#please tag it for the first week or two..

[wordsmeetwbb]

Mine, Forever

Word count: 5.1k (everybody cheer)

Content: smut (choking, strap, degradation, possessive!Paige, sub!Azzi, actually one of the filthiest things i've ever written)

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: I got tagged in this post a while ago and had to write it. it's actually filthy. please give me all the reactions in my inbox, they feed me. sorry for the wait lol

________

Warmups are still going on when Azzi takes her courtside seat at College Park Center. Paige doesn’t see her immediately, too focused on shooting free throw after methodical free throw. It’s not until the commotion from fans forming a line to take pictures with Azzi grows loud enough to reach the court that Paige glances over.

Her eyes flick over for only half a second before focusing back in on the rim and beginning the action of letting the ball fly forward off her fingertips, but by the time she’s in motion, her brain has registered the scene to her right. Paige’s eyes dart back to the stands as the ball leaves her hands. The ball barely makes it halfway to the basket before thudding against the floor, but Paige isn’t watching the airball. Her legs are carrying her towards the courtside seats where Azzi is now surrounded by fans before Paige even realizes what’s happening.

“P! Get over here!” Arike’s yell snaps Paige out of her trance, but not before her eyes catch on Azzi’s outfit.

Her hair is half up and half down with those four little braids and the slut strands that Paige loves. She’s in a low-waisted jean skirt, way too short to be appropriate and definitely shorter than anything Paige knew Azzi owned. And the shirt. Azzi is wearing a white Dallas Wings jersey with a number 5 on the front, and Paige knows what that means. It means her name is printed on the back of the jersey, on Azzi’s lower back, right above her ass, for everyone to see.

Azzi turns around right as Paige is managing to pry her eyes back to her teammates, and her vision snags on the word. Bueckers. In bold, dark blue ink, advertising her name to everyone in the arena. It fills Paige with a sickly sweet feeling of satisfaction, spreading through her limbs like honey.

“Paige!” It’s an assistant coach who yells at her this time, demanding Paige’s attention on some drill or another that she really couldn’t care less about at the moment. But as much as she wants to look at Azzi all day, stare at her jersey draped over the younger girl’s muscular frame, she knows she has a job to do.

Halfway through the first quarter, Paige and Arike are both on the bench, being given a breather while the Wings have a little bit of a lead over Chicago. It doesn’t take long for Arike to lean over and bump Paige’s shoulder with her own, a grin stretched from ear to ear across her face.

“Damn, you got your girl out here wearing your jersey during pride month? Is this the hard launch?” She teases. Paige doesn’t even have it in herself to blush. All she feels is pride, rushing through her bloodstream with an undercurrent of possession.

“I didn’t even know she was comin’ tonight, to be honest,” Paige mumbles, briefly glancing over to Azzi in her seat across the court, legs crossed carefully at the knee in a way that makes her skirt ride up. She’s finally been left alone by the fans and is scrolling on her phone, seemingly disinterested in the game in front of her.

“She hard launched by herself! Ouch, P. She really said if you’re not gonna do it, she will,” Arike laughs. Nalyssa leans over from Arike’s other side, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Nai owes me 20 bucks,” she quips. Paige raises an eyebrow.

“Y’all took bets on whether we’d hard launch?” Arike stifles a laugh behind her hand, and Nalyssa grins.

“Nah. The bet was for when y’all would launch. Nai said two weeks. I gave it a month. I win.” Arike holds up a hand in Nalyssa’s face, cutting her off.

“Wait, wait, wait. This is week three, so you’re not right either,” she argues. Paige’s eyes switch back and forth between her teammates, half forgetting that this debate is about her relationship.

“Winner is whoever is closest without going over,” Lyss says with a shrug.

“Hollup, I don’t think it counts as a launch if I wasn’t involved. This is just Az,” Paige defends. Arike’s eyebrows scrunch together, her face a perfect mask of disbelief.

“Girl, whose jersey is that? I don’t see my name on there, do you? Who’s Little Miss Hard Launch launching with, huh?” Arike taunts. Paige shrugs.

“Aight. That’s me. That’s my name,” she concedes. “Wearing my damn name,” she mumbles again, more to herself than her teammates. Lyss barks out a laugh.

“Keep it in your pants, P. Still got three quarters left,” Arike warns, but her voice is light and a smile curves the corners of her lips.

________

The rest of the game is torture. Slow, painful, beautiful, teasing torture. Paige plays 31 minutes. The other nine minutes are spent staring longingly across the court at her girlfriend, wishing the game could just end in a way that kind of makes her ashamed. But then she focuses on Azzi again, on the way her curls brush the tops of her shoulders, on the number 5 displayed proudly on her chest, and she stops feeling bad about her sudden hatred for how long basketball games are.

Arike only calls her out for staring twice, and Paige actually thanks the woman for it when the game finally ends and they’re all heading back to the locker room. She’s walking fast, as if she doesn’t have to go sit at a table with Chris and Myisha for too long for post-game press anyway. As if walking faster now will get her to Azzi any sooner.

To Paige’s surprise, her speedwalking actually does accomplish her intended goal. Azzi is waiting inside the tunnel, tucked into a back corner near the door to the locker room. Her skirt is high on her thighs, and now that she’s not covered by a row of seats, Paige can clearly see the muscles of her calves, highlighted by smooth, tan skin. She licks her lips, swallows hard, and slows as she approaches.

“You tryna break the internet with your lil outfit there, ma?” Paige murmurs as she stops in front of Azzi. There’s not enough space between them, not anywhere close to a friendly distance separating their bodies. Paige can feel Azzi’s warmth radiating through the air and settling into her skin.

“Not the internet. Just trying to break you,” Azzi replies. Paige’s eyes wander down the younger girl’s frame, catching on the smooth skin of her biceps first, then the belly piercing glinting above the waistband on her denim skirt, then the strong expanse of her thighs, before she drags her gaze back up.

“And the hard launch was just a bonus?” Paige shoots back. Azzi shrugs, a smirk curving the corners of her mouth up.

“You say that like you don’t want everybody to know I’m yours anyway.”

That does it for Paige. Her hands are on Azzi in a heartbeat, grabbing her wrists with sweaty hands, veins still prominent from the exertion of the game. It doesn’t take long at all to drag Azzi into the locker room, which is miraculously still empty, and into the bathroom at the back, pressing her up against one of the shower stall doors and locking it swiftly.

Paige’s hands are still wrapped around Azzi’s wrists, so she pins the younger girl’s arms to the wall, squeezing just a little as she does so. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make her feel a little discomfort.

“You knew what you were doin’ in my jersey. This ain’t for nobody else, is it ma?” Azzi looks up at Paige, eyes big and dark, shadows falling across her face from the dim lighting in the shower. “Nah, this is for you. You wanna show up to my game without telling me in my jersey and that sorry fucking excuse for a skirt and think I won’t fuck you about it? You’re smart, Azzi. Don’t lie and say this was for everybody else to know you’re mine,” Paige murmurs. Her voice is low and dark, a little scratchy from yelling during the game and maybe from something else.

Azzi shakes her head, still denying it. Paige switches to pin both of Azzi’s wrists above her head and brings her free hand up to the perfect, unblemished skin of her throat. Her hand circles it, fingers resting on the sides of her neck. Azzi’s pulse drums against Paige’s thumb. Paige presses in just a little bit, teasing more than anything, but Azzi gasps as her head tips back to rest against the tiled wall of the shower.

“Fucking slut. Wanted to show yourself off, huh? Show off who you belong to?” Azzi nods quickly, desperately. Her mouth is open slightly, and she’s breathing heavily. Paige’s focus draws down to her lips, and before she even decides to do it, she’s kissing Azzi.

It’s not gentle, or loving, or careful. Their teeth clash when Azzi opens her mouth, and when Paige licks into Azzi’s mouth, the younger girl lets her teeth nip. It makes Paige groan, soothing the sting by licking further into Azzi’s mouth, tasting peppermint and vanilla.

Paige pulls away for a moment to pant– “You want it? Want me to fuck you right here in the bathroom like the whore you are?” –and it’s all Azzi can do to nod desperately again like she doesn’t remember how to form words. Maybe she doesn’t. Either way, Paige’s chest fills with frustration.

She moves the hand on Azzi’s neck up slightly so her fingers grip Azzi’s jaw, squeezing tightly. Azzi’s mouth falls open as she breathes, jaw forced wide by Paige’s grip.

“No. Tell me. I haven’t even touched you yet. You can be so dumb already that you can’t talk, so be a good girl and use your words.”

That pulls a pathetic little noise from Azzi’s throat, as she scrambles to form a sentence. All she manages is a few words at a time, though.

“Please, Paige. Fuck me, please. Right here, right now, need it.” She’s throbbing between her legs, thighs pressed together tightly to try to relieve the ache, but it’s not working. The other thing that helps is when Paige shoves her legs apart and one of her hands immediately darts under her skirt, pulls her panties to the side, and slides through the wetness she finds there.

“Fuck, baby. So needy, and from what? My hands on your throat? Fucking pathetic,” Paige spits out. Azzi whines, hips bucking forward to try to get Paige to slip a finger in. Usually, that would send Paige into a rant about asking for what she wants, not doing anything without permission, and all the other things Azzi knew but rarely had the patience to comply with.

Paige must need it as bad as Azzi does, though, because she just shoves two fingers in at once, fucking in and out of her sopping cunt as Azzi clenches around her in an effort to adjust.

“Shit, so good P, ah.”

“I’m giving you what you want. What do you say to me, Az?” Paige taunts. Azzi replies on instinct alone.

“Thank you, thank you.” Paige grins, the expression cocky and satisfied. It’s the face of a woman who knows she has all the power. Just looking at the blonde forces another moan out of Azzi’s mouth. Her hips are moving of their own accord now, grinding against Paige’s hand while she thrusts in and out.

The sloppy sounds coming from between Azzi’s legs are absolutely sinful, but they’re both so needy they can’t even find the headspace to be embarrassed about it. That is, until somebody bangs on the door of the shower.

“Dude! Y’all are fucking disgusting, please get out of the locker room.” It’s Lyss’s voice, and the horror is clear in her tone even through the door. “Nobody wants to hear your freaky ass sex life. For the love of god, man…” Her voice trails off as she walks away, but Paige and Azzi are both still frozen against the shower wall.

Paige shifts on her feet slightly, which jostles the position of her fingers inside Azzi. Azzi groans and squeezes her eyes shut.

“Please take your fingers out of me and then shoot me. I’m serious,” she mutters. Paige barks out a laugh, even though her cheeks are still glowing. She does slide her fingers out, though, patting Azzi on the hip lightly to steady her as she tugs her panties back into place.

“Shit, I’m never gonna hear the end of this,” Paige says. Her voice is quiet, but still low and rough from arousal. Azzi closes her eyes and tries to get her body under control.

“Can we just hide in here forever? So I never have to see any of your teammates ever again in my life?” Azzi asks weakly. Paige’s face softens, and she brings her clean hand up to cup Azzi’s jaw.

“Hey, I got you. You’re mine, right? I’m gonna take care of you. Nobody here is gonna say anything, I swear.” Azzi looks at her skeptically until Paige holds out a hand, pinky up and curved. “Pinky promise?” A small smile slips onto Azzi’s face as she nods, hooking her pinky with Paige’s.

________

True to her word, Paige gets Azzi out of the locker room incident-free. She unfortunately doesn’t manage to talk her way out of doing post-game press. So it’s late when Paige finally makes her way back to Azzi, who has been waiting in the hallway outside the locker room since she escaped an hour ago.

Paige is freshly showered, blonde hair hanging wet around her shoulders, dressed in a lavender Nike sweatsuit. It’s a good color on her, but Azzi is a little frustrated that more of her skin isn’t showing. She’s half naked in her miniskirt and Paige’s jersey tucked into her bra to crop it, and in a moment of insecurity, she tugs the jersey free.

The fabric is a little crumpled as it falls, hiding the tan skin of her stomach and the belly piercing Paige loves so much, but Azzi immediately feels better.

“You comin’ back with me?” Paige confirms. Azzi nods, and they start to make their way to Paige’s car.

The entire drive to Paige’s apartment is tense. The air feels too thick, Paige keeps looking over at the skin of Azzi’s legs on display in the passenger seat, and the glances are making Azzi’s blood heat quickly. She shifts in her seat, pressing her thighs together. She never truly calmed down from earlier if she’s honest, even after being interrupted and embarrassed. She can already feel herself soaking through her underwear, probably getting the leather seat of Paige’s car wet, and somehow that just makes her feel hotter.

Paige notices, because of course she does, but all she does is settle her right hand onto Azzi’s upper thigh, fingers curving in dangerously, but she doesn’t move. She brushes her thumb over the smooth skin on the top of Azzi’s thigh, but her fingers that are so close to where Azzi is throbbing and needy stay disappointingly still. They don’t talk about it, though. Paige just reaches over and turns the music up.

By the time they actually enter Paige’s apartment, Azzi is dripping through her panties and down her thigh. The sound of Paige locking the door clicks behind her, and it snaps something inside the younger girl. She spins, pushing Paige up against the door and kissing her hard.

Paige doesn’t hesitate to kiss back, sliding her tongue into Azzi’s mouth and dragging a hand over her waist and hip teasingly.

“You better be planning on fucking me now,” Azzi threatens. Paige steps back, letting her hand drop from Azzi’s body. She raises an eyebrow.

“Or what, Azzi?” A shiver runs through Azzi’s body. She isn’t prepared for the back and forth, but she scrambles for a response anyway.

“Or I’ll take myself somewhere else and find somebody who will fuck me.”

She’s bluffing. They both know that, but the idea lights a flame in Paige’s stomach. She walks forward quickly, grabbing Azzi’s hips and manhandling her into the living room. She shoves her against the side of the couch and then backs up without saying anything.

Azzi starts to turn around to face Paige, but ends that attempt quickly, gripping her with large, warm hands to stop her motion.

“Paige–” Azzi starts. Paige shushes her.

“Nah. You wanna act like a brat? You’re gonna get treated like a brat. Stand there and fucking listen to me,” Paige orders. Azzi’s knees get a little weak, and she grabs the arm of the couch to stabilize herself.

“Okay. Okay, yeah,” she whispers, more to herself than to Paige.

“Look at you. All dressed up for me, wearing my name, fucking advertising who you belong to. Tell me, baby.”

“Yes, all for you. This is for you, P. I’m yours,” Azzi promises. Her voice is already breathy, and Paige hasn’t even touched her. She’s still several feet behind her, eyes tracing the way the fabric with her own name drapes over Azzi’s curves. She whispers a curse to herself before coming up behind Azzi and shoving her down over the arm of the couch.

“Stay down, just like that,” she demands. Azzi’s nodding before she has really registered the words.

“Okay. Yeah, I can do that,” she babbles. Paige runs her hand over the letters of her name on the jersey carefully. The action is contrasted with her hands roughly shoving Azzi’s skirt down to her ankles only a second later. Azzi is left in a pair of light purple panties and Paige’s jersey. She starts moving to take the jersey off to help Paige speed up the process, but she doesn’t get far.

“Stop. Keep it on,” Paige orders. Azzi freezes, letting the jersey cover her briefly exposed skin again. “I wanna see my name on your body while I fuck you,” she murmurs. Azzi clenches around nothing as a gush of slick leaves her. Paige sees it, sees the way the wet spot on Azzi’s panties is suddenly darker and larger, and she grins.

“That sound good to you?” She taunts.

“Yes. Please. Sounds good,” Azzi pleads. Paige nods, seemingly satisfied with this answer, and pulls Azzi’s panties down to her ankles as well.

“Stay,” she commands. And, like a fucking dog, Azzi does. She stands completely still, bent over the side of the couch with her skirt and panties around her ankles while Paige leaves the room for a few moments, then returns with a noticeable bulge in her sweatpants. Azzi swallows, suddenly salivating.

“Good girl, Az. Good job staying still for me. Now bend over more and arch,” Paige commands. Azzi does as she’s told without thinking while the sounds of clothes shuffling and hitting the floor fill the space behind her. Her thighs twitch.

Azzi gasps when the thick head of the strap presses against her hole, dragging through her folds just to tease her. “Paige,” she pleads, arching her back further. Paige chuckles darkly.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me, please, need your cock Paige.” Azzi’s hips stutter when Paige moves again, the tip of the cock catching on her clit. “Oh, please,” she tries again. Paige pulls her hips away, taking all the stimulation with her, and Azzi feels like she honestly might cry.

Then Paige is back, lining the tip of her cock up with Azzi’s hole and pressing in. It’s careful for all of three seconds, and then Paige is snapping her hips with a kind of force Azzi didn’t know she was capable of. It pushes her whole body forward, hips bumping into the couch, elbows sliding over the cushions as she tries to stay still.

It’s impossible not to move, though. Paige doesn’t slow down in the slightest. She thrusts into her hard and fast, dragging obscene squelching sounds from Azzi’s cunt that make her blush.

“Fuck, look at you. Wearing my name while I fuck you. Dirty fucking slut. Just want everybody to know who you belong to,” Paige says between heavy breaths. Azzi moans, mouth open, eyes shut, and grips the couch cushions. “Tell me, Azzi. Who do you belong to? Whose name are you wearing?”

Azzi tries desperately to form the words, but her brain is so caught up in the pleasure between her legs that all she can do is whine and push her hips back. Paige thrusts into Azzi again, so deep she can feel it in her stomach, and then she stops.

Paige stays completely still behind the younger girl, cock still buried deep, and all Azzi can do is clench around it and let out a pathetic little sound. Paige’s hips twitch when she hears it, but she quickly grips Azzi’s waist and holds her down on her cock firmly. Azzi wants to cry.

“Paige, please, why? Why did you stop? I was so close. Why?” Azzi sounds like a child whining about a toy she didn’t want to share, even to her own ears. If she weren’t so worked up, she might have cared. But her cunt is throbbing, dripping down her thighs, and Paige is buried inside her, so Azzi doesn’t care one bit if she sounds like a spoiled brat.

“I asked you a question,” Paige says. Her voice is low and rough, and Azzi honestly can’t help it when her back arches more, pressing her ass into Paige’s hips. Paige tightens her grip on Azzi’s waist, fingers digging into the bones painfully. Azzi feels her slick drip down the inside of her knee.

“Who do you belong to?” Paige prompts. This time, free from the beautiful torture of Paige thrusting roughly into her cunt, Azzi finds the words.

“You. Paige. I belong to you. I’m yours,” she promises eagerly. Paige’s eyes flutter shut with a groan.

“Damn right you are. You’re my slut. Say it.”

“I’m your slut.” Paige’s hips slide out, then snap back in harder than before. Azzi moans loudly, and she knows Paige’s neighbors can probably hear her, but all she can think is how proud she would be for them to know who’s fucking her this good. To know who owns her like this.

Paige slides in again, so deep Azzi can feel it in her guts, and it knocks loose the flow of words from Azzi’s throat.

“I’m your slut, Paige, you fuck me so good. Only you, I swear. Nobody else could fuck me this good. I’m yours, oh, please–” she whines loudly when Paige’s arm wraps around to her front and she starts to tease Azzi’s clit in fast little circles. She’s barely pressing down, barely giving Azzi enough to feel it, but it’s almost too much at the same time. Azzi clenches down on Paige’s cock, making the slide harder, but Paige just slams in rougher, pushing Azzi’s clit into her hand.

“Fuck, Paige. So close, gonna cum, please, gonna–” Paige drives into her over and over, each snap of her hips an exclamation point on the possession fueling the movements.

“So easy for me. Only for me, right, Az?” Paige taunts. Still, she doesn’t slow her hips or her fingers, driving Azzi higher by the second.

“Only you, just for you. I’m yours, please let me cum,” she begs. Paige leans forward, sucks a bruise into Azzi’s neck, drags her teeth over her pulse point, and then pulls back again, all without slowing down.

“Look so fucking good in my jersey. Fuck, Az. Been such a good girl, you can cum for me. Let go, baby.” It only takes the words and a few more circles of Paige’s fingers on Azzi’s clit before she’s cumming, shaking apart on Paige’s cock as she fucks her through it.

Paige doesn’t slow down in the slightest as Azzi collapses forward over the armrest of the couch. She keeps snapping her hips into Azzi’s cunt roughly, her fingers circle faster, and everything sounds so wet that Azzi genuinely wonders if there’s going to be a stain on the couch when she gets up.

“Good girl, Az. Get up, baby. Turn around for me. Come on,” Paige urges, finally pulling her cock out. Her voice is still low, but it’s edged with a tightness that Azzi is less familiar with. She does her best to push herself off the couch, to turn around and lean against the armrest, but her legs are shaking badly enough that Paige has to steady her.

“Fuck, there you go honey. Doin’ so good. Just give me one more.” That’s all Paige says before she drops to her knees in front of the younger girl.

She pushes her legs apart, guides one over her shoulder, and then just stares for a moment. The look on her face is one of awe, the same look people give famous artwork or a particularly beautiful sunset. There’s a hunger simmering in her eyes that doesn’t come from sunsets, though. Paige licks her lips and then slides two fingers into Azzi’s dripping cunt. Her eyes drift shut as she hums at the feeling.

“So fucking tight. Always so tight and wet. Look at that pretty pussy, just swallowing me up. Shit, so hot baby. Just relax f’me.” Azzi does, letting her body melt into the pleasure of Paige’s fingers.

Once she gets going, she’s not gentle. Paige’s fingers slam into Azzi’s cunt repeatedly, drawing out more slick and making Azzi twitch in overstimulation.

“Fuck, Paige. Too much,” Azzi whines. Paige looks up at her and Azzi almost cums on the spot.

Her blue eyes are wide and reverent, shining as her gaze darts between Azzi’s face and where her cunt is swallowing her fingers hungrily. As Azzi studies her, she realizes that Paige has her other hand between her legs, fingers teasing her clit. Azzi lets out a high-pitched whine and forces her eyes to stay open to watch.

“You can take it. Watch me and take it,” Paige orders. Azzi doesn’t even think about obeying. Her body just does it.

She watches as Paige leans forward and starts to leave little kitten licks to her clit. She watches as Paige slides a finger into herself, hips twitching forward. And she keeps watching when Paige moves down to slide her tongue into Azzi’s cunt next to her fingers.

Paige hums at the taste, and the vibration sends shivers through Azzi’s body. She’s rapidly approaching the edge, and the way Paige’s hand moves between her own legs is only making it worse.

“Shit, baby. Taste so good. You’re so wet. Who’s this for?” Paige pulls away to whisper the words in between breaths.

“All for you. You make me this wet, P,” Azzi whimpers. Her head tips back again, eyes fluttering, but then Paige’s teeth graze her clit and her eyes fly open again.

“Fuck,” she rasps.

“Look at me,” Paige demands. “Look at how I make you cum.” And Azzi does.

Paige keeps licking her, alternating between messy, flat lines over her clit and sliding her tongue into her cunt. Through it all, Paige fucks her fingers deep into Azzi, drawing out wet sounds and moans.

