permeated the air of the small cabin, the girl looked toward Sandor "I'll go find a hare or something else to eat. You stay here." he ordered her "And don't let anyone see you for any reason in the world, understand?" Sansa nodded and the Hound walked away.

The young woman took the opportunity to fix her hair with her hands and looked at her beautiful, now worn-out dress, sighed and thought that she would give anything to be in that place at least with her sister Arya, she would know what to do, she would even accompany the Hound to hunt the prey! Arya had always been a sharp little fellow, small, quick and above all always ready for action. Anytime, anyhow. Lace, nice clothes, good manners had never been her thing.

The two sisters looked nothing alike, one had inherited the red hair of her mother from the Tully household, the other had brown hair, the first was submissive, sweet and naive, the other always curious and above all always in the way. The first was sweet and honest, the second very clever and above all quick with words and especially with the sword. By a twist of fate, Sansa found herself going through adventures that her sister Arya should have gone through.

What had she thought of running away with the Hound?

Sandor Clegane could hardly stand her: he had been teasing her ever since he had seen her, he was always asking her for songs and calling her 'little bird,' moreover-knowing how fearful Sansa was, he often asked her to look at him, which she still could not!

The young woman quickly looked around and noticed a sword, the handle was blackened however she noticed two small dragons entwined with each other, the blade was different from the ones she had seen so far in both Winterfell and King's Landing. She turned it over in her hands and at that moment the man came in with two bowls in his hands, they looked at each other for a long moment then he noticed the weapon in the girl's hands and said to her, "Put that down before you can cut yourself or worse!"

"I'm not a child, I know it's a weapon and that it's not a toy!" the redhead reminded him.

"Give me that sword," the Hound told her.

"No, I'm keeping it. I found it."

"Stop acting like a spoiled little girl." he blurted out, setting the bowls down on the table and snatching the weapon from her hands "Only for a few days you've been learning how to use these weapons and this ... is a ... peculiar sword, I don't think I've ever seen a blade so thick and so dark." the man commented.

"Why did you take it away from me?"

"I didn't take it away from you!" he answered her annoyed "Here's your sword, little bird, just stop whining."

"I'm not whining." she replied as Sandor returned the heavy sword to her "It was just a clarification."

"Sure, sure. Now sit down and eat." he said, handing her a bowl containing chicken.

"Where did you get it?"

Sandor did not answer, he took to biting into the chicken with great voracity "Shit, I should have taken a flask of wine too!" he blurted out when the chicken leg was almost finished.

"Did you steal it?" asked Sansa contritely.

"What was I supposed to do? Ask to give me two chickens? With what money?" retorted Sandor shushing Sansa "Could you just say thank you instead of criticizing everything I do?" he added annoyed.

"You are the one who never wants a thank you!" she reminded him "If I tell you, you curse, if I don't tell you, you tell me I should tell you!" she blurted out, leaving the sentence in the void.

"Better a thank you than so many useless words! How would you have eaten tonight, mh? Nobody gives you anything for nothing, the sooner you understand that, the better it is!" he replied giving her another pearl of wisdom.

"You and I will never get along. You are rude, arrogant and ... a thief." she stated lapidarily, then biting into the last piece of meat.

He looked at her for a long time before replying, "But I am the only one who is taking you home. Where is that pretty little flower you like so much now, Loras Tyrell? Why did you follow me then?" Sansa fell silent "Despite my ways, I'm the only one who bothered to get you out of that fucking cage, that's why, little bird." he continued and then resumed eating.

Silence came between the two.

The moon was high in the sky and brightened the entire forest and the rocky expanse in front of the house at which Sansa and the Hound had taken refuge; she stood on what could barely be called a bed; it was hard and squeaked with every slightest movement she made. She tossed and turned in bed. She felt dirty, what she wouldn't give to take a nice hot bath and then to drink cold milk to relax herself!

Since that exchange of words had taken place, neither he nor she spoke again, both of them thinking about the words the other had addressed to him, Sandor, for his part, was not offended, he had spoken his mind, he had helped her escape from that lion's cage in which she was being devoured piece by piece. He knew what it felt like to have everything ripped away from him, first his flesh, then the love of others, to follow property and finally even his name, he knew what it felt like to become a shadow of himself and in her, he saw himself again in a way, he saw again what he had been as a child: an innocent and defenseless creature.

His brother, Gregor, had ripped away first the flesh and then the gaze of everyone around him, no one looked at a boy with a face as ugly as he had, no one, not even a whore, even to them aroused horror. Sandor would not let anyone rip the soul out of Sansa Stark, not a sweet, good, innocent, idealistic little girl like her.

He laid an arm under her head, and thought again, I am better than Gregor, than that monster. He would have already raped and killed her, but I will never touch her, I will never hurt her. I will never disrespect her!

Sandor turned back to the bed on which the little bird was lying and noticed that the position of her body was stiff, she was not sleeping, she was pretending to sleep, the reason for which she was not sleeping, Sandor ignored, but he preferred not to ask what was going through that pretty little head and turned away using his own arm as a pillow and straining to sleep, he closed his eyes.

Sansa, she thought, who had said those words because deep down she meant them: the Hound was a man of manners too arrogant, too scurvy, too fierce for her. However, she had freely chosen to follow him, had seen in him, in that man, a glimmer, the one and only possible way out. The two could never have gotten along, not even in a hundred years!

She remained with her eyes closed, but listened to every single noise, every creak, every rustle, at the slightest footfall she jerked, she trembled, she feared that a Lannister soldier or a shadow panther might kill her at any moment despite the Hound's strong presence.

"Little bird, sleep." a voice, the Hound's, admonished her "You must rest or tomorrow you will not be able to hold on Stranger. You are a too delicate flower, and the slightest difficulty may break you, so sleep."

Sansa turned to him caught in the act "Forgive me...I - I.... I...I don't..."

"Stop babbling bullshit, close your eyes and go to sleep!" the man scolded her.

Those words shook Sansa and at the same time outraged her deeply, why did the man who was only a few years older than her not understand her? Why did he not put himself in her shoes?

Was it really so difficult to understand how she felt?

The next morning when the girl woke up she noticed that Clegane was not there: he was already awake.

She got up and watched the first shy lights of dawn illuminate the surrounding landscape, everything was tinged a pale blue, Sansa breathed hard and closed her eyes, prayed to the gods that they might sustain her through this other day and give her the strength to reach her home in the North.

She went downstairs, the steps as she passed them squeaked conspicuously so that she was afraid for a moment that those might break and cause her to fall. She stepped outside the small house and saw the Hound near a tree with his back to her, he turned his gaze downward, Sansa took a few moments to realize what he was doing and turned away feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Shortly thereafter she heard a rustling sound and ventured to turn her head again toward the man's direction, Sandor Clegane was making his return.

"Good morning!" she greeted him.

He responded to her greeting with a grimace that made horribly contract the burned half of his face and he made to get over it, but then reconsidered, "If you have to...piss, I suggest you to do it now!" Sansa blushed even more "And take off that always embarrassed look! Hurry up we'll be on our way again in a bit!" he barked.

"Could you be a little bit nicer? Does it cost you so much?" scolded Sansa.

A true Lady never gets angry or raises her voice, that had been taught to her. Sansa breathed deeply and went on, striving to maintain a calm, controlled tone of voice, "Please give me a few minutes and then we can continue."

Sandor twisted his mouth, assuming a grotesque expression, but he did not add anything else; he simply walked past her as he entered the small, badly tumbledown house. Sansa - she told herself - would never meet her needs at that tree, never. She did not want the Hound to see her!

She turned for a moment behind her and then advanced along the rocky expanse, she would look for a tree a little more secluded and especially hidden from the sight of the man who, Sansa was sure, was watching her. The girl stumbled several times and even risked falling a couple of times, but eventually managed to reach a tree far enough away from the house and its windows.