“Close,” Azzi whines. Paige opens her mouth wider, jaw starting to ache, but she doubles her effort and licks Azzi’s clit with renewed vigor.

After a few more moments, Paige lets out something that might be a whimper, her hips twitching forward again. Before Azzi realizes what’s happening, Paige has slid forward, stopped fucking herself with her fingers, and is dragging her cunt over the top of Azzi’s foot sloppily. The image is absolutely filthy, and Azzi didn’t know how much she needed to see it. To see just how desperate Paige could get, just from fucking Azzi.

“Oh god, Paige, holy shit, wait, I think I need to–” Azzi tries to warn the blonde, but she can’t get the words out fast enough. All it takes is one more glance down at Paige, grinding herself on Azzi’s foot, bumping her clit into her ankle, before something snaps in Azzi’s stomach.

She cums with a cry and a gush of liquid, rushing down her legs and onto Paige’s face and dripping onto the floor. Some of it hits her foot, and Paige sobs as she rubs herself faster, the liquid making the motion easier.

“Please, Paige, give it to me, please,” Azzi begs. Paige is still flicking her tongue against Azzi’s clit, although her eyes have rolled back into her head and she’s using both hands to grip Azzi’s hips and steady herself now.

“Fuck, I’m yours, cum for me, please, I want it,” Azzi continues. Her brain hasn’t quite caught up with the stimulation still coming from between her thighs, so it sneaks up on her when Paige lets out a cry, her teeth grazing Azzi’s clit, and she shatters again.

She doesn’t squirt this time, just shakes apart under Paige’s hands, fingers flying into Paige’s hair to steady herself. She’s moaning again, too, mouth open and head tipped back. Somewhere in the haze of pleasure and overstimulation, Paige’s movements slowed to a stop. She lets her cunt just rest on top of Azzi’s foot, hips twitching every so often as she comes down.

They’re both panting, faces wet from Azzi’s cunt or tears or both. They don’t speak at first. Paige presses a gentle kiss to the inside of Azzi’s knee, does the same on the other side, and rests her head there carefully.

“You okay? Was that too much?” Paige rasps. Azzi lets out a breath that might be a laugh.

“In a good way. Me squirting maybe should have been a sign that it was good,” she jokes. Paige smiles, eyes drifting shut.

“You were so good for me. My perfect girl,” she mumbles. Clearly, the combination of exhaustion from the game and the orgasm is getting to her, so Azzi helps tug Paige off the floor, wincing at how sticky her thighs are.

“Shower, then bed,” she declares. Paige mumbles something that might be an argument, but she doesn’t fight it when Azzi guides her into a hot shower, the water washing away sweat and slick and saliva.

“You were so good to me tonight,” Azzi whispers into the steam, her hands massaging shampoo into Paige’s hair. Paige leans her forehead into Azzi’s collarbone, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin.

“You’re good to me. I just give it back to you,” she murmurs. Azzi smiles.

“I love you, P,” she whispers. She feels Paige smile against her.

“I love you. Mine, forever,” Paige whispers back.

[never-rxne]

─── YOU BELIEVE THAT I'M IN PAIN, HELP ME DISASSOCIATE.

18+ minors dni please!

sevika x reader. takes place in canon - 1x07, after the chem-baron assembly. || 2.3k words

content tags: light angst. character study. no established relationship/friends with benefits/queerplatonic dynamic. reader is gender neutral (men this is NOT for you). smut: oral sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, top!reader and receiving!sevika.

summary: after hearing about jinx's stunts, you go to check up on sevika and find her stressed, losing hope in her value to the cause. if words aren't enough to show her her worth, you'll show it through actions.

notes: i DON'T write smut normally, but i was rewatching s1 and the way sevika was treated just pissed me off and made me so sad. have this self indulgent fic as a little pride month/sevika week special... topping sevika would fix me tbh

"i'll be thinking about you while you're down there being a doll it's either a curse or a blessing every time that you call." — King Princess. "Fantastic"

Word goes fast around the Lanes. Faster still when it concerns Silco and his people. His lackeys had leaked the rumor, swept around the fissures until the name Sevika was dropped in your ear. By then, the story had been worn down into a wide-known joke.

You didn’t believe it at first. The situation sounded outlandish. Silco’s right hand found tied up? Defenseless? Painted over with messages? If you knew anything about Sevika, it was her strength. This was the woman who dispatched three armed thugs at the harbor without even being grazed. The very idea of her being double-crossed and subdued enough to be bound was ridiculous. 

Had there been multiple attackers? Had she been drugged? Were they after information? 

Was she a target? 

You don’t want to admit it to yourself, how much it worries you. How the rising tensions between Topside and the Undercity have gotten your thoughts straying to Sevika once too often for your liking. 

You decide, at last, that it’s long past time to pay Sevika a visit. 

Never mind the fact that you haven’t seen her in months. 

The two of you were never the type to cling to each other. Each of you were committed to your own businesses—Sevika on the cause of Zaun’s independence, you on your work for the education of children of the Undercity. Since youth Sevika was the one looking up, you with your eyes on the ground. Your areas of work differed, but your dreams pointed the same way. 

Then things had gone sideways when Shimmer began to poison the streets. When Sevika herself started using it. Every rare occasion you met up with her had ended in an argument. Gradually, there came a mutual agreement to stop meeting up at all for a while. 

But this…this is different. You need to see her. 

Need to make sure she’s okay. 

——

She almost didn’t even let you in her apartment room at first. 

“Don’t act like such a kid,” you say. “Open the door, Sevika.” 

You can hear the metal clinking at the table. You imagine you can almost hear her measured breathing, waiting for you to leave. 

But she’s met her match in stubbornness. You rap your knuckles smartly against the door. 

“I know you’re in there.” 

A heavy sigh. The creak of a chair pushed back. Seconds later, the door swings open, and Sevika frowns down at you in the weak light of the hall. Her prosthetic arm is off, you can see it lying on the table behind her. There are stains of Shimmer on her clothes, on her boots. Her face bears healing traces of a recent fight. 

“What do you want?” Sevika says shortly. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Missed you, too.”

She huffs. “Not likely.” 

But she steps back and lets you in. 

——

Now you stand in the dimly lit room, arms crossed and leaning against the table, which is sticky from old spilled drinks. Watching her as she paces the floor restlessly. 

You’re certain Sevika hasn’t told you the half of it, but you don’t push it any further. 

She won’t tell you the assailant. Won’t tell you if she was outnumbered or drugged. You know if you overstepped, asked one question too many, she’d shut you out entirely. So you listen. You listen to her rant about the unproductive assembly, how Silco had done nothing but intimidate the other Chem-barons, how everything was at a standstill. 

“The point isn’t that the sister is back,” Sevika says. “It’s that the enterprise is losing steam. Business slows, everything’ll come crashing down sooner or later. And he isn’t doing anything about it.” 

“What does Silco care about the girl anyway?” You ask. 

She pauses. Looks back at you. “What do you care?” she says. 

Her question catches you so off-guard you can’t even form an answer at first. At last you say, “—what?”

She gestures at you. “Last time we saw each other you said you didn’t care what we did anymore. Said we were all driving down the same path to hell with this Shimmer business.”

It actually takes you a moment to recall what she’s talking about. It was something you said in the heat of the last argument months ago, something you’re certain Sevika gave no definitive answer to at the moment. You’re stunned she’s actually listened. That it cut her deep enough, apparently, for her to throw it back in your face now.  

But the truth is, she didn’t remember it right. Or she did, and she’s deliberately rephrasing. 

The truth is, you had said you didn’t care what she did. 

You were furious at the time. Furious and scared. Scared of what she was doing to herself. Scared that she would run herself to the ground, that she wouldn’t stop working for the cause, giving herself to the cause, her damn fucking cause, until she was used up, nothing left. 

You were scared of losing her. 

And in the moment, you hated her for making you so scared. Making you care so much when she hardly seemed to think about anything other than the revolution. 

You watch her expression, and realize she looks more tired than you remember. Worn down. She hasn’t stopped working since you parted ways. Hasn’t stopped once, even through pitfall after pitfall. Setback after setback.

“I still think the same about Shimmer,” you tell her. “But I also think you don’t need to carry the weight of all of Zaun on your shoulders.”

She scoffs. “Who says I am?” Her eyes stray to the table, to her broken prosthetic arm. “I’m like a cog running in exactly the same place. Fucking useless place.” 

“Hey.” 

“Why are you here?” she asks with a tired sigh. “Why show up again after all this time?” 

“Sevika,” you say. 

“You don’t care what I do. Never did. I know you,” she says, beginning to pace again. “You’re like me. Focused on the finished machine, not the tools it took to build it.”

You reach out. Stop her in her movements. Place your hand on her scarred cheek, forcing her to look at you. 

“Listen to me, you tall dumbass,” you say in a low voice. “You’re doing enough. You’re doing more than enough.” 

She scoffs, tries to brush you away. You reach up so that both your hands cradle her face. Press your thumbs firmly against her cheekbones so she can’t flee from you. 

“You hear me?” 

“What’re you doing?” she asks gruffly. 

“Making you see your worth.” 

Her brows crease, eyes narrowing. “You messing with me?” 

“Do you see it?” 

“Stop fucking around.”

You don’t break the gaze. Even though you can tell she wants you to. Even as she tries to pull away. Your eyes burn into hers until she’s dropping her gaze, until her eyes are dancing down toward your lips, darting back up. Until you feel her falter, until you see her expression—ever so slightly—soften.

You kiss her. 

She’s frozen against you at first. You can feel the stillness of her body, the tension in her squared shoulders. A fraction of a second, a quiet hesitation. 

Then she kisses you back. The tension drains out of her with a shudder. Something breaks in you as you feel her groan a little into your mouth. 

You can tell now this is what she has needed. Not words. Not another argument. Not another person expecting her to be in control. You press your hands against her shoulders, bringing her closer. Guiding her. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper against her lips. “I got you, it’s okay.” 

“Can we��� can you….”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say breathlessly. “Yeah, okay.” 

You pull back, leading her down the narrow passageway that leads into the one bedroom. You could find your way around this place in your sleep. From the empty bottles scattered on the floor to the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to the stained wallpaper, this is Sevika. This is the woman you have known, the woman you have forgiven and admired and hated and loved all your life. 

In the bedroom. Stumbling over your feet as you kiss her again. You back her against the wall, push your leg between her thighs. She laughs slightly as your fingers clumsily undo the buttons of her vest. You pull it off her, tossing it to the floor. You snake your hands beneath the fabric of her undershirt. She raises her one arm to let you pull it over her head. 

Her scars. Thin glowing rivulets of blue webbed over the left side of her face, her neck, her muscular torso. The scars you had known her to avoid looking at, the scars you had known her to hate being touched by anyone but you. The scars you kiss now, softly, feeling the familiar odd electrical current against your lips. Your hand massages her breast as you press your lips to her neck, biting softly at her jawline. With a soft moan, Sevika tilts her head back against the wall. 

Lowering yourself to your knees, you undo the clasp of her belt. Her breathing changes as you undress her, as she leans her hand against your shoulder and steps out of her pants, bare before you. Vulnerable. 

This is Sevika, every inch of her. From the explosion’s scars to the bruises from old street fights to the stretch marks on her thighs and knees. From the packed muscles of her broad back to the moles dotting her brown skin, you are the only person in the world she has shown herself to this way, with trusting abandon. 

A second to breathe. You meet her eyes.   

“Okay?” You whisper. She nods. 

You pull off your own clothes in half a second. You’re on your knees again, you’re kissing the place just beneath her navel, the muscles of her abdomen seizing, the place that you’d be lying if you said you’ve never stared at before. 

Her pussy is familiar, waiting, already wet when your mouth finds her. She can’t suppress the soft grunts of pleasure as your tongue licks against her folds, and you can’t suppress the moan that escapes you when her taste hits your senses. 

Janna above, you’ve missed her more than you thought. 

She parts her legs for you, opening wider for you, and your head reels. 

“Fuck. Fuck…just like that…god…”

The hitch in her breath, the break in her deep voice. The moans she suppresses, her pride still battling her for all it’s worth, keeping her from letting herself fall over the edge, holding her back.

Damned if you can’t remedy that. 

Your tongue works faster into her. You lick greedily, reverently, as if you’re devouring something both sacred and ruined. Her hand on the back of your head, firm and warm and large, pulling you closer to her, leading you where she needs you. You dig your fingers into the muscles of her thighs, drunk on the taste of her, drunk on the way she trembles against your head, her heavy breaths melting into the stagnant air. 

She comes with a dazzling groan, filling your mouth, arching her spine, her head knocking back against the wall. 

You pull away, satisfied—for the moment. It’s a testament to her strength that Sevika is still standing, holding herself up, breathing slow through the aftershocks of her climax. 

“On your back,” you say. 

“I’m good.” 

“You sure?” 

She cuts her gaze at you, and her hazy eyes give her away. 

“Tonight’s about you, Vika.” 

She huffs at your old nickname for her. Always pretended it irritated her, but then why does it make her sway into you, why does it make her pull you to the bed? 

Your hands on her hips, easing her down onto the mattress. 

“You’re wrong, by the way,” you murmur against her skin as you slot yourself between her legs, as you part her thighs. “I do care.” 

“Hmm?” 

Your fingers slide along the folds of her still-sensitive clit, making her twitch. Before you enter her you kiss her mound again, softly, feeling the wiry hairs of her bush against your lips. 

“I care about you. Not what you do. Not what you mean to Zaun.” 

Sevika says nothing. So you prove it to her. 

You part her with two of your fingers, you slide into her, your tongue still making rough little circles against her core. Her hips buck against you. The little desperate sounds that slip out of her mouth invite you deeper, your wrist moving in rhythmic thrusts. 

She comes faster the second time. Her pussy spasms against your mouth, and you can feel your own arousal coil hot in the pit of your stomach from seeing her throbbing clit, seeing her beautiful face lost in her pleasure, feeling her pulse race along with yours. 

“Can you give me one more, handsome?” 

“If you can take it from me,” she growls, and you laugh because her voice has all the conviction of a kitten masquerading as a lion. 

—— 

After.

Sevika is spent, head thrown back. The sweat cooling on your neck. Outside, the streets of Zaun clatter and howl with the sounds of passing automobiles and singing drunks.

“Woman,” you breathe huskily, “you’ll be the death of me.” 

Sevika tilts her head on the pillow. The dim glow of the lamp beside the bed casts a warm pink light over her face. Strands of sweaty dark hair that escaped her half-up are streaked against her forehead. She looks sleepily down at you through heavy-lidded eyes. Her lips curl up in a smirk, a low chuckle rumbles in her chest. 

She’s so fucking gorgeous. It makes you insane. 

“Not too bad yourself,” she says.

You give a sigh, fall forward and let your cheek rest on her warm stomach. 

You’ll get cleaned up later. You will stay the night, even if it is just for this one night, and more likely than not you’ll get into another argument with her. 

There will be coffee in the morning, though. 

There will be time for you to talk.

end note: yeah... dont say anything if this is god-awful because i'm already starting to hate it :/ there's a reason i don't write smut LMAO

[sunkissedleira]

Home is in Your Arms

Pairings: BratTamer!Zayne x Bratty!Reader (f)

Summary: Zayne and you have spent the last few weeks apart due to conflicting, busy schedules. Tonight is fully dedicated to each other and catching up on all that missed time.

Content Warnings: 18+; MDNI; reader is an office worker; Tara makes a brief appearance; mentions of Nero; busy schedules; tons of teasing; fluff; domesticated life; established relationship; grinding; cunnilingus; missionary sex; dirty talk; reader being a brat; Zayne being a tamer :P; creampie; post-orgasm cuddling; L-bombs; probably missing other tags, I apologize; 5.4k words

Notes from Leira: Ya girl is a wee bit nervous about dropping this little number since it's my first time posting my writing on Tumblr in manyyy years, but I felt pretty good about how well I think it turned out. I hope whoever's eyes, if any, are pleased <3.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is no greater feeling than clocking out on a Friday. Especially after a grueling week full of early mornings and even later nights. Overtime truly isn’t for the weak. With a tired sigh, you gather up your work bag and turn the light off in your cubicle.

“Let’s get out of here before something else comes up.” A voice pipes up behind you, and you turn to see Tara. Your friend and fellow coworker is playfully looking around, as if waiting for the boogeyman to appear. “If I get another email about the Calico presentation, I’m not gonna be responsible for my actions.”

You smile, slinging your work bag over your shoulder and leading the way to the elevators. You hit the down button and lean on the wall. “After next Wednesday, we’ll be free women. The projects will be done and we’ll be transitioning out of the busy season. We just gotta keep it together until then.”

A small pout forms on Tara’s red-tinted lips. “What if I have Nero plant a virus in the mainframe and just destroy the entire system?”

The elevator pings before you could answer, and the two of you step inside. Tara taps the button for the lobby. “I didn’t know you hated Nero enough to get him fired. A shame too, I always liked him.”

Tara giggles, digging around in her bag to retrieve her phone. “So, what are your plans for the weekend? There’s a food festival in Azure Square tomorrow, but I might be too tired to go.”

You hum softly to yourself. “I’m not sure. I think I’ll take it easy and stay inside this weekend. I feel like I’ve seen the walls of my cubicle more than my room lately.”

“You’re not gonna spend some time with your hot doctor?” Tara teases as the doors open into the lobby. “With all the OT you’ve been clocking and his infamous busy schedule, I assumed you’d be inside his skin all weekend, God willing.”

A snort from you as you both head towards the revolving front doors and exit your office building onto the streets of downtown Linkon. You make your way toward the train station, pulling out your phone. Even if she was joking, Tara was correct. With your recently conflicting schedules, you hadn’t been able to see your favorite doctor in over two weeks. “You make a good point. Give me a second.”

“Take your time. I’m gonna run in here and grab some snacks for later.” Tara makes a detour into a convenience store and your park yourself on a nearby bench, placing your ringing phone to your ear.

Just when you think you’ll have to leave a message, the line opens. “Good evening, Miss. Salarywoman.”

Before you realize it, you’re grinning from ear to ear at that familiar soft-spoken voice. “Good evening, Dr. Zayne. Are you busy?”

There’s an small, amused hum from him at the use of his title. “I just arrived back to my office to finish some paperwork. Are you on your way home?”

“I am,” you nod, “I was debating if I should pop up at the hospital, so we could go home together. Is the paperwork more important than me?” The pout in your tone is loud and clear.

Zayne chuckles. “The paperwork is quite important,” he responds slyly. “However, you know you are my most important priority. I’ll see you when you arrive. Be safe.”

Another dazzling smile lights up your face. “Yes, sir.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking into Akso Hospital, you bask in the cool air caressing your heated skin. As the seasons change and the weather heats up, you really begin to question your decision to not buy a car when you moved into the city.

But, why spend all that money when the train worked just fine and when you could always ride passenger-princess style in Zayne’s car. As you breeze through the hallways, you greet a couple of familiar faces. Dr. Greyson greets you with a knowing smile and a quick side hug.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but our dear Dr. Zayne is definitely in need of his Vitamin You fix. Your timing couldn’t be better,” Greyson teases.

You smirk, playfully hitting Greyson’s shoulder as you continue your walk. “Don’t worry, Greyson. I’m clocking in for the night shift as we speak.” Greyson’s light laughter echoes gently in the quiet hallways as you go your separate ways.

Moments later, you reach Zayne’s office door. The anticipation of finally seeing him after so long wins out against using your manners to knock and notify him of your presence. Instead, you barge right in.

He's seated at his desk, glasses in place, and fingers flying across the keyboard with quick and precise taps. He doesn’t speak as you shut the door behind you and approach him.

You quietly sit on the edge of desk and take a look around. His office is neat, not a pen out of place. The bratty urge to start rearranging everything to mark your presence begins to bubble in your stomach, but you remain still.

Instead, you pick up a framed photo near your hand. It’s not like you’ve never seen the photo before, in fact you have a copy on your own desk. Any time you can encapsulate the love and affection that beam through the quiet man’s expressive eyes whenever he’s genuinely happy, you take full advantage. Your smile is bright in the photo; his face is partially hidden in your hair, but the joy in his bright hazel eyes is evident.

You place the photo back down and shift your gaze to the real-life man in front of you. To your surprise, he’s already staring back at you. Hazel eyes beaming with amusement with his arms across his chest.

“Did you enjoy your trip down memory lane?”

You wrinkle your noise playfully and cross your legs. “Always. But, I’ve been up and down memory lane so much these few weeks, I’m sure the soles of my shoes have been worn away.”

The amusement in Zayne’s eyes fades into something softer. Without a word, he takes your hand and gently pulls you into his lap. With his arms wrapped tightly around you, he buries his nose into your hair and breathes in deeply. You can feel his body relaxing as he slowly exhales. “I missed you too…” His voice is almost silent in the quiet room.

Neither of you speak. You just allow yourselves to savor the warmth and presence of the other after being apart for so long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Exiting the hospital, your hand is tightly gripping Zayne’s as you follow a half-step behind him towards his parked car. As you walk, you’re chattering away about your current projects at work and all the overtime you’ve had to clock. Zayne listens patiently, humming in acknowledgement to show he’s actually listening.

At the car, he opens the door for you and protects your head as you slide into the seat. Before you can do it yourself, he leans in close and buckles your seatbelt.

A cheeky smile spreads across your face. “Dr. Zayne is aware that I’m fully capable of buckling my own seatbelt, correct?” You can’t help the sarcastic remark.

“He does, indeed,” Zayne’s signature smirk graces his face. He’s still close enough that you can smell the sweetness of candy on his breath. “But, he wants to do it anyway. And he knows you’ll be good and let him.” Soft lips brush across your nose and then the door shuts.

Badump. Badump. Badump. Badump.

A slow, deep inhale to slow your heart. You watch Zayne cross in front of the car and slide into the driver’s seat. Once he’s safely buckled in, he glances over at you. “Ready?”

Words fail you for some odd reason, so you just nod. A sudden heat has cascaded over your body. Trying not to show it, you softly clear your throat and cross your ankles in front of you. Then, you do what you do best when you’re flustered. Deflect.

“Soooo,” you hum, turning your gaze towards the window, “I’ve told you all about what I’ve been up to. How was Dr. Zayne’s last few weeks?”

“You’re asking as if we haven’t been in contact every day.” He cruises easily through traffic, which is relatively heavy due the public’s rush to get home after a long day of work. “Do you want to pick something up for dinner? I can stop at that dumpling place you love.”

You can’t help but smile. Even still, the need to tease burns through you. “The dumpling place that I love, huh? You don’t like it?” You turn to face him, watching his handsome features remain calm and stoic despite your teasing.

“Their dumplings are very good. I especially like the dessert ones.”

“Of course you do,” you giggle loudly, earning a small smirk from him as he keeps his eyes on the road. Ever the safety tyrant. “The dumpling place sounds lovely.” You finally grace his proposed question with an answer. “And we’ll definitely need to get those dessert dumplings for my dear Dr. Zayne.”