As she was adjusting her skirt, Sansa heard some voices and gripped by shame and fear that someone else was nearby and might see her, she hid behind a large bush of what looked like nettles and saw them: there were six of them, they had a banner representing a tree and three snakes entwined around it. Sansa did not remember to whom that crest belonged, however, she remembered seeing it once in the library of Winterfell when as a child-a single time-she played hide-and-seek with her sister Arya.

The men must have been messengers of this household because usually, when there was a Lord or a Lady these would move with a large army to protect them. The reason why they were there, Sansa ignored and did not care. She made to turn back, but in retreating, she stepped on a twig that snapped under her weight and the men of unknown lineage began shouting phrases such as "Who goes there?", "Show yourself!", Sansa turned her back on their voices and took off running, she was now in danger and what she had to do was to flee.

The girl, however, had never been particularly fast, so a few steps and the men caught up with her, shouting, "Stop, bitch, where do you think you're going!" Sansa was thrown forward and lost her balance, hit her head first against a small stone and then against a log, the young woman's head began to spin hard, she was bleeding where she had hit her head, she saw six faces surrounding her and towering over her.

"Who are you?" someone asked her, but someone else exclaimed laughing "I think we’re about to have fun!" others laughed too, someone else retorted "But there's no taste, she's more dead than alive! I don't fuck a half-dead woman!" Sansa groaned in pain, where was the Hound, she thought.

"Little bird." someone called her, but Sansa could not answer, one of those soldiers pressed a hand over her mouth and said, "So you're a bird! Well, let's see if you will entertain us." Sansa took to screaming at that one's hand, she felt a pair of hands touch her violently and come down on her bare legs, they were lifting her skirt ripping it off, no gods no, no please... she found herself begging Sansa, have mercy on me, she wanted to scream, but she couldn't.

Her heart was beating fast in her chest from fear, she tried to kick and managed - she did not know how either - to strike the one who was touching her in the face, he immediately left her bringing his hands to his nose, for a moment the one pressing his hands over her mouth left her and Sansa cried out for help, she made to turn around and get back on her feet, but she was grabbed again and a third person slapped her so violently that the girl had the fear that those gestures might tear her skin off, "Bitch, come here, now I'll teach you manners! " shouted another voice, she was so stunned that she felt as if she couldn't even see anymore, she felt her corset being ripped off and she was pushed on the ground again; she felt someone touching her with the same violence as before, he was scratching her breasts and Sansa felt... dirty, terribly dirty... slowly she started to see again and saw the man's face: it was a mask of hatred, perversion and wickedness.

When she felt the man's fingers touching her in her intimate area, she heard a cry that sounded like a howl, then a figure pounced on the man who was violently touching her, threw himself on him and Sansa was able to breathe almost normally, she did not see what happened because she closed her eyes: she was too shaken to observe.

The Hound had thrown himself on the first slaughtering him, caught the second dropping him to the ground, put his foot on his chest and pierced his neck with his sword, with the third and fourth he duelled simultaneously holding both of them head on and coming out victorious, the fifth and sixth fled. Sandor Clegane in another circumstance would have chased them down and stabbed them against a tree perhaps, but he let them live not before he saw their banner, what the fuck were those from the Land of Aryas doing there? Hadn't their lineage long since died out?

He turned to Sansa: she was in a pitiful condition, her face was redder than her hair, on her cheekbone, under her nose and at one side of her mouth there was blood, her robes were torn. He took his cloak and threw it on the girl who groaned in terror as she opened her eyes; when she realized it was him, Sansa relaxed imperceptibly and threw her arms around the Hound's neck, he did not push her away or have for her words laden with reproach or mockery, he simply let the young Stark embrace him for a few minutes, then lifted her by weight bringing her back to the sort of home they had found the day before.

Sansa did not speak for the next few hours, she was deeply shaken by what had happened, she felt...small, helpless, but most of all dirty, this was not how she had imagined being touched by a man! The Hound made her lie down by making her hold onto the cloak he had given her, and she wrapped herself in it, "I must find a way to treat you, wait here." he told her, she had heard him, but did not reply. She heard only the man's heavy footsteps moving away from her and found herself thinking that her septa, but also perhaps her own mother were wrong about love and knights: knights had done this to her, the one she believed to be a king had had her father and her septa killed, knights are not the ones who are in shining armor, knights are not the ones in ballads.