You earn a chuckle this time, along with a slight shake of his head at your antics. “Definitely.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the dumplings secured in Zayne’s hands, you take the initiative to unlock the front door of his home. Kicking your shoes off, your socked feet pad softly against the hardwood floor towards the kitchen.

You flick on the lights and quickly wash your hands before you start digging around in Zayne’s fridge for drinks. You can hear Zayne unpacking the dumplings on the counter behind you. Drinks in hand, you bump the fridge door closed with your hip. “How tired are you, right now?”

Zayne glances up briefly, as he organizes the dumplings onto a matching set of plates. “Are you trying to make plans for after dinner or something?”

Setting the drinks down, you lean on the counter. “I’m just wondering how the night will play out. That’s all…”

Something about the way in which the words spill from your lips causes Zayne’s movements to slow to a stop. He gives you his full attention as he grips the edge of the counter and leans in closer to you.

He watches your eyes shift quickly down to his lips and back up to his eyes. He wonders if you even realize how much you’re giving away to him right now. Maybe you do and don’t care. It has been a few weeks since you two have shared a space, shared food, shared a bed…

He can’t help the smile that crosses his face. Instead of getting pulled into your orbit, he leans back and resumes his duty of organizing the dumplings onto the plates. Where’s the fun in just giving you what you when you want it?

“I’ll bring the food and drinks. Why don’t you go find us something to watch. We can finish that show we started a while back.”

Slightly thrown off by his dismissal, you find yourself in the living room and grabbing the remote to queue up the aforementioned television show. Throwing yourself on the couch, you can feel a particular emotion scratching up your throat. It takes a few seconds to register as frustration. The more time you spend in Zayne’s presence, the more the frustration begins to grow.

It’s been weeks since you were last together. Weeks since you felt his lips on your lips; his hands roaming your body as if every inch belongs to him (be real, it does); those eyes watching your every movement, cataloging every moan and whimper he pulls from the deep depths within you; his tongue—

“What are you doing?”

You physically startle at that voice. Looking up, you see Zayne eyeing you with an eyebrow raised. Coming out of your daze, you realize that you were staring blankly at the home screen of the streaming service. Remote poised to pull up that show. Frozen in time. You feel your face heat up immediately. “Uh, I, um…”

Sitting next to you, Zayne’s expression turns to a concerned one. His hands gently press against your cheeks and neck. Doctor mode activated. “You’re a little warm. Are you feeling alright?” His hand drops from your cheek to your neck, fingers brushing a particularly sensitive spot.

You squeak. Actually squeak. It shocks you and Zayne both. Covering your mouth, you shift away from him. “I didn’t mean to do that. You, um, your hand…I got ticklish.”

“Hm…” Zayne doesn’t speak. Those eyes slowly scan you from head to toe and your body temperature continues to rise. “Do you want some water?” He finally asks, hazel gaze meeting yours.

“Sounds good.” Your words are barely audible. It isn’t until he’s a safe enough distance away in the kitchen that you release a breath and slump into the cushions of the couch. You’re not even sure why you’re feeling so embarrassed. As you listen to Zayne pouring your cup of water, you finally queue up that show and pull your legs up onto the couch.

“Here, love,” his soft voice caresses your ear as he hands you the water from over your shoulder. You take it with a gentle “thank you” and he goes to turn off the lights. He sits close to you, placing your legs in his lap.

The silence that follows is one you’re familiar with. It’s comfortable, safe, soothing. So very Zayne. You eat and provide commentary during the show. Zayne chimes in every now and then, providing his own opinions of the show’s plot lines. You fall back into the domesticated routine you know so well with him. You finally feel home for the first time in weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once the dumplings have been consumed, you snuggle closer to Zayne—feeling the need to be deeper within his presence. His arm slides around you, his nose burying itself in your hair, his body relaxing even further into the cushions. You know these signs as Zayne finally feeling home as well. His fingers, which have been slowly massaging your bare calf are now drawing light circles up and down your leg below your skirt.

Your throat is itching again. The frustration returning. You don’t move, waiting to see what he does next. The show is no longer important.

Zayne softly snuggles the top of your head and you feel him pull you closer. You’re not sure if it’s your individual body heat or the combined heat of you both, but you’re warm again. His touch is gradually becoming more and more distracting.

But, you notice, he’s not initiating anything. It’s as if he only wants to be close and feel your skin on his skin. Nothing more, nothing less.

The show continues, but you’re no longer watching. You’re plotting. Scheming. How can you get him to give you what you want without admitting anything?

Zayne’s certain you’re unaware of how obvious you’re being right now. He knows the show has long since lost its hold on you. He knows his caressing is sending you into a spiral. Your breathing has changed, it’s a little faster. Your thighs are pressed together. And you’ve been squirming in his lap for the last ten minutes.

A scheme is being plotted, for sure. But not yours. His.

He drops his head, bringing his lips down to your ear. As if by accident, but definitely on purpose, he gently brushes the shell of your ear. The light shudder that speeds down your spine is delicious. “You don’t seem to be paying attention anymore. Are you sleepy?”

The deep inhale and exhale you perform does not slip by unnoticed. Zayne’s opened a door for you. Admitting to being sleepy will mean this cuddle session can move into the bedroom. He’s almost made it too easy for you, honestly. “Yeah, I actually am. I guess all that OT is catching up to me.”

A proud hum settles in his chest. Good girl. “Let’s have a bath and get you into bed then, shall we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bath water is warm and far too relaxing. Zayne even added bubbles and dimmed the lights. You could almost fall asleep. Almost. If not for the large man whose solid, bare chest and a solid something else was pressing against your back. Whose strong, but gentle hands were sliding up and down your arms. Soft breaths brushing across your neck. There was no way you could actually relax. However, your torturer seemed almost in a daze as he rested against the side of the tub, legs spread to fit you perfectly in between.

Truth be told…he looked too serene. Looking over your shoulder, you’re met with his handsome face. His eyes are closed, jaw unclenched, eyebrows relaxed. He looked so peaceful, you actually second-guessed your next actions. You know how busy the hospital keeps him on a daily basis. He loves his job, there was no doubt in that, but it takes its toll. He even lost a patient last week. The first one in almost half a year.

That burning frustration begins to melt into guilt. Zayne was probably just trying to enjoy the first moment of peace he’s had in weeks, and you’ve been focused on how to jump his bones. Or rather…how to get him to jump your bones. What a terrible girlfriend.

“Why don’t you just turn around, so you don’t have to keep breaking your neck to look at me.” His eyes don’t even open and he didn’t move a muscle, except for the miniscule smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

You flick water at him and turn around anyway, sitting fully in his lap now. His arms circle your waist and pull you closer. “Be honest, you have an extra set of eyes somewhere, don’t you?” You begin to playfully poke at his arms and chest.

Zayne keeps his eyes closed, but his smirk shifts into a smile. “I don’t need more than one set of eyes to feel when you’re staring holes into my face, love.”

A huff and an eyeroll from you. You let silence cover you both as you slide your arms around his shoulders, nails lightly dragging across the nape of his neck. “Zayne…”

He hums softly in acknowledgement, eyes still closed.

A beat of silence. Of contemplation. Then, the confession. “I really you missed these past few weeks.”

Hazel eyes finally meet yours. Zayne shifts to press his forehead against yours. The unflinching eye contact seems to cause another heat wave throughout your body. Or maybe that was all in your head and you’re just warm from the water. His hand cups the side of your face and soft lips are against yours instantly. Your lashes flutter close and you lean desperately into the kiss.

Finally, finally, finally! Weeks of missing this, weeks of dreaming about this, and it’s finally become reality again.

Your tongue brushes against his and a quiet whimper breathes out of your nose. Zayne’s hand slides to the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss. You don’t realize it, but your hips are moving. Slowly, at first. A slow whine that drags your clit against his hardening shaft. That whimper from earlier morphs into a full moan.

Your hips keep moving; pleasure licking its way slowly up and down your spine. That familiar tingle in your stomach grows bigger and bigger. Your body feels like an open flame, burning hotter and hotter with each roll of your hips. It’s all happening so fast. But, it’s been weeks and you need it so bad. Need him so bad.

“Sweetheart,” that voice is in your ears again. You can hardly concentrate; your brain is melting inside your skull as your head tilts back. Another moan crawls its way out of your throat. You hear that honeyed voice again. Firmer. The stern tone of voice causing your hips to freeze in place. “Look at me.”

Your eyes, which you don’t remember closing, open to meet his gaze. You gasp softly at the intense burning in his irises. Your senses return to your consciousness and you realize a few things in quick succession.

First, Zayne’s body is incredibly tense. You recognize this as him holding back, him fighting off the pleasure he surely felt alongside you earlier. Second, his grip around your waist and at the back of your head have tightened in an almost painful way. The weakening fire inside flares instantly and you moan, trying to move your hips again. But, you can’t. “Zayne.” A whimper of his name. His expression doesn’t change but you see the raging fire in those eyes. “Zayne.” You try again.

You watch him watch you. Gaze unhurried and calm. His head tilts to the side. And when he smirks, your danger sense starts sounding in the back of your mind. “I thought good girls asked for their pleasure. I didn’t realize they just took it without permission. Explain yourself.”

You can barely form a singular word that’s not his name, let alone formulate some explanation for his stupid question. “I-…I need…Zayne, come on…” That’s all you got right now. But, you can see it’s not enough as he sits and waits for his explanation. Your eyes burn with unshed tears, trying to move but his embrace is rock solid. The implication is clear: you’re not going  anywhere or doing anything until he says so.

“Try again.” His voice, chilled like a snowy day in December, sends a shiver throughout your body. “Good girls get rewarded when they do what they’re told, right?”

You nod frantically.

“I’m waiting…”

A deep inhale as you force your brain to think. Just as concepts of thoughts begin to stick together in your mind, you feel it. His fingers slipping between your legs. Light brushes against your clit. Not enough to do anything except make you tremble and whine. What a dick. That thought is loud and clear in your mind.

“Mmm…glaring at me won’t change anything, love.” The amusement in his voice pisses you off. “Use that big, pretty brain of yours. I know you’re fully capable.” His middle finger circles your nub slowly, so lightly you barely feel it but it still sends burning flames down to your fingertips and toes.

Your curse and struggle harder against his strong hold. “Zayne…it’s been so long…” you breath. A change in tactic is needed. You know he wants you to ask (read: beg) for him to fuck you. But, why should you? You lean closer, kissing him softly before nipping at his bottom lip. “I thought you missed me. You need it too, baby. I know you do. I can feel it.”

You lower your voice, something between a breath and a whisper directly into his ear. “Didn’t you think about me at all while we were apart? Hmm? Didn’t you dream about having me in your arms like this again? Pressed so closely against you. Riding you until you,” an involuntary moan escapes as your own fantasies briefly take over you, “until you’re cumming so deep inside…”

You hear it. Faint in the grand scheme of it all. But it might as well have been echoing through a megaphone into your ear. Zayne’s soft moan. His grip on you shifts, loosening just enough for you to reach down and bump his hand out of the way. A few slow, deliberate pumps of his shaft, and a quick twirl of your thumb across the tip…hook, line, and sinker.

Water splashing fills the quiet bathroom and you find yourself propped up against the edge of the tub; hands planted on the platform leading to the two steps; legs spread. A quite open and vulnerable position. You’re trembling with excitement and anticipation. Making Zayne lose his cool was one of your favorite past times.

Speaking of, the man in question places a firm hand between your shoulders blades—effectively keeping you in place. When you feel his tip gliding up and down against your lips, catching against your clit every pass, your trembling cranks up to full blown shaking. “Do it!”

“Oooh,” Zayne chuckles darkly. “My little brat is so demanding today. You know that’s not going to get you what you want. Try again.”

A noise of frustration bubbles out of you as you struggle against his hold. You’re somehow back where you started. Damn him! “You’re so mean to me!”

“Am I?” He questions, teasing you further by slipping his tip just inside your sopping hole. Not enough, of course. Just a taste. Just to bait you. Zayne knows your little seducing dirty talk trick from earlier was supposed to get him to lose his cool. But, his little brat would have to try harder than that.

However, you were entirely correct. He really did need you and not a single night passed that he didn’t ruin his sheets thinking about you. “So mean to her, she says. But, I left work early. Abandoned some very important paperwork. I drove her home so she wouldn’t have to take the train after such a long day. I bought her dinner. I snuggled with her. I’m giving her a bath before bed. Where’s the meanness, sweetheart? Tell me.”

The entire time he’s talking, he’s switching between teasing his tip just barely inside and brushing it against your clit repeatedly. You’re actually so close to your orgasm, you’d be embarrassed if you were in your right mind. “Oh my god, I’m so close. Zayne, baby…fuck…” You’re whimpering again.

And then….he stops moving. You cry. You genuinely start crying. You’re not sure if the words you’re saying make sense, but you’re sobbing enough to make him flip you over onto your back and drop to his knees in the water. Strong hands spread your thighs apart and a soft warm tongue is slipping between your lips. He kisses your clit, so swollen it's peeking from between the safety of your equally swollen lips.

Then, he gently sucks it between his lips and one flick of the tip of his tongue sends white-hot pleasure all throughout your body. You’re pretty sure you’re screaming. Most likely his name and that you love him. Don’t quote yourself, though.

Your mind goes blank. It’s just burning pleasure continuously rolling over you, wave after wave after wave. It’s so good. It’s exactly what you wanted. What you needed. When you finally float back down to Earth, you’re on soft sheets with Zayne above you. He’s kissing all over your face and neck, murmuring something that sounds like praises. You reach up and pull him down for a kiss to ground yourself.

“Welcome back,” he teases you.

“Shut up.” A chuckle as he nuzzles your cheek. “I thought brats didn’t get rewards.” You uttered.

A playful snort from the man above you. “You don’t remember begging and pleading with me and apologizing for being a brat while you were crying?”

You immediately cover his mouth to stop him from retelling any more embarrassing moments. He gazes down upon you with eyes full of amusement and joy. They’re so bright and happy, you drop your hands and sigh. “You suck.” Your arms slide back around his shoulders and his lips are on yours again.

His hands are gentle, featherlight as they graze down your body before grabbing ahold of your thighs. Without breaking the kiss, he slowly pushes inside you. You both moan into the other’s mouth; the kiss becomes increasingly sloppier. Your breaths intermingle, but you both refuse to part. You’re so full of him, the stretch every time he dives deeper and deeper causing an arch in your spine.

“Oh my god,” you finally detach yourself from his lips. Your head falls back into the pillows, a broken moan escaping into the air.

Zayne is tucked in the crevice between your neck and shoulder. His moans growing in volume with each passing stroke. “S’good, baby. It’s so damn good. Never again are we going this long without this. You understand me?” His hips smack roughly against yours.

A loud gasp from you, before you whimper, “yes!” Your nails rip down his back; he doesn’t flinch, just groans and shudders against you. His pace remains slow, but he’s reaching so deeply you can’t do anything but cry and hold onto him. It’s building again. Stronger this time, which is scary. You try to warn him, “Zayne, I’m gonna—you’re gonna make me—.”

But, he already knows. How could he not with the death grip you currently had over him? He could barely pull out. “Let go for me, love. You want to give it to me, right? It’s mine anyway. Cum for me.”

You can’t breathe as your vision goes white and you arch up into the heavens. No sounds can find their way into the open space even with your mouth open. A beat passes. Two. Three. Then… “Holy fucking—oh my god, I’m—.” You can’t even get the words out through all your moaning and squirming under his heavy weight.

“Breathe, baby.” He snickers, hips still rolling, lips pressed to your ear. “You sound so good when you cum for me. God, I love you.” A wet, hot kiss to your neck. More praises. More confessions of love. A full body shudder underneath him. More whimpering from you. That telltale tightening. “Came again, huh?”

“Feel s’fucking good, baby,” you slur your words, fully drunk off the pleasure currently drowning you. “Don’t stop. Please. Cum inside me. I wanna feel it so bad. I’ve been so good, right? I deserve it, right?”

How could he argue against that? When you beg so sweet, when you hold him so tightly like he’ll float away if you don’t anchor him down, when you moaning straight into his damn ear. “Oh…fuck…” The curse slips from lips; usually only revealed during passionate times such as these. He’s so close. He’s been close, to be honest. But, what kind of lover would he be if didn’t make sure you are well taken care of first?

You know he’s close. All the signs all there. The harsh gripping of your thighs. His teeth sinking into your neck. Your name falling from his lips again and again like a prayer. No, a promise. You hold him close. What was it he said earlier? Oh yeah… “Let go for me, love. You want to give it to me, right? It’s mine anyway. Cum for me.”

He gasps softly against you. A loud, broken moan echoes through the room. You feel it. Pulse after pulse after pulse. He’s actually moaning so loudly. A burst of pride explodes in your chest, having finally successfully gotten your ever cool and aloof lover to drop his control. You whisper praises into his ear as he continues to rock his hips into yours and tremble. Until, the room falls silent.

“Damn,” you giggle after a while, “maybe we do need to start spending more time apart like this.”

He pinches your side, chuckling when you squeal and fight against his hold. Zayne allows himself a few moments of post-orgasm bliss before getting started with his aftercare. Once you’re both cleaned up and in your pajamas, you’re back in his arms. He rests on his back with you splayed across his chest. Your eyes are bright and unguarded as you stare down at him. His heart clenches and he can’t help but admit it again, “I love you.”

A shy smile from you as lean in and kiss him tenderly. “I love you.” You nuzzle his nose. “You are everything I never knew I needed and more than anything I’ve ever wanted. Stay with me?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises. “How could I go when you’re the embodiment of the life I never thought I would have or deserved.”

You pinch his nose, snickering delicately at his furrowed brow. Then, “you deserve the world.”

“You deserve the world. Way more than me.”

Laying your head on his chest, you listen to his heart. Calm, steady, strong. Just like its owner. You can’t help but place a kiss there. His arms tighten around you. Your exhaustion is finally catching up to you. But, before you full succumb, you murmur, “I guess we’ll just have to find a world to give each other, huh?”

Fingers drifting up and down your back as you let sleep take over before he can respond, Zayne can only smile to himself. A kiss to the top of your cute, sleeping head. “I guess we do. Goodnight, my love.”

[blushofeve]

Cam Girl 3

PART 1 & PART 2

pairing: Caleb x Cam girl!reader

summary: Caleb stalks you and uses your mutual friend, MC, to finally get to fuck you irl.

themes: the reader is a cam girl, strangers to lovers(?), sexual tension, sexual content, porn with plot stalker Caleb

word count: 2.7K

tags (bc they asked): @calebswife , @mcdepressed290

A/N: This is not proofread, please let me know if there are any mistakes :)

you can also read this on ao3

Weeks had passed since that livestream. You’d done more sessions—some cute, some teasing, a few downright sinful—but no matter what you posted, you always noticed him. @Apple.Prince. He was watching everything, always first to comment, always sending little hearts, and gifts off your wishlist and paying for private calls like clockwork. He’d become your favourite. You’d never admit it aloud, but his username gave you a little flutter each time it popped up. You didn’t know much about him, just his voice from your one private call, and the feeling that you were never quite alone when he was watching.

And you were right.

What you didn’t know was that Caleb wasn’t just watching you online. He had access to things others didn’t. After all, being the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel had its perks— classified databases, surveillance tools, and tech most civilians couldn’t even imagine. And he was already breaking the rules just to be near you.

It started with the voice match. He’d run a background trace on your voice from the stream, imagine his surprise when he finds out you and MC were friends, he found videos and pictures of the two of you in group hangouts on your Moments page. He was speechless. Even though he didn’t expect anything less, you were beautiful. It’s safe to say that he didn’t get much sleep that night.

That mutual friend was the thread. He pulled on it gently at first, asking MC harmless questions, subtly steering conversations. Then, more directly. He knew MC had met with you recently, though she didn’t mention your name.

Caleb already knew it was you.

So, when MC invited a few friends to go to a bar. He pulled strings to make sure he’d be there too. “My vacation is almost up. We should hang out together as much as possible before I leave yea?” He had been slipping in quiet suggestions like these and talking about places to go, places that usually involved groups.

You were hesitant when MC invited you, you had plans to do a stream that night but it could wait. “It’s just a small get-together,” she’d said. “Simone said you’ve been swamped with work all week. A change of scenery would be good.” “Besides, I’m bringing a friend. You’ll like him.” You’d rolled your eyes, expecting the usual suspects: some cocky guy with a too-tight shirt and even tighter opinions. You weren’t here to be impressed. You were just here to get out of your head.

The bar was buzzing, with low music, dim lights, the comforting clink of glasses and casual laughter. The air smelled like citrus peels and whiskey. You perched on a velvet bar stool, legs crossed, fingers wrapped around a chilled glass. A blush-hued cocktail MC had ordered it for you. “It looks like you,” she’d grinned. Then came the voice. Deep. Polished. Familiar in a way that made your skin prickle. “Is this seat taken?” You looked up… and up. He was tall and broad in the chest and shoulders. Tousled brown hair, an edge of gold from the warm bar lighting. Not the type you’d forget easily. His expression was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, calculating quietly. “No,” you said, lifting your glass slightly. “All yours.”

MC returned just then and nudged the guy with her elbow. “There you are. Took you long enough.” He gave her a pouty look. “You’re the one who said ‘casual timing.’ I took it literally.” MC rolled her eyes and turned to you, grin stretching. “This is Caleb, my childhood friend. I told you I’d drag someone cool out tonight.” “Caleb,” you echoed, letting the name sit on your tongue. It was… familiar. Not in a memory sense, but more like a distant tug in your chest. You couldn’t quite place it. He smiled as he extended a hand to shake yours. His palm was warm, his touch firm but gentle. “Nice to meet you.” Your stomach flipped for no good reason. “You too.”

You talked for a while. All surface-level at first, music, drinks, random takes on bar aesthetics. He was surprisingly funny, dry with his humour, but earnest with his eyes. There was a softness beneath the smoothness. A type of stillness in the way he listened when you spoke. But then there were moments. Little things. When he said little jokes you swore you’d only said on stream before. When he looked at your necklace a moment too long, his purple eyes lingered on the gold apple charm. When he said your name and it curled in your gut the same way it had during that call. You shook it off. Maybe you were just projecting. But the way his gaze shifted to your mouth as you sipped your drink… The way he smiled when you laughed… The subtle flush on his cheeks when you teased him…

You didn’t even notice how close he’d gotten until you felt the warmth of his arm along yours, just brushing at the elbow. Caleb had a way of leaning in when you spoke like nothing else in the room existed. It was disarming. Flattering. Dangerous. You swirled the last of your drink, the melted ice clinking against the glass. “So, what do you do?” you asked, glancing at him over the rim. He paused. “He is the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel.” MC cut in and he nodded You blinked. “Really?” He smirked. “You don’t believe me?” “No, I do,” you said, setting the glass down. “It just… fits.” “How so?” You shrugged, suddenly feeling like the room had gotten a little warmer. “You sit like someone used to giving orders. And… you look like someone used to getting his way.” MC let out a laugh beside you. “She’s got you pegged, Caleb.” His gaze slid to yours. Something flickered there—amusement, maybe. Or something heavier. He leaned closer. “You’re pretty observant.” His mouth lifted in a slight smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Not completely. “That’s a nice necklace,” he said in a low voice. Your fingers instinctively moved to touch the apple charm. “Thanks. Guess it’s kind of a signature thing.” You spoke slowly, it was just a harmless compliment but it felt like more… MC mumbled something about going to find the rest of your friends and left.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You and Caleb were left in the dim golden light of the booth, the bass from the speakers pulsing through the floor and into your feet. You sipped your drink, aware of the silence settling between you. He looked at you. The kind of look that made your spine straighten. “I think I’ve seen you before,” you said before you could stop yourself. “But I can’t figure out where.” His expression didn’t change, but his fingers stilled on his glass. “Same here,” he said softly. Something was off. Not in a bad way, but in a familiar way. A heat curled low in your belly. Your skin buzzed in anticipation. You played with the charm between your fingers. “Weird.” Then he said it, carefully. Almost too casually: “I always liked that necklace.” Your blood ran warm. Not cold—warm. Like embarrassment, like recognition, like something falling into place. He hadn’t said your necklace. He’d said that necklace. Like he’d seen it before. Like he knew it. You tilted your head to the side. “Are you sure we don’t know each other?” He shrugged, “I know you.” Your chest tightened at his words. He leaned in closer, his warm breath tickling your ear as he spoke, “You looked so pretty in that set I bought you. I wanna see you in it again.”

Oh. It suddenly clicked into place.

“I.. don’t know what you’re talking about.” There’s no way this was actually happening. You thought you had done a good job concealing your identity and personal life. Caleb’s fingers ghosted over your collarbone and landed on the apple charm. “You know what I mean.” the tone of his voice immediately sobered you up. Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t move. Your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it, feel it through the small space still left between you. His fingertips rested lightly on the charm like he was waiting for you to flinch. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Your eyes met his, and there it was—that same voice that had whispered to you, the same low growl that had drawn out breathy thank yous and soft moans from your parted lips. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was intentional. Calculated. And somehow, it didn’t feel wrong. “You stalked me?” you said, barely above a whisper. His thumb brushed over the apple, a quiet caress. “I just… wanted to meet you. For real. Not just through a screen.” You should’ve been angry. Violated. You should’ve pulled away, demanded answers, and stormed out. But instead, you stared at him, really stared. “You’re insane.” “I know.” Despite the absurdity of the situation, your body quietly screamed for him. As if reading your mind, Caleb kissed your neck. He didn’t fail to notice how your breath hitched and thighs pressed together. It wasn’t lost on either of you that you were in a public space. “Do you want to go somewhere more private?” Common sense is screaming at you not to go, but come on— it was him. The guy who had been stuck in your mind for the last few weeks.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

To any normal person’s surprise, you found yourself in the back of your stalker fan’s car, all over each other. Caleb was ecstatic. Your kisses and touch were far more intoxicating than any alcohol he had that night. As you straddled him, his hands slipped up your dress and firmly gripped your ass. He dreamed of this. How soft you felt under his touch. Your soft moans as he kissed and marked your neck and chest. And how incredibly hard he was with you pressed against him. You couldn’t help yourself but grind up against him. Caleb let out a whiny moan into the crook of your neck and pulled you closer. “Please… please… let me fuck you. I wanna show you how good I am. I’ll be so much better than your toys.” He begged as he bucked his hips up into you. His needy, whiny tone snapped something inside you. You lifted yourself off his lap and narrowed your eyes. “No.” The word seemed to break something in him. His purple eyes seemed to gloss over with tears. “No?” He was so close to getting what he wanted— needed. “W-what’s wrong? A-are you mad at me?” You nodded and crossed your arms. “Yes. You stalked me, disregarding my privacy, and you think I’m just going to let you fuck me?” Caleb’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of what to say. “Please…” He moved so that you were beneath him and he lay down the seat. “I’m sorry,” He inched his face closer to yours and you moved back until you were fully laid down on the seat. “I just wanted you so bad. Really bad.” He returned to placing kissing on your neck. “And you want me too.” He sucked on your skin, leaving a dark mark. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeated apologies as he moved down your body, coming to a stop between your thighs. “Let me make it up to you. Please” Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. Caleb’s pleading yet hungry look sent blood rushing to your face.

Before the word okay fully left your mouth, Caleb had buried himself between your thighs. He licked his tongue over your panties, making them even more wet. He moaned as he inhaled your scent and let out curses as his pants became increasingly tight. Your mind had filled with cotton. The feeling of his tongue through your underwear sent electric shocks through your body. Your panties found their way off you and into Caleb’s hand as he jerked himself off while burying his tongue in you. The feeling was euphoric. Caleb devoured you like a man starved, moaning shamelessly into you as if your pleasure was his only purpose. His tongue moved with practised precision like he’d memorised you—where to lick, where to suck, how to curl it just right to make your hips twitch and your thighs tremble. You gripped the seat for stability, one hand tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against you. The sound of it vibrated through your core, and you nearly came undone right then. “Fuck, Caleb—” you gasped, voice catching in your throat. Your body arched off the seat, thighs clenched around his head, and he just grabbed your hips and pulled you closer like he couldn’t get enough. When you came, it was sudden, loud, and shattering. He didn’t stop. He kept licking you through it, groaning as you grinded against his mouth. And even after you finally slumped back, breathing hard and completely wrecked, Caleb just looked up at you—lips swollen, chin wet, eyes wild. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint.

“Are you still mad at me?” Still catching your breath, you shook your head. “Can I please fuck you? Please.” You nodded. “Fuck… I promise,” he said, breathless, “I’ll make you forget every toy. Every other name. You won’t want anyone but me after this.” He crawled up and hovered above you. You watched him fumble for a condom in his pockets, the urgency in his movements making your pulse quicken. He tore it open, rolled it on with practiced ease, and looked down at you like he still couldn’t believe you were real. “You sure?” he asked, voice rough, body hovering over yours. You pulled him down by the collar of his shirt, pressing your mouth to his like it was the only answer you had. Your kiss was hot, messy, full of every dizzying want that had been building since the call. The stretch of him as he pushed in made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders. Caleb groaned, low and guttural, forehead pressing against yours as he slid deeper, inch by inch. “Fuck— so tight,” he whispered, trembling with restraint. He bit his lip to stop another moan from escaping. He felt so good he almost came right there and then. You couldn’t breathe. Could barely think. He filled you completely, like he belonged there, like he was made for this. Once he was fully in, he paused, letting you adjust. His lips found your jaw, your neck, and he whispered your name like a prayer. You clenched around him in response, and he choked out a moan. He finally moved, slow, pleasuring thrusts that had you arching your back and your mouth falling open with each one. He kissed you like he needed to keep you quiet, swallowing your moans, like every sound you made would drive him over the edge.

“Oh god- Caleb,” Your nails dug into his back, “You feel so good.” That broke something in him. He picked up the pace, snapping his hips into you harder, deeper. The car rocked beneath you both, the windows fogged up, the space filled with your gasps, your whimpers, his soft curses. “Wanted this so fucking bad,” he said through gritted teeth. “Every night. Thought of you like this. Begging. Shaking. Needing me.” You were already close again— your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. “Caleb— I’m gonna—” “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his hand slipping between your bodies, thumb circling your clit. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel it.” You shattered again. Your whole body tightened, hips jerking, thighs trembling as the pleasure overtook you. He groaned, the feeling of you clenching around him pushing him over the edge. “Shit—fuck—I’m coming—” he moaned, burying himself deep as his whole body tensed.

He stayed there, chest heaving, forehead pressed against yours as you both caught your breath. Your hands moved to his hair, brushing it back from his face. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the galaxy worth chasing.

And maybe… you were.

Thank you for reading<3

Want to be added to my tag list?

[the-lazyyy-artist]

Roommates Wanted! fem!reader x o. aiku x s. ryusei x i. sae things that make sense

summary: two months in and beyond the contracts, there are systems that the group agreed upon that just make sense to them.

tags and themes: roommates au, slight crack, very ooc, mundane day-to-day events, shidou complains, aiku balances everything, sae is a rich boy, reader is the glue... somehow

author's notes: i am so so so excited to write more about this au, and slowly, we'll flesh out the dynamics between the four! this has been the happiest I've been writing something, and i hope you guys love it as much as i do! I'm also planning to release character visuals soon lmao. as always, reblogs, likes, and comments are much appreciated!

Check out the Masterlist!!

@ysvanielle @kai-zawa @literallyushiwaka @londonsworldddd @itz-phantomz @imcheshire @loverlixie @byzantiumhollow @bontensbabygirl @sugacor3

It's been a month since Sae joined, and two since you, Aiku, and Shidou started to live together as roommates. You never thought it would work, given the huge differences in your careers and personalities. As expected, all of you have formed systems in your apartment that just make sense to the four of you.

The moment Sae moved in, you introduced one of the most important household items: the whiteboard calendar. "Even if we don't talk most of the time," you explained, "this could be our form of communication. Schedules, deadlines, everything. We'd let everyone know what's going on through this." The boys agreed, but Sae was the most pleased with the idea. He'd finally have something to keep track of all the deadlines he's dealing with. You assigned them a marker each, their color of choice.

Aiku - dark green

Shidou - pink (the brightest, he said)

Sae - red

You - blue

Aiku came home one day with the markers, and everyone, like schoolchildren, scribbled on the whiteboard before they decided to fill in the Month, Year, and Days.

Aiku would fill some spaces on the calendar with important lessons for his class, lesson plan deadlines, and major exams at school. Weekends would fill up most of his tasks. Sae, as an editor at a publishing house, would fill in the calendar with the names of authors and manuscript deadlines, scattered throughout. Shidou's was mostly non-existent, but if he did write something, it would be the name of an important client who had scheduled a class with him. He'd also write stuff like "new protein shake flavor release" because he's been looking forward to it. And you...

Oh, the moment a new month rolls in, you'd immediately fill in the first week or two with your ever-changing, inconsistent schedule. Two graveyard shifts in a row, then a sudden afternoon shift, then back to graveyard. You only get one day off per week, and the boys hated how weird and chaotic your schedule was.

The color coding on your markers made a ripple effect on other smaller things: keychains on everyone's keys, so Shidou won't accidentally grab yours. Then Aiku installed hooks on the wall near the front door to get rid of the key bowl and hang the keys in their designated colors. Aiku and Sae's keys were a little bulky because both own cars (Aiku got his from his dad when he passed the bar exam. Sae... Take a wild guess how he got his). You and Shidou only had two to three keys hanging on your keychains.

Then it became color-coded mugs because of how many times Shidou has used Sae's cup, or Aiku's cup... Or your cup... But never his own. Sae would scold him, calm and cold, and Shidou kinda stopped. So, you and Aiku bought everyone mugs in your designated colors, too.

Another thing that really made sense for you guys was the savings jar. You don't have anything in mind to save for, it was just something you could dig into if the group decides for take-out instead of Aiku's cooking (he'd be thankful that you guys made him rest for a moment), or if you and Shidou planned on buying a new game for his PlayStation (he'd beat your ass until you walk out. Of course, he's laughing). Maybe save up for a new air fryer you saw at the mall one time. It was there for everyone. You, Aiku, and Shidou would shove spare change and bills in the jar, but you always wonder if Sae's spare bills were too much because sometimes, you'd see hundreds in there. Rich boy shit.

A grocery list for bi-weekly grocery runs is also important. A new list will be attached to the fridge, just below the whiteboard calendar, and everyone will write down everything they need before the weekend errands. Shidou would write his in a scrawly handwriting, and it's sometimes "instant ramen x5" or "that new snack I saw on TV, will send you a photo.” Sae would add his in neat handwriting, sometimes in cursive. It's always just the necessities. Aiku will write his necessities and a bunch of snacks for everyone. Sometimes he would be in charge of auditing the fridge just to see what food products you guys needed to survive. He'd always have this neat handwriting. Professor-like. And you? You'd write down your necessities and cravings in a hurried handwriting. Sometimes a little messy like Shidou's.

Grocery runs are handled by Aiku. Sometimes you'd accompany him if you had a Saturday or Sunday off. Sometimes Sae would come with him. Aiku would sometimes tell the others how Sae covered this month's grocery run again, not letting everyone pay. But if it's just Aiku, he'd make sure that everyone chips in once the bill is split according to what everyone wrote in the grocery list. "I'm not as rich as Sae, ya know," he'd reason if Shidou grumbles about it. It was not a problem with you, since it was all you agreed upon when stepping into the apartment.

But the most hated item in the house, something Shidou dreads the most, is the budgeting logbook. Rent, bills, and everything in between. You'd pull the boys at the dinner table to have a roommate meeting ("Five minutes tops, Shidou. Please!"), and everything was discussed. Everyone had to contribute to the month's rent and bills. Sae would be in charge of updating the spreadsheet on his laptop ("Just in case we lose the logbook, we have a copy," he explained), and Aiku handles the money and pays it to the sweet, old landlady downstairs.

If anything, you guys shouldn't have really worked out. Not with Shidou's constant complaining and explosive energy every morning. Not with Sae's quiet judgments and long sighs. Not with Aiku’s overly optimistic views and his "failed" attempts to keep the harmony. And especially not you and your chaotic schedules and sudden bursts of annoyance because of a messy house. But it did.

And you're glad it did.

[jo-harrington]

Absconding (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Summary: Everyone's running away from something.

Pairings/Relationships: Older!Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: Meet Cute/Meet Stupid, Literal Escapism, melancholy vibes, Fluff, Humor, Angst, Hurt/Comfort(?), open ended, idk I'm just tagging things before writing this.

Note: Happy Birthday to my wonderful friend, secret alternate identity from another universe that somehow got dumped in the same world together, @deathbecomesthem. Love you so much Than. Wish that this could be something more well thought out than it is.

Thanks to everyone also who've sent me asks for WIP weekend so I could finish this and other works. <3

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

You’d been saying that you were gonna do something like this for years.

Get in your car and just drive.

No plans. No rhyme or reason. No direction. You would just take some cash and go.

Unfortunately, for all of those same years, you’d also been a bit of a chicken. Tied down and held back by obligations. Work, family, friends. What are you gonna do on a Friday night? I dunno, let’s get dinner. Ok, see you at the Chilis off Randolph at 8pm for a corporately sanitized appetizer and margarita. Great, see you then.

Until you couldn’t handle it anymore and you let everyone know that you’d be out of town for a few days. Don’t call, don’t come looking. You'd be back for work next Monday.

And you drove.

You slept in your car at a truck stop that first night. You were too numb to worry about anything happening to you. By night two you actually managed to give a shit and you stopped at a Comfort Inn in a small lakeside town off the highway that was probably known as some great local summer destination. But it wasn’t summer yet so it was a little desolate and a little sad.

Still it was nice enough and the old woman at the check in desk told you about some local year-round sights to see and you actually considered seeing them.

The only difficulty you’d faced was the indecision. Or rather, the need to decide. The imperative. Usually you were the Decider. When all of those around you couldn’t commit, you were the one to be the voice of reason. Now you had the luxury to dilly dally and you resented still having to be the one to make the decision.

“That’s what you get when you go off the deep end and run away though,” you told yourself.

But it was not just running away. It was going off in search of something. What that something was, you couldn’t be certain. But it would come to you, just like the many epiphanies you had in gas stations or airport terminals or other liminal spaces in all the flavors they came in over the years.

You were hoping that you’d get hit by something on this trip.

Unfortunately for you, the only thing you got hit by…was a car.

Ok, that’s a little dramatic.

You had pulled into the tiny parking lot of a house-turned-pub in the middle-of-nowhere town off the highway for lunch. Check-in lady’s recommendation. And a shitty, junker van hit you as it was backing into the space beside yours. A little fender bender. Truly no big deal.

You’d been at your wits end for weeks, though. Months maybe. So the demon that had been festering inside of you finally saw the opportunity to go free.

"Are you kidding me, fucker?" The words flew from your lips and out of your cracked window as soon as the thump and crunch of metal on metal registered in your mind. Let alone the gentle rock of your car, although to you it might as well have been a head-on collision because it had caught you so off-guard. Your driver's side door was open and you were out of the car, keys still in the ignition. "What the fuck?"

"Shit, shit, fuck," came a muffled voice from inside the van before it shifted gears and pulled forward. The van's bumper pried away from yours and you watched, dumbfounded, as the asshole attempted--successfully this time--to back into the parking space beside yours again before killing the engine and hopping out.

He was a gangly thing. All arms and legs and neck and fingers as he rounded the front of his vehicle. Even his long hair pulled back with a rubber band was long and wiry, adding to the athropomorphic-Gumby-ness he had about him. You would've considered him handsome and his overall floppiness endearing if you weren't fuming. If your blood pressure hadn't caused your ears to ring, preventing any of the words coming from his mouth to actually reach your brain as he rambled on, talking with his hands.

"How many years have I been driving this damn thing, I still can't back up to save my life?" he chuckled sweetly and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck.

"Maybe you need to brush up on your driving lessons buddy," you scoffed. "Or choose one of the other spots in the lot next time." You gestured to the handful of other empty spots, then grumbled under your breath about the shiftiness of parking next to someone in a half empty lot.

Before you could stop him, Stretch Armstrong laughed and crouched by your fender. He ran one hand over his stubbled jaw as he inspected the damage. You crossed your arms over your chest and took a few steps so you could do the same, and truthfully it doesn’t look too bad. A dent that can be worked out with a rubber mallet—something you’ve done yourself more than once—and some scuffs of paint that flaked off on impact. You’re sure his tank of a vehicle sports the same injuries.

“I’m an expert mechanic,” the guy explained suddenly.

“Seriously?” You scoffed.

“Been fixing clunkers in my front yard for as long as I could drive.”

“Ah,” you snorted. “So the real expert. Not the kind that gets paid.” You do an internal double take as soon as the words leave your mouth because did he just call your car—your baby—a clunker?

“Were you going in to get some lunch?" You're pulled from your thoughts again by his jovial voice and a smile that crinkled his eyes in a hatefully attractive way. "How's about, I get the dent out, and get you a sandwich, and we call it even? There's a pretty decent reuben on the menu."

You took a second to look at him, then turned your attention to the bar, and then back at him.

"Throw in a beer for good measure," you held out your hand to shake, "And I won't call the cops."

"I can do a beer," he nodded and slapped his hand into yours. "Maybe even two."

---

Turned out that his name was Eddie--of course it was, he looked like an Eddie--and that he wasn't just stopping at The Hideout for lunch. He actually worked there.

The unassuming facade outside gave way to some kind of identity crisis on the inside. There was definitely a dive quality about it, but not in a way that you should be worried about tetanus. But it also had a touch of classic american with a neon jukebox in the corner. And little vagaries of a tiki bar if you looked hard enough.

"It used to be The Hideaway," he explained as you eyeballed a load-bearing pole made to look like it was bamboo. "But when I took over as the manager, I suggested a little redecorating and to rename it The Hideout. A little selfish of me, actually, because the bar my band used to play at when we were dumb kids was called the Hideout too.”

And yeah, of course he had a band, he looked like the kind of guy who was in a band.

Eddie kept yammering. Man, he was chatty.

“Still trying to land on an aesthetic, as all the newspaper reviews say. If I can convince old Tim to sell it to me one day, I'll give it a full makeover. If I can pinch my pennies enough, that is."

"If you don't keep backing your van into patrons' cars, you mean," you corrected him.

"How many times do I have to say sorry?" He scoffed teasingly, but made a pointed effort to reach across the bar for your empty glass and pour you a second beer as he promised.

The two of you talked as you ate--he was right, the Reuben was pretty good--and he tasked and helped other patrons as they filtered in. Mainly, his attention was on you though. And as much as you thought you would hate it, you didn't.

You chalked it up to either the need for interaction again, after you'd pretty much gone AWOL from human contact, or that he just had one of those faces that made someone want to spill their entire life story to.

From music, to tv, to travel, the topic of conversation stayed relatively tame. Until...

"Have you ever just...hated your life?" you asked rather unexpectedly as he dried glasses.

At first all you got in response was a snort.

Eventually, he answered.

"I wanted to be a rockstar when I was 20," he began. "And now I'm nearing 40 and I still drive the same car, play gigs during the summer, and am the manager of the local watering hole. Hating my life hit me hard about 10 years ago...and now I have annoying bouts of it like seasonal allergies. Usually around my birthday."

You couldn't help the self-deprecating smile that appeared on your face. You tried to hide it with a bite of your sandwich but Eddie was a little too perceptive for his own good.

"Oh shit." He threw the bar towel over his shoulder. "It's your birthday?"

"Birthday week," you answered with your mouth full.

"Well, what the hell are you doing out in the middle of nowhere I call home?" he asked. And there was a moment, you could tell, where he regretted it. Where he put two and two together. It's a mis-step, it's a faux pas. But you'd already been in the process of spilling your guts so you stopped him as he started rambling. "Sorry, shit. I'm sorry. You wouldn't have been out here if--"

"Don't worry," you held up a hand to shut him up, "I've just been meaning to do this for a while. My birthday had started to become a day for everyone else instead of for me. On top of...quite literally everything else in the world resting on my shoulders. I figured I'd get away from it all for a little bit. Cease to exist for a while, see how it feels."

Eddie nodded slowly, and then leaned forward to rest his arms on the edge of the bar.

"Ceasing to exist is how I ended up in this town too," he said softly. "Walked on the beach with no shoes, drank shitty beer in the local dive bar." He gestured around the room. "And then decided to stay when all was said and done. It's a good place to be nobody."

"Yeah," you agreed. "I'm finding that out for myself. I've only been here for 48 hours and I'm dreading that eventual drive home."

"Then don't go. I didn't."

"Unfortunately, I can't." You sighed. "It's like the Hobbit. But if Gandalf told Bilbo the opposite of what he did. The world is ahead...but home is waiting behind...you’ve gotta go back."

He closed his eyes and clutched his hands over his heart in an exaggerated fashion. "Say it ain't so, only nerds reference Tolkien."

You cursed your heart for skipping its own beat, as you fought the urge to mimic his actions. That seemed like he was flirting; was he flirting? Or just being nice? Either way, it was hard to imagine this was the same guy that you wanted to strangle two hours ago.

After your laughter subsided, he continued.

"So why is home waiting, then?" Eddie gave a shrug. "Or is it just your inner-hobbit telling you that it is?"

You hid in your beer glass to avoid having to answer. But of course it was your luck that he was the kind of guy who couldn't take a hint.

"Listen, if you're not the one choosing to turn your life upside down, life itself is just waiting to turn upside down for you. And when you're not the one in charge, it's a lot harder to make it work in your favor. Believe me. I've been in both situations."

"So what am I gonna do, huh?" You laughed and set your glass down. "Find a job here, call back home for my things?"

"I think there is a little bnb closer to the beach looking for an innkeeper," he said matter-of-factly. "And all of the vacation rentals have deals on the off season so I'm sure you could hunker down for cheap before finding something long-term."