Sansa felt mocked and wept, wept until she fell asleep.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw the Hound fiddling with bandages, probably stolen from somewhere, and a small wooden basin with water in it. Sansa looked at the Hound's tired, dirty, ruined face; he was bad-looking, but he was taking care of her.

Was this perhaps a true knight? Sansa wondered for a moment, to later remember how much he hated knights and their whole golden world, the Stark could not help but think that that hatred was due to his brother who had taken everything from him and violently taken the title of knight.

She saw him dip a bandage into the water, barely squeeze it and press it against her cheekbone, Sansa jerked, and he exclaimed, "Be still, or you risk turning into a pumpkin!" she looked straight into his eyes, those gray eyes that were in turn watching her and slowly beginning to make her less afraid. She then pressed on her nose and more gently on her swollen lower lip another bandage.

The Hound felt a strange and unfamiliar pity for the little girl in front of her, he intended to protect her from everything, but he had failed, he had failed miserably and all because of his own fault, his own distraction, he had failed in his purpose. True, he had saved her, but now the young Stark was in front of her in terrible condition, she didn't even look like herself anymore, that delicate little bird with the always sweet and kind words, she was silent and bore wounds she never wanted to see on her.

He had been a fucking idiot to think he could take care of another person outside himself, he was absolutely incapable of it, he told himself.

They did not speak, they said nothing to each other the whole time, she just looked at him, did not reply, had neither sweet nor sharp words for Sandor Clegane. He shrugged off his cloak with surprising delicacy for such a mighty man, she did not take her eyes off him, and the man thought that if looks could cause ice to melt, well the Stark could! For the first time in his life, he was feeling uncomfortable looking at the maiden's slender body, that body that had already been beaten and reddened many times, that body now again battered by the scratches of those beasts.

“May I?”

Sandor completely moved her corset away and handed her the wet bandage on the scratches in the furrow between the small breasts of the Stark, she closed her eyes for a moment and lowered them: she did not have the courage to look in the face of the man who was almost silently taking care of her and who was touching her with a disarming delicacy.

She clenched her lips and looked at the great hand of the Hound, once that man frightened her, once she even feared his size, now? She still didn't know for sure, but surely it was no longer the fear she felt towards him when she was in King's Landing, when served Joffrey.

The water burned on the wounds and Sansa moaned softly and then again found the courage to look her savior in the eyes, Sandor did not return her gaze, she observed the half face of the man's that had been irreversibly burned and felt ... pain? Mercy? Compassion?

“I make you sick, right?”

The Hound looked up at her feeling observed, Sansa blushed and her face a little for the wounds and a little for the embarrassment turned red like fire. “N – no.” she replied stammering.

“Don't lie, remember I smell the lie, little Stark!” reminded her “Is your gaze not of regard, or am I wrong?” he said.

Sansa's heart began to beat even louder in the chest “What do you say? I look at you because ... because ...” didn't know what to say, why was she observing him with such intensity?

“I’m all ears!” he added as if to sharpen the discomfort she felt.

“Stop embarrassing me!” she replied looking him into his eyes.

“So, you feel uncomfortable? Why? Why did I touch your tits or why am I too ugly to do it?”

Sansa moved the man's hand away and covered herself at the worst, he had offended her.

“How dare you?”

“Is the little bird used to talk to knights like that queer of Knight of Flowers? Well, you know how I speak and what I do, and if I do something, I do it not because some fucking law require me to! And if you love the rules they taught you as a child, it's none of my business! Since we are forced to be together for this time, I suggest you stop recovering continuously because I don't change for a young lady from the North who venerates knights and gods! Above these rules I piss on!” he ended getting up and moving away from her, just before leaving the room she warned her “Settled, in a while we set off again!”

Sansa shook her head: the two of them would never get along, never.

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