"And what about my family? Can I really leave them?"

"You married? Have kids?"

"No, but..."

"Then they'll have a nice time coming to visit in the summer." Eddie grinned like the cat that ate the canary. "You can tell them all about your friend Eddie and his great bar and the amazing food and drinks he serves."

"And his horrific taste in decor," you said blithely.

"Hey!" He pointed a teasing finger at you. "I said I was working on it."

The two of you laughed for a second. Actually, you felt...giddy. You'd been gone for a few days and here was a stranger, urging you to get away from all the obligations that waited for you back home as though it was the easiest thing in the world.

"You really have the answers to everything, don't you?" you asked.

He didn't miss a beat when he answered, "obviously, duh. Except for tomorrow's lottery numbers. So don't ask."

He winked at you, and you felt your cheeks burn.

And he was good looking...and flirting...

"I can't believe I'm actually considering running away for good," you muttered, to try and avoid the fluttering feeling he'd caused. Hell, he had really caused all of it. "Escaping."

"I think the term you're looking for," Eddie said as he slid another beer in front of you, "is absconding."

[lucy-literates]

Than you for the one with Roscoe, he is so cute :)

I thought of one with the whole grid, where Lewis and the reader are best friends, but the whole grid notices how they look at eachother and at a party Lewis gets jealous and they finally realize it :)

Sorry, that is a long ask 🫣

Greetings :)

A/N: This is not long at all sweetheart, I love it!! I hope you enjoy it! My inbox is open, and so is my tag list 🫶🏻

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-BLpv0xQYd1bTlaP7l1gAg8AgCyLE_yvrtljpCzlJhY/edit?usp=drivesdk

Everyone Sees It

It starts small.

Just a few glances. A slightly too-long hug. The way you and Lewis always seem to drift back to each other, even in a room full of chaos and champagne.

Carlos notices it first. He catches Lewis looking at you during media day — you're laughing at something Lando said, completely unaware. Lewis is supposed to be on his phone, but instead he’s just… watching you, like you hung the moon.

“Interesting,” Carlos mutters.

“What?” Charles asks, leaning over.

“Lewis. He’s got it bad.”

Charles raises an eyebrow, follows his gaze, then smirks. “Definitely.”

They don’t say anything. Not yet.

Over the next few weeks, it spreads like wildfire through the paddock.

George walks into the motorhome kitchen one morning and finds Lewis making two cups of tea. “For Y/N?” he asks casually.

Lewis shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. “She mentioned a sore throat yesterday.”

George just smiles and steals one of the mugs. “You’re whipped.”

“I am not.”

“You are, bro. It’s cute. Keep it up.”

At the next race, Max catches Lewis absentmindedly fixing a twisted strap on your overalls. You thank him with a soft smile and a gentle hand on his arm.

Max just shakes his head. “You two gonna kiss or what?”

You both sputter in unison. “What?!”

“Nothing,” he says, walking off with the smug satisfaction of a man who knows he’s right.

But it all comes to a head at a team party.

The season’s in full swing, the drinks are flowing, and someone’s put together a makeshift DJ setup. You’re dressed in a black satin dress that fits like it was made for you, laughing with your head thrown back as Pierre twirls you around the dance floor. He’s playfully dramatic, bowing like he’s in a ballroom, and you’re giggling too hard to breathe.

Lewis watches from across the room, jaw tight.

Lando nudges him. “You alright?”

“Fine.”

“Mate, you’ve crushed that bottle cap five times now.”

Lewis looks down at his hand. Sure enough, the beer cap is flattened beyond recognition. His fingers are clenched white.

He knows it’s harmless — Pierre’s just being his usual flirtatious self — but it doesn’t stop the burning in his chest. You look good, and you’re laughing with someone else, and he knows he’s just your best friend but suddenly that title feels like a prison.

He sees Pierre whisper something in your ear and that’s it.

Lewis pushes away from the bar and walks straight toward you.

You turn at the last second, breathless from dancing, cheeks flushed. “Hey! Where’d you go—”

“I need to talk to you.”

You blink. “What’s wrong?”

“Outside. Please.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just heads for the balcony, and you follow him, confused.

The night air is cooler out there, the music muffled behind glass. Lewis runs a hand down his face, then turns to you with a tight jaw and wide, vulnerable eyes.

“I can’t keep doing this.”

Your heart skips. “Doing what?”

He laughs once, bitter and soft. “Watching you look like that with someone else. Pretending I’m okay just being your friend. Everyone keeps saying it and I’ve been ignoring it but I can’t anymore.”

You step closer, pulse pounding. “What’s everyone saying?”

“That I’m in love with you.”

You freeze.

He exhales sharply. “And they’re right. God, they’re so right. I see you and I—” He shakes his head. “I don’t just want to be your best friend anymore.”

For a second, you just stare at him.

Then: “You idiot.”

He blinks. “What?”

“You could’ve had me ages ago.”

Your hands grab the front of his shirt and pull him in, crashing your lips against his.

And just like that, everything shifts.

The world goes quiet. The tension that’s been building for months melts into your skin as he kisses you back like he’s finally breathing again.

Inside, Lando spots the kiss through the glass.

He fist-pumps so hard he spills his drink.

“TOLD YOU!” he shouts.

The entire grid cheers like someone just won the championship.

Tag List:

@alexxavicry

[moonlight-prose]

SIN TI

a/n: years ago when the falcon and the winter soldier came out, i wrote a one shot that has solidified itself as one of my favorite fic i've written. it's a friends to lovers arc and while i wanted to end it there. i couldn't stop myself from giving them another chapter to their love story. so i hope y'all enjoy. there's plenty more torres fics to come. also a massive thank you to my favorite person @soulores who bounced ideas off me and helped me with some of the spanish (i'm learning to fix up my fluency i promise).

note: this fic in my head is a latine reader, but there's no specifications/descriptions so imagine who you wish!

summary: five years have passed. five years since he boarded a plane and left you behind to wait diligently for the man who would never return. when letters and patchy phone calls failed to keep the spark of your relationship alive, you find each other again. only this time as two entirely different people.

word count: 11.2k+

pairing: joaquín torres x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, epistolary beginning, angst, broken hearts, long distance relationships, epistolary style at first, romance, friends to lovers, arguments, passionate declarations of love, fingering, p in v sex, alcohol consumption, biting, cumplay, rough sex, desperation, yearning + pining, he's got a filthy fucking mouth, more angst, the grief of failed love, second chance romance, forever.

SIEMPRE

December 5, 2023

Mi amor,

It’s hard to believe you left only a few weeks ago and somehow I miss you more than I could say in words. If it were possible I’d have sent a longer letter than this. I’d tell you how I miss our mornings spent hunting for coffee, our nights wandering the streets. I’d tell you I miss your lips. But that seems cliché given the circumstances.

I wanted you to stay. And yet…I know how important it was that you go. You need this. You need to figure out where you exist in this world after living in it alone for five years. So I hope you discover what’s always been meant to find you. And when you do, please know that I’ll be here waiting for you.

Back where it all began.

Siempre te amaré.

-Tu corazón

January 8, 2024

Mi corazón,

God I miss your voice, your handwriting, your fucking smile. I miss every part of you. If I told you what I’ve actually been thinking of you’d probably never forgive me for putting it down somewhere in permanent ink. No te culpo. I wish I had better news, or at least some stories to give you, but they’re kicking my ass even before my eyes open. Bright and early at dawn until my whole body is screaming.

I don’t want you to worry mi vida. Please don’t worry. I’m doing okay. I’m alive at least. Gracias a dios. Well I wouldn’t exactly say no to a candle being lit in my name (maybe to help with the constant wake up calls of how you felt that night). Tell Clara and Michael I miss them. Give mi mamá a kiss and drop some flowers off for pops. But most importantly do me a favor.

Wear them for me yeah corazón? They’re my “lost” pair (got reamed out for “losing” my first fucking pair of dog tags but it was worth it to give you a piece of me.) Keep ‘em on. And know that I’ll be fighting like hell to get my way back to you. Back to our spot, back to morning coffee runs and night walks in the city.

They’re yours. Just like I am.

Siempre te amaré.

-Yours forever Joaquín

January 16, 2024

Mi amor,

Thank you baby for the tags. I cried when I felt your name engraved in the metal. Just the feel of the letters reminded me of the way you’d draw on my papers in high school. They were so bad, but I think I still have a few of them in the back of my closet. Somehow that feels like a lifetime ago. I can tell you that I miss you—that’s true—but it’s not entirely the full truth. I never got a first date, rarely got a chance to see your eyes open when we woke up together, or drink shitty beer on the roof of my apartment.

I wish I could say that it doesn’t hurt to wait for you, but that would be a lie. And I can hear you in the back of my head saying: eres mentirosa bebita. And it makes me laugh.

This letter will probably find its way to you near Valentine’s Day. And I can’t have my brave pilot missing the fun. Don’t show anyone. Keep it in your wallet, and enjoy the late nights mi vida (pretend I’m there with my mouth to keep you company, or my hands, or my pussy).

We’ll find ourselves back in that queen sized bed soon enough—that I’m sure of. I will have to take a week off work just to get my fill of you; although even I have to admit that’ll take a long fucking time.

You and I both know I’ll never have enough.

I’ll be thinking of you, as I always do. Especially in our bed. Come home soon mi amor and I’ll be here when you finally do.

Siempre te amaré.

-Tu corazón

February 16, 2024

Happy Valentine’s Day mi corazón.

You’ve got no idea what those Polaroids did to me. I think I touched myself fucking raw (or at least that’s what it feels like). I’ve got half a mind to frame them, proudly display my girl. But I know you might actually murder me, so I’ve got them where you asked—safe in my wallet. I’ve been thinking about you. Okay let me be honest. I always think about you. Seriously you fucked up my brain bebita before I left. Had me wrapped around your finger long before that night, but after…I’m going crazy without you.

Dios mío, yo también te extraño (probably more given how winded I get just thinking about you). And I wish I could say that I’ll be home eventually, but I don’t know. I wish I did. You’ve got no idea how much I wish I could find my way back to you. The air force is…it’s harder than I thought. Nothing I can’t handle.

Until then imagine me finally taking you out on that date. In fact plan it. Figure out where you wanna go, pick out an outfit that’ll drive me batshit, and I’ll be there. On that dance floor to finally finish what we started. Te amo mi corazón. More than you know.

Siempre te amaré.

-Yours forever Joaquín

February 20, 2024

Mi amor,

The thought of you has driven me insane. I actually sprayed your cologne on the pillow you slept on the last few days we were together, just to remind myself of what you smelled like. I also may have rode it. But that didn’t matter. It did nothing but make me ache. Te extraño mucho Joaquin.

I don’t know what to do with myself but go to work and wait for you to come home. But I’ve done what you said—I planned our date. Dinner at our favorite place, a night of drinks at Siempre, and dessert at the small ice cream parlor on the corner.

I want to believe you when you said you could handle the airforce, and I do, but something isn’t right. Por qué mientes mi amor? You forget, I know every piece of you. I know when you’re upset. I know when you are struggling and don’t want to say it, because you think you can bear the heaviness of the world. Even when you were younger you thought you could carry the weight of everyone’s troubles on your shoulders, but you don’t have to. I’m here. I’ll carry it with you.

You can tell me what’s wrong and I’ll promise to listen, to make it better however I can. What’s our love meant to be if not carrying one another through the harsh times of life?

Tell me everything amor. I’ll listen. I’ll save you this time around.

Have they told you when you’ll be able to visit? I know it’s only been a few months, but I just always wonder. If they haven’t I understand—I just miss you. But you know this. I won’t fill up this letter with misery, because you deserve more than that. Your mamá and I have dinner on Sunday’s now (she’s teaching me how to cook so I’ll promise to make a good meal for you).

Clara and Michael are together at last! And they’re worse than us in terms of PDA. I seriously wish you were here just to help me one up them. Give them a show. But that can wait. All of it can wait. As long as I know you’re coming home to me.

Please take care of yourself mi amor. Stay safe and I’ll be here making my apartment a home for the both of us.

Siempre te amaré.

-Tu corazón

March 30, 2024

Mi amor,

I hope my last letter didn’t get lost on the way to you. I’ve heard it could happen. But I’m getting worried with this constant silence. Estas bien? Are they treating you okay? Is the base nice? I just need something to know you’re okay baby. Send a letter, find a way to call me, but don’t leave me with nothing.

I’m not the only one worried and you know it.

I hope you’re safe.

Siempre te amaré.

-Tu corazón

May 18, 2024

Mi corazón,

I don’t know how to start this. I should have answered you earlier. Or sent something in return to your Valentine’s gift. Or shit I should have at least fought tooth and nail for a visitation day to come see you, but that’s no longer possible mi corazón. I’m being transferred to a base further away and I’m not sure when I’ll make it back. I don’t even know if they plan on giving me an idea on what’s going to happen with me, but that’s why I had to tell you.

Lo siento bebita. I’m…I’m just sorry. I love you, I always have and always will. But I can’t force you to wait for me forever. That’s not fair to you. And you deserve better than a man who could never gather the fucking nerve to tell you the truth. Waiting on a soldier like me shouldn’t be your future. So I’m doing what’s necessary.

I’m sorry.

I will always love you.

Forever.

- Joaquín

June 1, 2024

Fuck you Joaquín Torres. You don’t get to rip my heart out that way. You don’t get to end this without looking me in the eyes. Why? Why would you make me fall in love with you if you knew this would end? Why would you promise me forever when you never meant it to begin with? Tell me. Write a fucking letter and answer me!

I deserve the truth. All of it.

I know you are struggling and won’t tell me. I know you’re fighting for your life to keep up with the demands of the airforce and like to pretend you’re fine. But you’re not fine baby. You can’t lie to me and pretend nothing’s wrong. You just…you can’t do that to me. Please. Let me in amor, let me help.

I love you Joaquín.

I need you.

-Tu corazón

FIVE YEARS LATER

The coffee tasted much more bitter than what you remembered. A biting darkness that burned the back of your throat as you gulped down what you could in the fifteen minutes you had for lunch. Whatever food you packed sat forgotten about in your fridge. Another day rushing to the office, another day wandering the streets of a city you could paint with your eyes closed.

A piece of you echoed with the voices of all who came before you. Friends you made, found family that adopted you as their own. Streets overflowing with scents of arroz con pollo and Jamaica flowers boiling away in kitchens—open windows begging for some fresh air.

July scorched the streets with heat you learned to endure. Yet this year felt worse. A curse bestowed upon the people of New York without rhyme or reason.

You pressed a piece of ice to your neck, dabbing at the sweat sliding down your chest. In the hopes you might find some relief from this torture you were forced to endure. Working in an office that barely payed you enough for the rent of your apartment and was far too cheap to put money towards a working air conditioner. You calculated the numbers for them. They could afford it.

“Fuck the heat,” you moaned, wincing with the heat of your coffee.

“That skirt’s sexy mami.”

The sound of her voice was unmistakable. A soft drawled accent of someone who spent her days speaking Spanish more than she did English. You rolled your eyes, digging out another ice cube from what remained in your plastic cup—dropping it in between your breasts with a hiss.

“Tell me why we’re out here?” you asked, shifting as the ice slid lower, finding a spot beneath your breast.

She dropped onto the bench, yanking off a black blazer that looked like hell to be wearing. “Because if I have to spend another day in a court house I’m going to blow my brains out.”

“You work in a court house Clara.”

“Callate. Don’t fucking remind me.”

Her ebony curls were gathered at the top of her head, pinned in place with a familiar teal butterfly clip you lent her a year prior. At this point asking for it back felt irrelevant. She looked better with it than you ever did—never quite learning how to pin it effortlessly like her.

“We’re going out tonight,” she announced between swipes of lipstick, fixing makeup that was primed to perfection.

With a sigh you dug for another ice cube. “Do I have to?”

“Yes.” Her compact clicked shut. “I rarely see you anymore. Plus Michael got the night off so he’s joining us.”

“And where exactly are you dragging me?”

“Dancing.”

You groaned, sinking into the bench far enough to be drowned by the floor. Swallowed whole into the center of Earth—an escape from being whatever you forced yourself to pretend. An adult with a clear path, someone moved on from a heartbreak that ripped you to pieces, someone whole. Yet asking for that felt as if you were signing a life altering contract with gods who weren’t listening to your cries of anguish.

Clara knew you were suffering—she could see the exhaustion on your face—but her specialty was never empathetic talks. She spoke with actions. Loud, boisterous, displays of affection. Like dragging you around town when all you were concerned about was getting home to feed your cat.

“I don’t-”

“Think so,” she mimicked, clicking her tongue. “Ay Dios how many times are you gonna use that fucking excuse?”

“What excuse?” you exclaimed, fixing her with a glare she brushed off with a sigh.

“You need to resurrect yourself. I know you don’t want to talk about him—and I won’t—but you deserve to move on. He became a superhero-”

“Don’t even get me started.”

“Then why aren’t you letting yourself finally meet a future where you get to thrive?”

She was right. You knew every word out of her mouth echoed with enough truth to stab you in the chest. Five years passed before your very eyes and you barely gave yourself a chance to breathe. He’d been your best friend, your partner in crime all these years, and to live a life without him in it felt like a betrayal. Only you weren’t the one to issue the blade, you weren’t the one to open a wound so large it took everything in you not to bleed before her now.

The trail of red followed you on the bleak path ahead. A future without love, a life half lived.

He existed in the world as a hero—a monolithic piece of history the world clamored for. You were merely a mark on a past he might never mention, a brief lapse of youthful hope diminished by powers you held no control over.

What good was it to forget yourself? He certainly didn’t miss you; he barely even thought of you. Yet somewhere along the way you gave him every ounce of strength you should have reserved for yourself.

With a sigh you tossed the empty cup into the trash beside you. “Fine.”

She laughed with a glee that helped break through your melancholy stupor. “Let’s go mami!”

“Where are we going?” And with one word she sealed your fate.

“Siempre.”

The heels were a bad idea, the short silk mini dress was a bad idea, the whole night reeked with poor decisions you should have caught a mile away. Clara shoved you into a green dress yanked from the back of her closet—a forgotten gift she claimed. Only to leave you alone at the bar, her golden yellow nails burrowed into Michael’s arm to drag him deep into a mass of people you tried to avoid.

Your mezcal was tepid, a rim of lipstick decorating the edge of the glass covered in your fingerprints. The music blared loud enough to leave a high pitched ringing in your left ear—a thumping bass causing the floor to tremble with each new song.

You had half a mind to leave, already a sweaty mess just standing listlessly by the bar in a meager attempt at the fun you once had. The same joy that happened right in this very club. But tonight felt different—an energy you couldn’t name that stuck to your tight chest.

“One more,” you called over the music, tapping your glass with a nail coated in chipped polish.

“I’ll get hers.”

You stiffened, his voice washing over you like a bucket of ice dumped atop your head. For a brief moment you wondered if it finally happened, if you reached the point of hearing him when he was nowhere to be found. A dreadful hope that lingered in your chest—a dream you couldn’t speak aloud for fear of driving yourself mad. Until he filled your peripheral, a familiar leather coat you would recognize a mile away and dark hair now cropped and cut short enough to alarm you.

“Mi corazon,” he murmured, leaning close enough to invade your senses with his cologne.

The bottle he left with you still sat on your dresser. Coated in five years of dust, untouched and frozen in a time you would give anything to go back to. Your teeth clamped onto the inside of your cheek hard enough to spill copper across your tongue—a disgusting mixture with the tequila you downed moments prior.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you croaked, barely able to look at him.

“I got home last week.”

“Good for you.” The words were biting, harsh enough to make him wince. Satisfaction flooded your veins.

“Clara invited me,” he admitted, stuffing his hands into his pockets—another song blasting off speakers you wished to break. “I thought…she didn’t tell you did she?”

“What do you think?”

He sighed, ducking his head to stare at his warm mezcal, a withered lime precariously placed on the rim. “I wanted to see you corazón.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped.

Music rang in your ears, a deafening echo that suffocated you beneath the weight of all you couldn’t carry. He fell silent, waiting for an indication that you wanted him there. But none ever came. The irony tasted bitter at the back of your mouth—five years later and still you walked a tightrope he promised to keep upright.

He offered you forever. You just never realized how quickly he could take it all back.

The alcohol stirred in your stomach, bile clawing up the back of your throat and suddenly Joaquín showing up out of the blue wasn’t your only problem. You couldn’t be there. You didn’t know how to stand beside him, feel the heat of his body packed in with everyone else—shame digging its talons into your skin with a malice you probably deserved. Neither of you fought for the love to last.

He didn’t fight for you.

“I came to talk to you-”

“I can’t do this,” you rasped, pushing off the bar before he could finish his half formed pathetic excuse.

“Wait.”

A hand curled into the satin fabric along your back—your quick movements pulling him into the fray. You itched to twist away, remove any trace of his touch that begged to seep into sticky skin and taint the sporadic beating of your heart.

The wall of people stopped you in your tracks, their bodies moving with fluid grace. They called to you, whispered notes of a siren song you could hear beneath the rush of blood in your ears. A thumping promise that banged against a door you sealed shut. You knew it wouldn’t fix anything—only a guarantee to make matters worse—but there was no ignoring what beckoned you forth.

Joaquín called after you, shoving his way through a drunk crowd that barely noticed he was there. You could feel him at your heels, breath fighting its way into your lungs with each punctured gasp—a ragged need for something other than this heat.

His hand curled around your hip, nose buried at the base of your neck.

“Dance with me?” he mumbled.

You allowed your eyes to slip shut, breath spilling past parted lips as the taste of tequila permeated the tip of your tongue. “I hate you,” you sighed, fingers tangling with his.

“Lo se.”

“Then why did you come back?”

The sway of his body behind yours echoed with comfort—that night burned into the back of your mind. “You.”

He spoke with sincerity. A coveted admission he buried the day he wrote those words—his fate sealed with such a tiny stamp. The years may have dragged by, his head barely above water, but the truth still remained. The mere knowledge that you existed somewhere on this Earth—a piece of him left to drag yourself out of the hell he created—broke him little by little. Until he woke up one day, struggling to breathe.

Dancing with Joaquín felt natural. Years spent bar hopping and sneaking into club back entrances weren’t something you could forget with ease.

“It’s not that easy,” you retorted, voice thick and throat constricted. “You don’t just get to…”

“Mírame corazón.”

“No.” The gasp at his touch twirling you slowly in arms you once longed to feel around your waist said otherwise.

There was no fighting something your heart ached for, a pitiful longing you felt claw at the pit of your stomach. The closeness of it, the heat pouring off his body—his hands guiding your hips into a motion the both of you understood better than words spoken in anger. You wanted to hate him. Some parts of you did.

The razor thin line of hate and love blurred as he fit you against his body. A missing puzzle piece you’d been searching for.

He possessed your soul with each step, fingers tangling into his shirt to keep yourself upright. The awkward playfulness that arose like before was nowhere to be found. This time you knew the stakes. He understood the consequences that came with making his choice and he had to live with it every day of his life. Fixing what might forever remain broken would take more than a dance, but it was somewhere to start.

“I fucking missed you,” he whispered—throat tight, constricting his words. He wanted to say more than this, more than words that rang with a hollow truth you might never believe again.

What was stopping you from walking away and leaving him in your past?

What kept you in his arms, following the swivel of hips he craved to grip through the years?

“Joaquín,” you breathed, eyes half lidded and sweat glistening in the orange glow.

“Etérea.”

You pulled away, the hint of lips curled into a grin flashing in darkness he had to squint through. The memories were falling into place. Forgotten joy, carefree moments scattered across a life spent together. He trailed after you for years, determined to love you up to his final breath; if only you understood how quick he might have fulfilled that promise. The reason he crawled his way back—pain splintering along his spine, purple hued bruises now a soft yellow along paled skin.

Tugging you back with a chuckle, he felt the anger wash off your body as you collided with him. His chest snug against your arched back. This was his home. The one place he never dared tell another soul about—too afraid it might disappear.

The gasp you let out was ragged, marred by all the grief he put you through. “I…”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you too,” you relented, head falling back to his shoulder—the mouth you dreamed about finding purchase on your neck.

This felt like a betrayal of yourself. The past five years spent battling demons you never thought could exist in your life. He tore you to pieces with just a few words. Paragraphs of messy ink forever stained in the back of your mind. You could still feel the fucking paper under your fingers—splotches of tears discoloring the pen he used.

How could you allow him to drag you back? But you were tired of pretending to be okay. Exhausted by piteous smiles and pathetic excuses to bring you back to life.

You were stumbling down a dangerous path; his teeth digging softly into salt coated skin that haunted him in dreams. The prick of his incisors scraping along your vein jolted what little sense remained into place—your heart thundering an erratic beat in your chest. He still moved with you, hands securely placed on your hips, body molded to your back until you felt his jeans dig into you.

Waiting on a soldier like me shouldn’t be your future. So I’m doing what’s necessary.

“Stop-” Abruptly he stopped, his touch falling limp at his sides. “No I can’t… We can’t.”

“Joaquín!” Clara’s voice punctured through the thick atmosphere of lust—the wanton need for him washing away with each wave of pain. “You made it.”

“Excuse me,” you muttered, dragging in breath after breath until you lungs burned with the effort. The sting was good, it kept your head above water.

Ramming through the throngs of people you staggered towards the bathrooms. Everyone was far too preoccupied with dancing to crowd the bathrooms and your luck finally came to fruition when you saw an empty hallway. Half worded apologies spilled out of your mouth, tears burning your already hot cheeks as you moved fast enough to send a searing ache down one ankle.

Joaquín’s stomach lurched, his feet already moving before his body could catch up. Michael’s arm looping around his shoulder kept him where he stood, his eyes tracking your stumbling form until the crowd swallowed you whole. Leaving him to agonizingly swallow the stone now stuck at the top of his esophagus.

You were hurt—fighting five years of pain—and he was the one to cause it.

“How was the flight man?”

He snapped to attention, slapping a fake grin on his face he hoped would be enough to sell the lie. “Flight was good. Cramped with all the people.”

“What you didn’t get first class?” Clara teased. “I thought being an Avenger came with perks.”

“Not an Avenger. Well…not yet.”

“Gettin’ too busy for us New York folk huh,” Michael pressed.

Joaquín didn’t hear a word they said, too focused on where you went, what you were doing, how he could rectify his stupid fucking mistake. “Ya cállate hombre. I’m never too busy for you guys.”

“Could have fooled us.” Clara sipped at her drink, a brown lined mauve smile glinting with a voracious sneer he’d seen before. A look reserved for those who warranted such revenge. “I saw you two dancing.”

“Yeah…we were-”

“Too bad she’s already taken isn’t it?” she sighed, the saccharine pitch of her voice slowing the music as a low pitched buzz blaring in his ears.

“W-What?”

“She’s dating someone. A guy from her office. They met a year ago I think? Bueno, we’re thinking wedding bells soon. Since it’s been so long.”

Joaquín’s heart stuttered, mind blaring with a barrage of anger he shut away—self hatred he’d grown familiar with. Time came to a stop, the thumping music falling away, and suddenly he was back in the air. Falling to his death. Your face, your laugh, your voice, whispering in the back of his head—calling him to stay alive. Beckoning him home with wide eyes and forgiveness coated on your tongue.

You couldn’t be lost to him so soon. You were supposed to wait for him.

Only those were fictitious dreams procured in a fractured mind. You didn’t have to do anything. He let you go. And there was no fixing what he destroyed—a grave he dug for himself now lingering with the scent of your perfume, the ghost of your touch haunting him.

“But…” Struggling for air, he straightened his spine—heart twisting beneath the weight of his fuck up. “Wedding bells?”

Clara nodded. “She didn’t tell you?”

The anger was seething in his chest, scorching each vein, clamping around his lungs. “No. That wasn’t mentioned.”

“Pity,” she muttered. “Michael? Another drink mi amor?”

His feet were moving before she could finish her question, hands pushing past drunk people and sweaty bodies lost to the beat of the music. Somewhere in the club you were running to escape a future he now knew could never be. He knew being calm, level headed enough to push through this haze of red, was the only option at this point. But there was no reasoning in love, no sense to be had when you were so close.

Someone cussed at him in Spanish as he managed to make it to the hallway, pushing open the bathroom door without hesitation. You stood alone by the sink. Wiping at tears that refused to stop—your eyes tinged red with how rough you were on yourself. Only when the click of the lock echoed in the small space did you finally look up, finding his reflection in the mirror—your lips twisted into a frown.

“Occupied,” you spit out, yanking another towel from the dispenser.

“Corazón-”

“I don’t want to hear it Joaquín.”

“Five minutes.”

“No. What do you think I don’t want to hear it means? I’ve had enough of the fucking mind games for one night-”

“Escuchame.” The word bit out from the back of his throat, freezing you in place. “What do you want me to say huh? I’m sorry for being an asshole? I’m sorry for fucking up the best part of my life?”

“You were an asshole,” you retorted.

“I know that.” He took three steps, pinning you to the sink, a look you wanted to recognize but couldn’t painting his features. “I know I’m gonna spend every day of my existence apologizing for the shit that I pulled. But what I didn’t know was the truth.”

“What truth are you-”

“Marriage?” he growled like the word dripped with enough sin to kill him on the spot. “You’re practically engaged and chose to dance with me like that? Like I still had a chance?”

Your jaw hung open, mind reeling as the word hit you. “Marriage?” you exclaimed. “Who the fuck…”

“Clara practically jumped for joy with the news.” The laugh dripped with contempt, fingers curling into the edge of the sink as he moved close enough to smell the tequila on your tongue. “I can’t believe I was so fucking stupid.”

“I’m not getting married.”

“Mentirosa,” he huffed.

“Joaquín you’re being insane-”

“Am I?” he snapped. “You’ve driven me insane. Since I lost you I’ve felt pieces of myself disappear.” He dropped his forehead to yours, the warm wash of his breath brushing along your lips—begging for the oxygen you stole when he let you go. “You gotta tell me corazón. Tell me who he is.”

Believing that Clara wouldn’t get involved somehow was ignorance on your part, but some selfish part of you wanted to watch him suffer. To see him break as you did years ago.

Perhaps it was bad of you, a sinister part of your mind speaking, and yet you couldn’t let go of what Clara started. Marriage to a fictitious man—enough of a reality to prove that you were better. That you could live without Joaquín taking up space in your life.

“So you can confront him? I don’t think so.”

Words that only seemed to rile an unforgiving beast buried in the depths of a gentle man. “Someone has to tell him you’re mine.”

Your breath hitched, an all too familiar siren call dragging you to the bottom of an ocean you traversed long ago. “I’m not…”

“Sí lo eres.”

Yes. You were his.

There was no use denying what you could feel in a heart that would forever be carved with his initials. Sacred with its thorns and roots, it drew you to him, captured you with the vow of all he promised before shit fell apart. You were his. You couldn’t even fathom belonging to anyone else. And he knew it the moment your eyes flicked up to meet his—those brown irises you ached for.

“Yeah…” His hand cupped your chin, thumb pulling at a pliable bottom lip willing to fall open. “You know it don’t you bebita?”

“Joaquín-”

Music thumped with a bass loud enough to rattle the walls of this small bathroom, but you could barely hear it over the sound of his heavy exhale. His lips caught yours, hand tightening at the soft breath you pushed into his open mouth—tongue sliding along teeth and taste buds still coated in mezcal. Sucking in air you dug a hand into curls you tugged years ago; still the same man you loved, yet someone entirely different.

A person you longed to know.

You lost all sense when a hand tugged at the skirt of your dress, pushing it up past your hip with a muffled groan. The kisses burned you inside, curling a fist around an already bleeding heart. He devoured you, swallowed each sound and quick pant as you looped your arms around his neck to extinguish the space between your bodies. Fingers dipped beneath the elastic waistband of panties he’d admire later, too intent on the feel of your damp patch and pooling slick.

“Fuck I missed you,” he sighed, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your throat, palm tipping your head back with a pleased hum. “So wet corazon.”

“I n-need-”

“I know.” Licking a line down your jugular you felt whatever anger still simmered beneath the surface vanish—wanton lust blinding you to the mess this would create. “I’ve been thinking about this. How you feel.”

You moaned, hips pushing into his touch. “Please. Touch me.”

“I am touching you,” he smiled, fingers sliding along your twitching clit with ease—able to rip sounds from you that had gone dormant the day he left. “That what you want? Need that pretty clit played with?”

Nodding frantically wasn’t good enough for a man who dreamed of this moment since departure. He gripped your cheeks, thumb running along a cheek decorated in soft gold glitter courtesy of Clara. A small showing of reverence for the man who toyed with your folds, dipping a finger into your slick and dragging it up slow enough to send shivers up your spine.

“I want words.”

“I-I want you to…”

“To what?” he asked far too smug in the way heat flooded your face, burning the tips of your ears and back of your neck.

Yanking at his curls, you watched in fascination when his head fell back, a groan bubbling past swollen lips. “I want you to make me cum on your fingers,” you breathed, lips pressed to a red flushed ear.

He smiled, dazed by the tight grip in which you held him. “As you wish.”

You should have seen it coming the second you released him, how his lips mashed to yours with a grunt, two fingers plunging into your dripping cunt down to his knuckles. Exactly what you asked for on his terms. You wanted to finish and Joaquín was nothing if not competent in that job. The order falling smooth from your mouth—his mind latching onto it with a desperation you’d never seen in him before.

The heel of his hand ground against your clit, trapping you on the edge of that all too familiar rush of bliss. You were right there. Chasing the edge of something mind numbing. By the hands of a man who ripped you apart, leaving you behind with nothing but blunt words and faded ink.

“That it?” Your body pitched forward, face burying into his shoulder when his fingers struck perfectly. “Yeah that’s it huh.”

“I’m gonna—fuck—g-gonna cum.”

He doubled down, practically ripping the high from you with a voracious need to see you break for him. To burn his name in the walls of your fluttering cunt that coated his palm in your slick. Even through the loud echo of music you could hear the wet squelch of his fingers pounding into you, possessing you in a way that was bound to leave you a shell of yourself.

“Soak my hand,” he breathed against the shell of your ear.

Your thighs trembled, clamping down around his wrist as it tore through you. A muffled shout pressed between teeth you sunk against his neck—marking him with the harsh lines of your canines. The music faded, everything else deafened by the ringing in your ears, the wash of bliss far too much for you to take. It wasn’t until your hand gripped his did he finally cease his movements, pulling away to give you a chance for fresh air not plagued by the scent of his cologne.

“W-Wait.”

“Take your time querida.”

“We shouldn’t…” Reality crashed onto your shores with a harsh sweep that nearly dragged you beneath darkened waves you couldn’t navigate alone.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not in the heat of passion with minds muddled by alcohol and adrenaline, not when he still refused to acknowledge that whatever occurred beforehand wasn’t for the best. You were lost, begging for him to lead you somewhere safe. To protect you against the darkness that ravaged your mind for five years. Instead he allowed jealousy to get the best of him.

You were his without question. But at what cost?

“I need some air,” you gasped, pushing him back until you could stand on shaky legs.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Everything. “I just need air.”

You needed far more than that. Something that would cure the agonizing pain coursing through your veins, the buzz of pleasure and alcohol barely making a dent. You cringed at the slick smearing along the crease of your thighs as you walked—the consistent throbbing where his fingers hooked into you drove your mind to the brink of something worse than madness. He owned you in a matter of minutes; reminded you exactly where you belonged.

“Stop fuckin’ running,” he called after you, pushing past the crowd.

Clara caught your gaze for a brief moment, concern flashing to the surface before you shook her off. Making a beeline for the only exit people practically poured out of. The air felt cold along your skin, drying the sweat along your arms and legs. And he rushed out after you, close on your heels—snapping at a chance to corner you.

To finally hash out what should have been said five years ago.

“Will you look at me?”

Sucking in a breath, you struggled to calm the overbearing rush in your ears. “Just…let me breathe please.”

“Mi vida-”

“No!” you snapped, whirling around to catch his stunned face. Everything unraveled faster than you could gather it in your shaky palms, slipping between spread fingers and raw nails that clung to peace. “You return after five years of silence and what? You expect me to forgive you? Just like that?”

The echo of your voice traveled down the street, attracting attention from whoever was closest, but you’d breached the point of complacent false smiles and sweet words void of feeling. He’d ripped you to shreds in mere sentences. Sliced through a lonely heart with something he knew would destroy what parts of your relationship held on despite the distance.

“I was willing to wait for years Joaquín,” you sobbed. “But you couldn’t even handle a few fucking months. You were too much a goddamn coward to break up with me the night you left.”

“Do you think I wanted to break up with you?” he snarled.

“Yes-”

“Me vuelves loco.” He’d been reduced to muttering under his breath, hands tugging at his hair as you wiped at the tears with sweaty palms. Love wasn’t supposed to be this. A knife neither of your held onto, plunging into wounds that never stopped bleeding. But he couldn’t stay away.

Who was he without you in his life?

“Maybe you just have to let me go-”

“Don’t you finish that fucking sentence,” he spit between clenched teeth. “You think I wanted to be without you for five years? That life was easy without hearing your voice or seeing your face? That you were alone because of the choice I made? I hate myself for destroying us! I can’t let you go because I’m desperately hopelessly in love with you. You can’t fix that corazón.”

Your breath hitched, familiar words spoken a lifetime ago here in this very spot. “It hurts Joaquín. Being near you is strangling me.”

“Then tell me what I can do. You have to tell me so I can fix it.”

“I don’t know if you can,” you whispered.

Taking the final few steps, he finally stood toe to toe with you—a calloused hand reaching for the curve of your cheek glistening with makeup and tears beneath the dim streetlight. “I’m nothing without you. I just existed for five years until I saw you again.”

His touch was warm, enticing in all the familiar ways that transformed the reasons you fell for him. Even as you shattered before him, there was still comfort to be found in his presence. He was the sunlight on a warm summer day. The reason you bloomed in the seasons of friendship and almosts and forgotten saccharine love. You couldn’t remain tied to the ground without him acting as gravity—twining himself around your broken form to keep you safe.

Even if he was the reason you bled along the cracked pavement below.

Perhaps it was a mistake, a memory you’d look back on in another five years. But he’d been your path since you found his eyes in a crowded classroom. His smile painted across cheeks that flushed red when you asked if he’d like to sit with you—if he’d take the first step in a thousand, start the story and watch it unfold before you.

“Okay,” you breathed, lost in the brown hue that still gleamed after all this time.

The apartment was stuffy after hours of relentless summer heat. A broken fan you never bothered to fix sat precariously on a stack of worn books picked up at the local thrift store. Joaquín thumbed through a familiar title he remembered snagging off your bookshelf in your old bedroom. The pages were yellowed, corners folded and re-straightened, but he could recall the story as if he was back in that old house listening to your family through the walls.

“How’d I know you pick that one,” you mused, discarding your purse onto a slightly messy kitchen table.

“Can’t help that I love it.”

You smiled. “Even though I never let you borrow it.”

“Never said I had to give it back,” he retorted, leaving it on the small wooden table by your counter, making a note to stick it in his back pocket when you weren’t looking. “The place looks…the same.”

“And that’s bad?” He snapped to attention, stomach jumping. Only to melt at the shining grin you gifted him in the yellow glow of your lamps. “Eres tan fácil.”

Laughter came easier the closer it got to midnight, the familiar warmth of your apartment echoing with memories he wouldn’t soon forget. “Mala.”

If he closed his eyes that night existed with a clarity that punched the air out of his chest. The quick pace you fell into one another—uncaring of what might come to pass. You were reckless in love, desperate to finally feel the touch held back for so long, the longing that was bound to snap. He could smell the perfume you wore, taste the drink you were nursing before Michael pushed him to dance with you. How you sounded beneath him, looked and tasted and touched after years of pure imagination.

Tonight sparked with a charged past ready to play out before your very eyes. A moment in time neither of you could ignore for much longer.

“Water?” you asked breaking the weighty silence.

He shook his head, eyes dark with a familiar need you’d seen once before. “I wanna talk. Like we used to.”

“Talk…” Sucking in a breath, you wiped at the sweat gathering along your chest. Joaquín followed the slow movement with rapt attention—his mouth dry and chest thundering with a restless heart. “What’s there to say? I already know what you’ve been up. Congrats by the way.”

The words were dry off your tongue. A silver tipped blade pressed to the base of his neck.

How could he blame you? When the reason he left you forged a direct path to who he became. The title he carried across his back as he struggled for air.

He wouldn’t be Falcon if he stayed. But he also might have been happy.

“You’re the first person I wanted to tell,” he said softly, admitting what he harbored in a cracked heart for years.

Your heart twisted, stomach fluttering in that old way it used to when you’d catch sight of him. Frustrating. Even as you relished in emotions you longed for after he left. Hope that this would turn into more—a future you could count on. Rather than a consequence you never asked for. Sleeping with him wasn’t the problem; neither was loving him. Even if he never returned you would regret making those choices, pieces of your life that set your heart on fire.

“You could have. If you stayed.”

Joaquín sighed, fingers curling into fists as he gnashed at his cheek. “I know. You never asked about me.”

“What,” you blurted out.

“Micheal knew where I was. He kept in touch. You could have asked him.”

You scoffed. “And who broke up with who again?”

“I wasn’t going to make you wait on me corazón. Being a ball and chain isn’t who I am and you know that. You had a whole life ahead of you. Things you planned to do before that night-”

“What life?” you exclaimed, voice pitched high enough to scratch an already raw throat. “I was broken for five years! Time I’ll never get back. All for what? So you could feel better about a decision you made on a whim? Without asking if that’s what I wanted.”

Ripping open yet another wound he felt his heart give out at the shine of tears on your face. Makeup smudged along the rim of your wet eyes, lips smeared with the remnants of a lipstick he knew was stained along his shirt. You were everything he wanted in life, the moonlight he basked in at the end of the day. The sirens song he crawled home to hear one last time, even as he drowned beneath a shattered love you might never reciprocate again.

He exhaled long and heavy, wiping at his eyes as he glanced around your darkened apartment. A couch he’d slept on was shoved near the window, a new T.V. mounted on the wall was turned off, and an old record player he helped you find now set on a rickety stand. Records piled on a coffee table he could remember eating off of before you found a kitchen table.

A home you built in the time he was gone. One that was always meant to be entwined with his possessions and memories.

Orange flowers sat in a familiar crystal vase his mother used to keep by the kitchen window. Always a new bouquet brought in from his father at the end of a long work week. Music flowing between the walls of a house he now stayed in as he fought to prove himself to you all over again. A past that you lingered in without knowing.

“Cempasúchil.”

You caught what he was fixed on—a small gathering of flowers from the corner you grabbed without thinking. A routine you’d grown to love even after years of his absence.

“For your pops. You said they were his favorite.”

His heart dropped. “You still bring him flowers?”

“I go every Friday with your mamá.”

Every Friday…

Five years of days spent with his family. Even after things fell apart.

He loved you.

He would love you til his last breath, the final beat of a heart that always belonged to him from the very first page. There was no denying a truth that couldn’t be buried in the depths of guilt and grief. Pain laced with memories that clung to apartment walls and city streets. You were his forever. His soul twisted around a body carved with your name.

“Siempre te amaré,” he whispered.

The gasp sounded sweet off lips he could still taste. “Joaquín-”

“I do,” he confessed. “There hasn’t been a day I haven’t loved you mi corazón.”

“You can’t just say that.”

“Why?” he demanded.

Slowly you lowered yourself into a chair that was once stuffed into the corner of his living room. “Because we still have to talk about what this is. What we’re gonna do to figure it out while you’re home.”

“What this is? I know what it is. I’ve known since you asked me to sit next to you. I’m yours. I’ve been yours all along.” He dropped to his knees quicker than either of you expected, his hands grasping the warmth of your thighs through sweat stained satin. “I got hurt mi vida.”

Your body stilled, hands cupping his cheeks as fear threaded between each rib and nerve. “What?”

“I…I was stupid and made a mistake and they had to stitch me back together. But I couldn’t care about any of it. Not the fucking pain, or surgery, or having to recover for months, because when I was falling out of the sky…all I could think about was you.”

How quickly you could have lost him and you never knew. You weren’t there when he was struggling to live. You weren’t there when he woke up. You…weren’t there.

“I-I’m sorry,” you choked out. “I didn’t know. I would have come to you-”

“No, no está bien. Yo estoy bien.”

“You almost died and you’re saying it’s okay?”

He smiled, forehead pressing to your stomach—fingers digging into what flesh he could hold as you clung to him. Some part of you sunk your teeth into the fear of losing him, dragging it close to swallow down that feeling. Every emotion, all the pain it kept you alive. It let you know he was there with you and for the first time in five years you held the choice of forever in your hands once more.

There he was offering you everything he was. All he could be, all you knew he was.

The man you were always destined to fall into.

“It is okay,” he murmured. “Because I’m here with you. And I didn’t think I’d get that again. I’m home.”

This is where belonged. The space that called him forward and you watched his eyes raise to find yours. Love shining in irises that haunted his waking life. Everywhere he went Joaquín saw you. In the midnight sky, in the summer days spent on a stuffy base somewhere, in the people he met and allies he formed. You existed in all that encompassed him—a soul he’d struggle to find and vow to keep.

“Rip me apart mi vida. Destroy me as many times as you want. I’ll do anything you want if it means stayin’ with you.”

“Mi amor,” you said beneath a soft breath and his heart mended itself with a shaky ragged gasp.

He rose to meet your lips as your fingers scrambled to find purchase in his jacket, tugging him close enough to nearly tip the chair back. If it fell he’d be there to catch you. Perhaps that’s what had your legs sliding up around his hips, a soft moan pressed to a tongue that slid along yours. The taste of you drove him off the brink of what kept him sane—all the attempted to stow inside an aching heart.

Licking into your mouth with a broken whimper, he dragged you to the edge of the chair, hands kneading at the top of your ass. You yelped into it with a smile, diving into the kiss with a fervor that had him leaking into his jeans. The heat from earlier pooled along his spine again and Joaquín knew he’d barely survive sinking into you; he could feel his cock twitch with every stroke of your tongue.

“Bedroom,” he gruffly got out, yanking you up onto wobbly legs. “‘M not fucking you in the kitchen. Not tonight.”

You grinned, tugging him down an all too familiar path. “There’s going to be more than one night?”

“If I have any say about it.”

“Eres bien creído.”

Hands ripped at your dress, pulling it up and off your body before he could even reach the bed slightly messy with rumpled covers. A staple he could always remember. It made him smile against your lips as you tugged at his clothes—those same warm hands sliding along bare skin. The jacket was left by the door, shirt tossed to the depths of your room and Joaquín placed you on the mattress before reaching for his belt.

Chills rippled along your back at the sound, heart hammering in your chest. He looked the same. Yet something older was housed in his stance, someone who was sure of himself in the way he pushed away the last of his clothes. A grin bloomed across swollen lips.

You admired him as much as you could. Dragging your eyes down to the red tip of his leaking cock and breathlessly finding his eyes in the dark of your bedroom. Last time neither of you got this chance. A moment of stillness before you collided. Silence thick with an electrifying tension you felt down to your toes.

Lifting a bare leg, you placed your foot on his stomach, dragging it down until his hand wrapped around an ankle—tugging you close with a harsh breath.

“Being a tease huh?” he mumbled, lips finding a home at the top of your thigh.

“Not my fault you’re easy to mess with.”

“Since when?”

You smiled, fingers curling around his mussed hair. “Since always.”

Words slipped to the back of a clouded mind when his hands tugged at the lace of your panties, sliding them off and marveling at the wet spot left behind. He could practically taste you on his tongue. The addicting tang of what he’d been craving since he left you at that airport. With a shuddered breath he slid a thumb along your folds, circling your clit hard as you writhed under his needy touch.

“W-Want you inside me,” you forced out, hips rolling into his hand.

Somehow through the haze of lust he made himself follow through with your plea. Hand positioning himself along the dripping hole he’d drink from later—his tongue swiping along his bottom lip. You were mewling for him, fingers twisting into the sheets and legs dropping open wide enough to accommodate his hips.

He slid along your cunt, grinning with unhinged glee at the loud moan ripped from your throat. You were unable to beg. Mouth barely forming coherent words as he toyed with your pulsing clit. Precum stained the pretty clean skin of your inner thigh, smearing a mess into the hair he was desperate to bury his nose in.

“Say it for me yeah?” he muttered, voice deep with gravel.

A gasping moan hit his ears, your chest heaving. “Please. Fuck me. Come in me. Just p-please do something-”

“Sh, sh. I know mi corazón. You’re empty without my cock huh?”

You nodded, yanking him close enough to feel his chest against yours. “Need it baby. Need you to stuff me full.”

“Mierda-” The near painful twitch of his cock had him burying his face into your neck, teeth scraping against the delicate chain of your necklace. Until he caught sight of silver tucked between your breasts, hidden by the black lace of your bra—a piece of himself he thought he’d never see again.

Only when he was ripping at your final item of clothing did you drag yourself through the thick fog. “W-What’s wrong-”

“You kept them,” he breathed, lips mashing to yours and hand roughly kneading your breast with a grunt. “Wore them the whole fuckin’ time tonight and I didn’t know.”

You wanted to explain that they were all you had left of him, a comfort after all this time. But his mouth closing around your nipple shut down everything but the sparks rushing along veins you didn’t know could exist. He sucked at your skin, teeth indenting into the softness of your breast. That desperate hunger shoving to the forefront—something you could feel wrap around the length of your spine.

He rutted into you, cock brushing where you needed him most, but you couldn’t let go of those words. There was no world where you wouldn’t love him.

No plane of existence you’d be where he wasn’t.

“They’re yours,” you gasped, grinding against him—head tipped back as his teeth scraped your throat. “I’ve always worn them. Since you—fuck baby—sent them to me.”

Whatever he could have said vanished, his mind going white at the thought of you wearing his dog tags from the very beginning. Five years of holding him over your heart. Time he believed to be filled with a cold resentment suddenly colored itself with a flushed pink haze—a dreamlike state he drowned in with a smile painted across his face. You loved him. Even through all this…it would always be him.

He sunk into you in one thrust and you cried out, clinging onto his shoulders at the sudden stretch, his hips meeting yours and head falling to your chest. A muffled fuck pressed between the curve of your breasts—tongue licking the bead of sweat along skin that glistened in the yellow haze of your bedroom. Breath twisted in your lungs, trapping what oxygen remained as he snapped his hips down into you again. Dragging out with slow cruel thrusts.

“So fuckin’ good,” he gasped, hand tangling with yours and pressing it into the plush comforter. “Gonna make me lose my damn mind.”

“Baby.” The word was a desperate whine on your lips, thighs wrapped tight around his hips—chest heaving for resuscitation from the plane of bliss he threw you into.

Without a map you feared you’d be lost to its depths. But his teeth digging into your lip kept you close, satiated the tremble going down your limbs.

There was no mercy in how he fucked you. No time for soft reverence and tender quiet moments. That would find its way to you later—when the moon began its descent along the horizon, time reaching far enough to still what small pleasures you could steal. He’d bring you back to life with a tongue buried in slick folds and fingers pumping deep.

Tonight he ravaged, took his fill of what you both craved as the night went on. Two souls verging together at last. Finally found after years of distance—entire galaxies spanning the years he spent away from your touch.

“Listen,” he breathed hotly into your mouth, lips quirking as the sound graced ears unable to discern his voice from the thundering of your own heart.

But he slowed his movements, plunging into you with a biting grunt you felt burn into your lungs. The loud wet squelch of your cunt bouncing off the walls of an apartment privy to this once before. Sinful in its agonizing beauty. He smiled, grinding his hips hard enough to drag a throaty moan from your chest—his lips there to swallow what you offered with glee. Heat burned beneath your cheeks, the tinge of shame digging between ribs and arteries.

Until he dropped to his elbow, your name encased in a high breath—his brows pulled together and teeth indenting the plush bottom lip you longed to suck on.

“S-Shit baby I’m not—fuck-” The word dragged between a clenched jaw as he rapidly pounded into you, the bed creaking from the force you felt with each stroke.

His cock struck against your walls, a creamy slick pouring out to drip down your ass, coating his balls as they slapped against skin he’d dig his teeth into later. A mess. He’d reduced the both of you to a fucking mess, unable to pick through a hazy mind. Each moan you let out grew higher, thighs shaking from the effort, and he ripped away from your touch before you could drag him close. Looping each limb over arms prominent with veins and familiar tattoos.

Mistakes made back in the youth of being nineteen. Time he spent wrapped in any part of you he could get. Even as something more simmered beneath a friendship always destined to change.

“Joaquín-” you sobbed, clutching at any part of him you could reach, his chest and shoulders red with marks from your nails. “I-I’m not engaged.”

He stilled, eyes wide and mouth parted as he panted for air. “You said-”

“I-I could never marry someone t-that wasn’t you.”

A strand finally snapped, edge reached long before you could ask him what created it in the first place. Brown suddenly bled into black and he now fucked you with everything in him. Lips sealed over yours, hand clenching tight around your hips—his coarse hair dragging along a throbbing clit that begged for more. Your walls fluttered around him, a shattered cry lost to his kiss, but nothing had felt so perfect.

“‘M gonna fuckin’ marry you,” he grunted, forehead resting against yours, bending you up and into his body—cock ramming right up into a spot that left you going blind with pleasure. “Make you mine.”

Everything you longed for—five years of love and grief—crashed at the shore of your body. Ripping the final pieces of your heart from the decay it lived with. You came with his name on your lips, back arching up into him hard enough to draw a flicker of pain down your spine—your eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the fabric beneath you.

He collapsed over you with a choked shout, face buried into your neck as he coated your walls with that soft pool of warmth. A feeling you had forgotten about—bliss wrapped in the taut muscles of his arms, his body a heavy weight on yours. You were lost to it, drowning in his scent and taste, but his lips finding yours tied you back down to Earth. His hands sliding along your skin, tongue licking the pain off the back of your teeth.

Joaquín pieced you back together with a love that altered you entirely, shifted all that you were beneath the tidal waves of his heart. Peace settled in the base of a hammering heart—hope finding a home in the bottom of a fluttering stomach.

You loved him.

Eternally.

And that would forever be enough.

Sunlight danced along the bare skin of your back, face pressed into his chest—ear above a steady beating heart. It lulled you to sleep after hours of rekindling a flame that never went out. His hands a burn along your body, lips reacquainting with the dips and curves of your thighs. He sought you out in the early hours of dawn with a stiff cock and groggy pleas for your sweet essence.

Who were you to deny him?

He smiled pressing a kiss to your temple, fingers toying with your ring finger. If he narrowed his eyes in the afternoon light he could see a flash of yellow gold along skin he savored—a hand he clutched with promise. It wouldn’t be too big; nor small enough to hide from inquiring eyes. A perfect set of jewels adorned on a finger he kissed, the piece of you yet to hold his permanent promise.

Till death.

Till he found you in the next life.

Slipping from the tangle of your limbs, he relished the leap of his heart at the sight of you spread along the bed. Naked and at bliss, exhausted from his hunger. He stole another kiss along your spine, finding his way through the familiar path of the kitchen that still lingered with the laughter of memories that painted the walls. Times spent with friends—now turned family—moments he might one day have again.

A faded picture of two young kids at high school graduation was pinned to the fridge door, another of a night spent dancing at some shitty frat party—high off the freedom of adulthood. Two versions of a love he’d could pick out with his eyes shut tight.

Another would set nicely beside them. Of a wedding in a small backyard, an aisle scattered with orange petals and white daisies adorned to his tux—a veil dragging along the floor where you walked towards him. An image that would be placed on altars in memory, an offering set between the frame and candle as he clutched you tight even in the afterlife.

The coffee machine beeped, two mugs set on the counter as he poured, and that’s where you found him. Fussing with the bottle of cream and sugar packets damp from hot liquid. He wore his jeans low on hips you bit at some point in the night—the indent of your teeth marked into skin that would forever wear your mark. Even if you had to place it night after night.

Your arms looped around his waist, lips finding the warm skin of his back. “I wanted to wake up with you.”

He laughed, turning gently in your hold. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You can still surprise me.”

“Yeah?” he grinned, eyes gleaming with a light that caught your breath in the base of your throat. “Got something in mind?”

Life suddenly held a different glow. Contentment filling veins with a something new. A piece that didn’t exist without him near—his love pressing deep and bright into a chest that burned hot. He left you breathless, begging for reprieve. Yet losing yourself to it all the same.

“So…about everything-” He cut you off with a kiss, hand dragging your left palm to his mouth. “Did you mean what you said last night?”

He smiled, at ease with the nerves he could feel beneath your wrist. “If I did?”

“I’d like that,” you breathed.

“Siempre estaras conmigo mi corazón?”

You nodded, heart singing beneath his love. “Si mi amor. I’ll be with you forever.”

©moonlight-prose do not feed my work into ai, do not steal my work, if you are a minor, spam like my fics, or are a blank blog you will be blocked.

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 .

         ⊹ ࣪ ˖ megan knows her confession came at a terrible, horrible time. megan knows she had a million chances before now to say something. megan knows it's probably selfish, could ruin the band, and is overall extremely unfair. but megan also knows she needs to set the record straight— it was messy, and it was imperfect, sure, but megan loved you, that much she knows for certain.

            ˎˊ˗  ☀️  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  ୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ ➴ pairing: idol!megan skiendiel x f!reader.

          ➴ genre + wc: 7k, childhood friends, unrequited love, heavy pining, angst, megan is so down bad it hurts, also sorry manon for what u are about to go through, reader is oblivious, megan is lowkey a shit-head punk in this but idc i found it fun!!

   ➴ you might want to tune in...: misses - dominic fike. ♫

           ┈─★ a/n: i wanted some megan pining + megan angst so guess what i did <33

the fact that your friendship survived her time on dream academy is a miracle in and of itself. 

megan is sitting criss-crossed on your bed, trying to stack your squishmallows. squishmallows she herself has bought you, she herself insisted you keep, she herself would pretend to cry every time you even considered getting rid of them.

“can i post this?” she asks, holding up a photo on her phone you two had taken that morning at the beach. 

she had flown back home to hawaii for a few days, to spend time with her family before the katseye tour started, but insisted on spending as much of her vacation with you. 

“crop me out please,” you tell her, as if she doesn’t already know your rule. 

but megan is stubborn, and insists on trying anyways. 

“why can’t i tag you?” she groans, throwing herself back on the bed. 

“people would ask about me,” you remind her. 

when she had first gone on dream academy, you knew it was going to change everything for her. of course it would, after all, she’s megan— charming, hardworking, and so, so talented. it was a matter of time before the world discovered her, and you were well prepared, but that didn’t mean you necessarily wanted the same. while megan dreamed of reaching every corner of the world, you wanted to keep your head low, focus on getting through each day, making the most of the life you have in front of you instead of chasing anything too big or too flashy. 

it’s what made you two so good together— megan, the dreamer with her head in the clouds, and you, the earth beneath her feet. 

“so what?” she questions, brows furrowing. “we just don’t hang out any more? you’re my best friend.”

“meiyok, you do this every week,” you laugh, playfully rubbing her forehead to try and smooth out her eyebrows. “i have to hide, since you want to go off and blow up and shit.”

“not my fault i’m so talented,” megan grins.

“it is your fault that you attract attention so easily,” you tease. “miss future superstar.”

megan’s fingers hover over your photos: you laughing in the water, her on an electric scooter, the two of you chasing after seagulls on the beach. 

“are you sure?”

you nod. “i don’t want the world to know about me.”

“how are people supposed to know that i’m your friend?” she asks, and you see her lips curl up into a pout. 

“you know, and i know,” you give her a gentle caress of the arm to try and soothe her. “that’s who matters, right? us.”

“right.” megan nods, blinking. “us. right.”

she deletes the photos that have any trace of you, posting herself instead, deleting the way she tagged you for photo credits, simply captioning it the sunshine feels good. you thank her and go back to hunting through your closet for clothes you don’t wear any more to make room for the new. 

you don’t notice that megan spots an old hoodie she had gifted you in the “giveaway” pile. you don’t see her wince, her face tensing in realization. you don’t see her pick up the hoodie, bring it to her cheek to smell your familiar scent, and fold up politely, before tucking it into her tote bag. she figures if you were getting rid of it, you probably won’t notice. she’s right. you don’t.

—

touring takes off, and every day, you see megan’s follower count on instagram skyrocket further and further. you see her everywhere— on your tik tok, on your socials, you hear their songs on the radio, you even see megan’s face on posters out on buildings. people in your small town are beyond proud of her, posting about how they’ve known her since she was a kid or how she used to come buy shaved ice from their stand on the beach. but you never do, this is about megan, not about you, and you’re happy just knowing what you do about your best friend. your bond is nobody’s business but your own, and you intend to keep it that way.

she’s been insanely busy since the tour started, but when you get a facetime call one morning from your goofy meiyok, knowing they just touched down in hawaii for a performance, you pick up ASAP as to not leave her waiting.

(you already know what she’s going to ask.)

“will you come to our show?” she asks breathlessly, no greeting, no check in if you’re busy, no letting you know when and where. it’s how megan operates: messy, a little recklessly, but so full of good intentions, leading herself through the world heart-first and using her head later.

“wouldn’t miss it,” you smile. “already asked for tonight off from work.

“will you sit backstage?” she asks eagerly, and your stomach twists at the idea. you never wanted to get special treatment, to mooch off megan’s success in any way. you had already bought your own ticket, never wanting megan to feel like she had to give any kind of hand-out to you or like you were using her for the perks. this girl had been your best friend since childhood, and you knew she’d insist on being generous, but that was your job. to shut her down, to tell her no, and to keep living your normal life even when megan wanted to bring you into her lavish lifestyle. your job was to not get caught up in the glamor of it all, and make sure she still feels human at the end of the day.

“i don’t know, mei…” you say hesitantly. 

“let me upgrade you to VIP at least and i’ll find you after. or something.” her voice is eager, and even though the camera is moving around to the point it makes you dizzy, you can still see her pleading puppy dog eyes through the facetime screen. “please please please, y/n!”

“don’t crash out,” you laugh, figuring the compromise is fair enough. “i’ll be there.”

“see you tonight,” she beams, nearly glowing through the screen, and you wave before hanging up. 

the concert is every bit as fun as you anticipated it would be. megan, true to her word, gets your ticket upgraded to VIP, but you’re much more comfortable with seeming like another casual fan than sitting backstage. you can see her better like this anyways, more authentically herself. you think back to every dance competition you had come to cheer her on for, every audition you waited in the car with, even the way you had helped her pick a song for her dream academy audition. 

and now here she is, performing to a sold-out crowd in your hometown, her smile never leaving her face as she sings and effortlessly completes her choreography. she seems so, so happy doing this, and you love seeing her in her element. shining, exactly as you knew she was meant for.

the concert comes to an end, and she calls you nearly as soon as you see her step off stage. she has security guide you through towards the backstage area, as hidden as you can be, and you finally get a chance to meet the girls that you had seen in the background of your facetime calls. 

they had all tried to follow you on instagram after the final katseye lineup had been announced, and you figured megan had done more than her fair share of mentioning you during her dream academy time, but you had made it a point to not follow them back. sure, they were megan’s friends, but they were her coworkers first and foremost, and you knew that being on their following list as international popstars would make you an easy target for internet investigators. the last thing you wanted was any weird fan digging you up, so you kept to yourself.

but now, with them in the flesh, you figure you can warm up to them now that they’re real girls in front of your eyes and not just voices and photos behind a screen.

“y/n, we finally meet!” sophia laughs, reaching out to swoop you into a hug as if you guys already knew each other. she’s first to come out from the green room, followed one by one by the rest of them.

“i’m gonna be so honest,” daniela admits sheepishly, wiping down her face with a towel, “i thought you were made up.”

“no forreal, like imaginary friend status,” lara grins, and the four of you laugh. “or like an ai that meggy was always on the phone with.”

“what’s so funny?” megan asks, finally emerging from the room with yoonchae right behind her, furrowing her eyebrows as she reaches over to give you a crushing hug. 

“nothing,” you reassure her, hugging her back, not minding the sweat. “just teasing you.”

“oh, so the usual bullshit,” she groans, but the smile on her face tells you it’s all in good fun. yoonchae offers you a quick nod, and you all make small talk as the girls refuel with snacks and rehydrate.

you’re caught off guard when the dressing room door opens a final time, their final and missing member stepping out into the hallway with you guys. your eyes meet, and you instantly feel a tingle in your spine with the way her eyes light up.

“oh, who is you?” she says in a mock-surprised voice, causing the rest of the girls to crack up. you can tell manon is the influential one, the way she radiates confidence, and you’ve never been one to get starstruck, but maybe there’s a first for everything. 

the girls all scream and echo it, imitating her: “oh who is you?” over and over again, back and forth, cracking themselves up as it gets funnier and funnier each time they say it, all of them laughing.

well… all of them except for one.

“you know who this is,” megan rolls her eyes, and you’re thrown off by how your usually goofy best friend is for some reason not into the whole bit.

“well where are your manners, megan? introduce me,” manon tells her, crossing her arms over her chest nonchalantly, not letting megan’s disposition throw her off.

that’s the thing about megan that you’ve always known— megan has a big heart, but she’s ruled by her emotions, and whatever she’s feeling right now is written across her face. you want to investigate further, to ask her what her deal is, but before you can get a chance, megan is already complying. you sense that she’s not quite ready to go against manon, and rolls her eyes as she points between the two of you.

“manon, y/n,” she says, gritting her teeth. “y/n, manon.”

“same name on instagram? or…” manon’s eyes flicker up playfully at you as she pulls out her phone.

“y/n doesn’t want us following her on socials,” megan says quickly, her eyes wide, realizing what manon is suggesting.

“this one’s fine,” you grin, waving her off, feeling your cheeks warm up. manon smiles back at you and hands you her phone.

“oh, special treatment much?” lara boos playfully. “quit rizzing up the quiet ones, manon.”

you all laugh, and your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling. manon won’t stop looking at you, smiling back.

what you don’t catch is megan’s forced smile. she’s smiling, but it doesn’t make it to her eyes.

—

the girls are all supposed to fly to LA later that night, but megan opts to stay in hawaii one day longer, getting a later flight so she can spend more time with her loved ones. you worry that she’ll be sleep deprived from the messed up schedule but she insists she’ll be fine, promising you there’s no need to worry. she stays at her parent’s house that night instead of a hotel, and she barely gets a chance to ask before you’re reassuring her that you’ll spend the night.

she tells you all about the grueling dance practices, the people she’s met on tour, the secret new album they’re working on recording in between tour dates. the two of you lay side by side in her bed, in the same room she’s had since you were first friends, and spend the whole night laughing at tik toks and reminiscing about the mess that was your group junior prom, ending in megan ripping her dress down her ass from dancing too wildly on the dance floor. 

you can hear her breathing even out as she quiets down, clearly drifting off after such a long night. but you have a pressing question, one that makes you a little nervous, and you realize asking megan now is better than waiting for a chance that might never come again. 

“hey,” you tap her on the nose, gently, with your finger. 

she grumbles and turns over in her sleep, her nose wrinkling but she doesn’t open her eyes. “you’re waking me up for what?”

“to ask you a question,” you tell her. 

“it can’t wait?” she asks, letting out a sigh. 

“it’s serious,” you finally admit, biting your lip. “i don’t want to lose you.”

she turns over instantly, her eyes wide as they look up at you. she seems panicked, and you worry that maybe this wasn’t a good idea in the first place. 

“maybe i should say something first,” megan mumbles quietly, and you feel your chest thud. 

“i mean, you can, if you want,” you offer. 

“no actually, you first,” she shakes her head, eyes screwing shut for a brief moment. you can feel her nervous breaths on the tip of your nose, the closeness between the two of you. she opens her eyes once more and nods, blinking. “okay, i’m ready.”

“i know i haven’t exactly wanted to be in the spotlight with you,” you start, your voice quiet. you know it’s unfair— all megan has ever been is kind, and patient, and understanding, and you realize maybe, that kind of patience was all you needed to take a leap like this.

“do you think i could have manon’s number?” you finally blurt, biting down on your bottom lip anxiously as the words leave your mouth. “might be easier than dm’s.”

megan looks at you, blinking back, as if in shock. her body is still for a few moments, but she quickly shakes her head, as if she’s waking back up. her brows furrow across her forehead, and you worry for a second that you’ve offended her by seeking out a way to get closer to her coworker after all you’ve said and done to avoid being involved with all this, but megan is megan, and you realize it was silly to worry. she’s always going to have your back.

“yeah,” she nods slowly, swallowing down. “yeah, um, i don’t think she’ll mind.”

you smile and press your foreheads together, grateful to whatever is out there that gave you the angel that is megan skiendiel. “what were you going to say earlier, mei?”

she closes her eyes as your foreheads touch, her breath gentle against your face. “uh… just if you’re busy tomorrow. if we could surf or something. i’ve missed you.”

“i can fit you in the schedule,” you grin, before feeling your eyelids getting heavy. you leave your head there, comforted by the sound of megan’s breaths so close to you, feeling your heart race still from your question. “my eyes are closing. good night, mei.”

you fall asleep, and don’t notice the way megan’s eyes flutter back open and linger on your lips for much, much longer than needed. 

—

a few weeks later, you have a break in your work schedule, and megan insists on flying you out to LA with her and the kats to spend some time together before their tour picks back up.

you and megan spend the day touring the city, hitting the beach, laughing your heads off. she brings you to a park, unpacking a tote bag to reveal the makings of a picnic as you two sit in the grass and admire the sunset. the watermelon is sticky against your chin, and she laughs taking photos of you against the california sky. 

“would you help me with something?” you ask, watching as she struggles to neatly cut a piece of cheese with her stupid little charcuterie knife, making a mess on the blanket. you laugh, and she grins up at you.

“anything,” she answers easily.

“manon finally asked me on a date,” you admit. the two of you had been texting non-stop since their show in hawaii, and even though she was in new york right now doing publicity for a makeup brand, she had offered to take you out as soon as she’s back in LA as long as you’re still there.

“no yeah, duh,” she blinks, as if she wasn’t expecting it. “of course.”

you grimace. megan hadn’t asked how things were going between the two of you, and you hadn’t made it a point to ask. megan had never been open about dating during your friendship, and you were always too picky to be serious about any crushes, so the two of you had never really gotten to the point of talking about your romantic interests. plus, with megan, your heart was full enough— some days, you wondered why people were so obsessed with the idea of a partner when you had such an incredible best friend to fill your days with.

“she gets back tomorrow. i need help picking an outfit,” you tell her, staring down at the charcuterie platter and fruits in front of you. “and maybe what to say.”

“just be you,” she says simply, looking down again at the cheese and crackers. she doesn’t eat them, just fidgets with them, as she’s always done, a busy body at heart.

“what does she like?” you ask, feeling your throat uncomfortably dry at the thought of your impending date.

megan shakes her head. “don’t worry about that. just be you.”

“i am worrying. i want her to like me,” you admit.

“she will,” megan reassures you, her voice quiet.

“i’m worried if things go poorly i’ll lose you,” you confess, tilting your head at her. “make things weird.”

“it won’t. i’ve got your back,” megan nods, reaching out to pat you gently on the shoulder.

“thanks,” you breathe.

she wrinkles her nose, and you can see she’s debating something inside herself, but within moments, she’s blurting out her question, no filter.

“how come you didn’t want to be seen with me but you’re down to go see manon?”

“it’s not like that,” you shake your head, realizing it may seem unfair in your best friend’s eyes. “it’s easier to hide one date than our whole ass friendship.”

“what if she falls in love with you?” megan presses on, her eyes wide and pleading. “what then?”

“well, that’s not my problem,” you laugh, wondering where this sudden stress is coming on from. “i’m just trying to get through that damn date.”

“you’re right, you’re right,” megan shakes her head. “sorry. you know how i get.”

you reach over to stroke her back reassuringly, before adding a quiet confession, your lips curling into an eager smile.

“i’m excited for the first time in a long time,” you admit. “she seems like a really good one.”

you don’t notice megan’s head fall ever so slightly. she never tells you about how long she had planned this picnic, making sure to choose all your favorite things, the blanket in your favorite color. 

—

a few weeks later, your uber is dropping you off at an unfamiliar door, as you try to knock as quietly as possible to not seem suspicious in this unfamiliar neighborhood.

the door swings open, and you see her— clearly having just woken up, hair a mess, but so, so familiar. you can’t stop yourself from smiling at the sight of her.

“y/n,” megan beams excitedly, her eyes going wide as she realizes you’re in front of her, in the flesh. “you’re here?”

“i flew in this morning,” you grin. “surprise.”

she grabs your bag and pulls you into the house, wrapping you up in a hug so tight, it knocks the wind out of your lungs. she’s smiling so brightly, her teeth on full display, it’s almost like you just told her she’s won the lottery. her words come out a million miles a minute, the girl rambling all on what seems like a single breath as she looks you over.

“how do you feel? are you jet lagged? what are you doing today? if you give me like 5 minutes, i can get ready super duper fast and we can hang out— do you want to go get a coffee?”

you can’t help but smile, even if you are absolutely exhausted from your red-eye. megan just has that cheering effect on people. “i was craving a coffee so bad, actually. where has a good drive-thru?”

“i was thinking i could show you this new place downtown—” megan starts, smiling sheepishly, but you’re both quickly interrupted by a third voice and the sound of steps coming from upstairs.

“no way, is that my woman?” manon beams, coming down the stairs. “you look so fine, what the hell.”

“flew in to surprise you,” you smile, your cheeks burning at the sight of her. 

“you shouldn’t have,” manon grins, reaching over to grab your hand and kiss you. you’ve always been shy about pda, but ever since becoming official last week, you haven’t minded squeezing it in any chance you get.

“coffee date with megan?” you offer, motioning to the tallest of the three of you.

but megan’s smile has turned into a tight line of her lips pressing together, looking down at the way manon has her arm wrapped around your waist. 

“nah, you guys go, i just remembered i have a thing,” megan waves you off, rubbing the back of her neck. “i’ll send you the spot. bring me back something?”

you open your mouth to ask something, but manon is faster.

“i need a driver,” manon grins sheepishly. “still getting that american license, remember?”

“y/n can drive my car. you’ll be careful, right?” she looks over at you, handing you her keys, something in her eyes that makes you want to ask.

but you don’t, instead smiling back at manon and putting the keys in your pocket. “of course, i’ll be careful.”

“see ya,” she waves you two off, watching as manon follows you out the door, the two of you covering your faces with sunglasses and masks.

you don’t see the way megan looks down at her hands. you never realize that you forget to bring her back a drink.

—

the girls only get more busy, and you only have so many hours in a day. manon calls you on routine, every morning before you go to work, but that means you have less time for megan’s calls. but she still makes it a point to send you postcards from every new city, sending you pictures over text even if you take forever to reply, reminding you that she’s there even if you guys aren’t talking as often as you had at one point.

but after a particularly grueling fight over the phone with manon, you find yourself seeking her out. you know they’re in korea right now, and manon was nearly falling asleep halfway through your fight, but your call only rings once before megan is picking up, her groggy voice soothing you instantly.

“y/n,” she breathes, quiet but excited. “it’s been forever.”

“hey mei,” you smile, but you realize your voice is shaky. “sorry, i know you might be sleeping.”

“what’s wrong?” she asks instantly. years together make it easy for her to read you, too easy.

“i just need you to tell me i’m being irrational,” you breathe, feeling mildly guilty that your first real conversation in weeks is for you to complain about her friend. but megan stays quiet, and listens, letting you rant about the fight you just had, getting it all off your chest. she listen, without judgement, without cutting you off, and you feel yourself instantly comforted. megan always manages to know exactly what to do.

you reach the end of your rant, and she’s quiet for a beat longer.

“are you okay?” she asks simply, no judgement, no anger. just concern.

“she’s just too calm sometimes,” you sigh. “like too relaxed.”

“manon’s probably an avoidant attachment,” megan offers, contemplatively. “maybe she thinks you guys are going to hurt each other so she’d rather not talk about the hard stuff.”

you bite your lip, staring up at your ceiling. “has she said anything about me?”

“manon’s super private,” megan sighs. “doesn’t even talk about you to me any more. not since you became official.”

“i know she is,” you mumble back. the thing you had appreciated so much about manon was slowly starting to become an issue in and of itself.

there’s another pause, and you can practically hear the gears turning in megan’s head.

“is she being good to you?” she asks, her voice gentle, tender even. “treating you well?”

“i know we have our ups and downs, but i’m really happy,” you reiterate.

“do you think we would have been happy?” she asks, quickly, as if she’s scared that the line will cut at any given moment. “if we stayed close.”

“maybe,” you smile, though it hurts. all your years, and you never pictured that you and megan could possibly grow apart. but time and distance will do that to you, you figure. “do you ever miss me?”

“maybe,” megan smiles, her voice lighter. “do you miss me?”

“a little,” you admit. being worlds apart with no time to spend together has taken its toll, but your joy in seeing her live out her dreams outweighs it all. “but it’s easier to be proud of you. i feel like i’m distracting you less.”

“no way!” megan nearly shouts, making you smile. “you were never a distraction. honestly i wish you’d live with us at this point.”

“you guys would get sick of me,” you laugh. 

“maybe everyone else would,” she teases. “‘cause you’re annoying or whatever. but i wouldn’t.”

“manon would be sooo tired of me,” you laugh again. megan laughs with you, and it’s enough to comfort you. you guys say goodnight, and you hang up soon after to get ready for a family dinner. 

you don’t hear megan’s chest tighten after you hang up, the way she lets out a quiet breath. you don’t see megan fall back into her hotel room bed, head thudding into the pillow, her chest aching, whispering quietly to herself in the silence of the night.

“i’d never get tired of you.”

—

another few months go by, and katseye is at the peak of their popularity after gnarly drops. people are eager for their new upcoming EP, and the girls are riding the wave, taking every opportunity to generate talk about their music.

you finally get around to watching their weverse live, partially because you love seeing your two favorite people interact, and partially because their busy schedule has made long phone calls impossible and you miss the sound of manon’s voice. 

you and megan have talked even less than before, but you won’t overthink it. you know she’s off living her best life, and the thought makes your heart warm. 

you watch the live from your seat in an airplane— hoping to surprise your girlfriend with a visit for the weekend while she’s back in LA.

manon sits in front of the camera, seated next to megan, with yoonchae floating somewhere behind them, just happy to be included.

“manon, spill love life tea?” yoonchae reads out loud, before smiling and shaking her head. “wrong person to ask, guys.”

“guess what i’m definitely not talking about?” manon laughs, rolling her eyes. 

“pussy,” megan teases under her breath, much to their surprise, and yoonchae throws her head back in laugher. you smile, grateful megan ended up in a group that lets her be her colorful, goofy self.

“me?” manon presses a hand to her own chest in disbelief, but it’s all playful between the trio. “watch it, ‘cause i can throw a math problem your way real quick, kid.”

megan grins and is next to read a comment. “drop some lore.”

manon shakes her head. “yoonchae?”

“i have nothing,” the maknae says plainly, before reading the next comment. “unnie line, rizz us up.” 

“no rizz tonight folks, freshly out,” manon jokes, before squinting into the camera in a goofy pose. you know someone is bound to make a tik tok edit out of the pose by the end of the night. 

“and i’m just a lovergirl, that’s my rizz,” megan shrugs, throwing her hands up. you laugh. this dork.

“someone said how can megan be a lovergirl if she’s never loved a girl, poser af,” yoonchae cracks up laughing, and manon follows suit. 

megan laughs along, but you notice her eyes squinting at something, almost as if she’s thinking. or rather, over-thinking.

she’s quiet for a few moments longer, the other two scrolling through the chat to hunt for more comments to interact with, but then megan pushes manon by the shoulder, getting her attention. she points to the camera, smiling, but there’s something extra in her eyes, a twinkle of determination. you wonder what the hell she’s possibly up to.

“tell them,” she says simply to manon, pointing again to the camera.

“tell them what?” manon asks, genuinely lost, looking between the younger girl and the camera where they’re livestreaming.

“i am a certified lovergirl,” megan reaffirms, nodding confidently, before dropping a bombshell on the live.

“tell them about how i helped you bag your chick.”

you feel the world pause. yoonchae freezes, manon’s eyes go wide, and your heart drops into your stomach. 

“megan,” manon says quickly, like a warning. 

your chest tightens. maybe they could have played it off, but your girlfriend’s impulse reaction is obvious enough to show that she’s unnerved by megan’s reveal, and they are definitely not doing a bit any more. you look at the comments, which are now blowing up a mile a minute. 

CHICK?!?!? manon has a gf? 😔❤️ MANON WLW CONFIRMED 🏳️‍🌈 did megan wingman for manon?? how did megan know manon’s gf wtfff 👀

“the all-rounder is just being silly, don’t listen to her dumb ass,” manon teases, but the warning glare she shoots the girl doesn’t go missed by you.

“no, tell them. that was my best friend, in the whole world,” megan doubles down. she’s still smiling, a self-satisfied grin, and you feel sick at the way she’s not letting up. “and now she’s your boo.”

manon simply stares at megan in disbelief. 

“what?” megan asks back, challengingly.

was? WAS? 🌝🌝 is there beef omfg so grateful to have a weverse subscription on this fine day 🧎🏻‍♀️

“next topic,” yoonchae smiles diplomatically, realizing the two are in a stand-off.

“anyways,” manon says quickly, but the damage is done. you know your girlfriend. you can see her jaw hardening.

and you know megan, unfortunately. the way she stares challengingly at manon, like a dare. they try to switch to a new topic, yoonchae’s most recent viral dance, but the damage is done. the comments are racing, and you can see the three mentally preparing for their managers to call them up, as you’re sure they will as soon as they catch wind of this. the chat is relentless.

manon looks pissed lmao pr training is chasing megan but megan is faster 😭 imma give reddit 12 hrs before we know who this QUEEN is that homie hopped 2/6 katseye members omg

you hear the pilot announce takeoff, and realize you’ll have to put your phone away. you swear under your breath and mentally prepare yourself for the flight, and everything that waits for you once you land.

you don’t see the screaming match that manon and megan get into immediately after the live. you miss the three phone calls that megan sends your way, and you don’t see the message that she sends, only to unsend an hour later, never to be read by your eyes:

sorry, y/n. i couldn’t keep lying. i think we should talk.

—

you land, and instead of seeing megan’s message, you see only her phone calls. manon has called you too, sending texts of screenshots of their furious PR team and their manager blowing up her phone. it’s late by the time you land in LA, and you know she’s probably asleep, so you send a quick text of reassurance to your girlfriend, and focus now on chewing out your best friend at the center of this mess.

what the fuck did you do

megan's reply comes back immediately. what is she doing up this late?

sorry sorry??? megan are you fucking joking sorry no not fucking sorry, be so fucking serious what was the point of that do you know the shitstorm you just stirred? just saw your location are you in LA? i was supposed to surprise manon but she may need a lot of support right now let me get you from the airport ? fine

she picks you up in her car and the two of you drive in silence, neither of you ready to confront the mess she’s put you in. you see your first instagram notification, a random katseye account requesting to follow you, and you suck in a deep breath as you realize the internet detectives are probably about to start digging you up.

you swear under your breath and put your instagram app on silent. megan hears you and exhales shakily.

“y/n,” she breathes, as if the world didn’t exist in turmoil around you.

“megan, what were you thinking?” you ask in disbelief, unable to even face her. what could her endgame possibly have been? what could she possibly have gotten out of that?

“i just think it’s stupid that she pretends you don’t exist,” she shrugs, slumping back into the driver’s seat.

“that’s our agreement,” you remind her, feeling your skin get increasingly hot the more frustrated you grow. “it’s better like that.”

“she doesn’t even act like she wants you sometimes.” megan shakes her head, eyes fixed on the road as she pulls in front of the katseye house. neither of you move to get out of the car, instead, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean to push closer into megan’s bubble, trying to emphasize your frustration with her as it doesn’t seem to be getting through to her.

“megan, you have no idea what our relationship looks like from the inside,” you point out angrily.

you and megan, in all your years of friendship, had never had a single fight. a disagreement here and there, sure, but you always were in sync enough to land on the same page for most of your opinions. what was the point of ever bickering if one of you was always willing to compromise? it was the foundation of your friendship, being able to keep the peace, and part of what made you guys so close. having your first real fight feels like a punch to the gut, but you had a feeling it was inevitable. your paths are so different now. your first fight feels something like the beginning of the end.

“does she even love you?” megan presses on, her face tensing, her grip on the steering wheel tightening even though the car has been off for a few minutes at this point. “she’s always hiding you.”

“she does love me, and she hides me because i’m the one who fucking wants to be hidden,” you tell her, angry to be defending yourself against her at this point when she’s too stubborn to hear anything you’re saying.

you two are equally amped up at this point, both of you leaning over the center console to get in the other’s face. your voices are both raising, and you see the way megan’s neck vein tenses as she scowls at your words. your faces are only a foot or so apart, and you can feel the breath from each of her words, punctuating her frustration.

“i loved you, and i didn’t want to hide you,” she argues, but you shake your head and scoff.

“that’s different, and you know it is, megan.”

“not for me, it wasn’t.” megan says, her voice dropping, and it clicks for you. you realize what she means, your eyes meeting, something heavy in her gaze. you feel your chest tighten at the implication, but it’s too much to open that box right now.

“stop it, i don’t want to hear that,” you shake your head, feeling your face get even redder. you’re angry, you’re confused, and your heart is aching— why is she doing this to you, now of all times? “you’ve made a mess out of everything, megan. do you know how stressed out manon is?”

“no, i did love you,” she insists, if she didn’t hear anything else you just said. she leans in closer, and you pull back, nearly wincing. 

“megan,” you breathe in disbelief, feeling it all come over you like a nightmare. “not fucking funny.”

“i would have been proud to be yours,” megan musters up the courage to admit, her face hard but determined, her eyes watery, her voice shaking. “i’m sorry i wasn’t good enough.”

you feel the back of your throat burn, your mouth going dry. not once did you possibly dream of a day where megan would confess something like this, would ever cross this line with you. she had always just been megan, your best friend, always there, as she had been from the start. you never let yourself consider anything more. 

“megan,” you warn her, your voice low, clenching your jaw so tightly, your bones hurt. “what the hell am i supposed to do with that?”

“that’s not my problem,” megan echoes, her voice cold and harsh, and you realize she’s referring to her question all those months ago, on your picnic, when she had first expressed fear about manon falling in love with you and it ruining everything. not once in a million years did you think it could be megan that fell in love with you, and even less, not once did you ever think it could be megan to ruin your friendship.

“this is why we didn’t end up together,” you blurt, feeling your eyes prick with hot tears that you try desperately to fight back. your stomach is in knots and at this point, you’ll say anything to escape this discomfort— even if it means hurting megan in the process. “you’re immature, selfish, you don’t think. impulsive.”

“i loved you,” megan says back firmly, grimacing at your words, but steady in her resolve to get it out. she repeats it like she’s trying to scrape the last of it out of her lungs, like she’s coughing up water and trying to clear it out. 

“there’s no world where you and i end up together,” you bite back, “get that through your head.”

“there doesn’t have to be,” megan pushes back, her lip quivering. “but i’m not gonna let you lie about everything. i tried.”

“this was selfish,” you hiss, but your heart thuds at the sight of her. you try to keep your rage at the forefront to protect your own tender heart from the confusion of feelings swirling up in your chest. “that’s why we stopped being friends.”

“i loved you,” she repeats, even if it’s only to say it out loud, for the sky, for the moon to bear witness, sounding defeated and triumphant all at once. “and i’m sorry for ruining everything.”

“you did ruin everything,” you blink, realizing there’s no reality where you guys can recover from this. there’s no reality where manon forgives megan entirely, there’s no reality where you can just forget megan’s confession, there’s no reality where you can take back all the cruel things escaping from your lips.

megan’s eyes meet yours, and it’s as if she’s realizing it at the exact same time. things will never be the same.

“can i kiss you?” she blurts out, reaching out a hand towards your face.

“megan,” you say sharply in complete disbelief, swatting her hand away.

“you know why you and manon are even dating?” she snaps, without missing a beat, as if she were prepared for the rejection. “because the night before your first date, i stayed up all night telling manon every single thing you like, exactly how you are, exactly how you get, exactly what she should do.”

you stare at her in complete and utter shock. that first date had been one of your most cherished memories, and you felt like you were walking on clouds the whole time. dates afterwards had never quite compared to that first one, but you figured it was just how relationships go. you could have never considered the fact that someone had put that much effort into making sure it went that perfectly, intentionally, and it makes your throat burn to think that it was actually megan behind it all, not manon. not the girl you’re currently dating.

“no way,” you shake your head, your tears making your vision blurry. “she—”

“did everything right that night because i coached her every step of the way,” megan cuts you off, her voice low and sharp. “you only love her now, ‘cause i loved you first.”

your jaw drops in disbelief, but megan isn’t done. the words spill out of her.

“and maybe i’m a little angry, ‘cause you could have loved me,” she says, her voice shaky, but something in her seems lighter, like each time she says it, she can breathe easier. “but i loved you, y/n, and that was real, even if i’m grieving you now. i loved you, y/n.”

you’ve heard enough, more than enough. you grab your bag and hurriedly race out of the car. you’re not sure you can handle much more. “get out of my face, megan.”

and she lets you. you race to the door and pray manon is awake to let you in. megan drives off, disappearing into the night. you feel yourself hold in what’s left of your tears, bidding goodbye to the friendship that had once meant the world to you.

what you don’t see is the deep breath she lets out. the weight is finally off her shoulders.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Weaponized | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part Nine

← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

Words: ~4,600

Series Tags/Warnings: Violence, Trauma, No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Auror!Sebastian, Auror!MC, Modern AU, Female Reader Insert, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Forced Proximity, Ancient Magic, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Betrayal, Reconciliation, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Divergent

Beta: @dreamy-gal-30 💚💚💚

Auror Division Headquarters, Outdoor Grounds – London

It was the first Saturday you’d had off in weeks. No drills. No paperwork. No cryptic assignments to chase or false tips to decode. Just quiet, for once. Thin sunlight stretched across the Auror Division’s yard, the grass still damp from a morning rain. You sat cross-legged on a worn stone bench near the fence line, book in hand.

One of Sebastian’s, actually. A weathered copy of A Study in Dark Channel Theory, with his notes scribbled in the margins, some thoughtful, some sarcastic, and more than one aimed directly at the author’s “complete disregard for context.” You’d borrowed it half as a joke. Now you couldn’t put it down.

The owl came just after noon. A sleek barn owl with precise flight and a letter tucked in its claws. You frowned as it landed beside you and extended its leg, clearly not a field dispatch bird. You hadn’t received non-mission mail from anyone but Canada in months.

You slipped the scroll from its binding and scanned the writing inside.

Warden, Come to Ominis’s flat. 3pm. Keep it quiet. Address attached. —S.

You stared at it for a beat. Ominis’s flat? You’d never been to Ominis’s place. Hell, you hadn’t been anywhere in London that wasn’t directly tied to a mission or a Ministry building. 

You glanced at your watch. Barely two hours.

Your stomach tightened. You were still in a ratty sports bra and sweat-stained shirt, boots unlaced and legs sore from your run this morning. With a grunt, you pushed yourself up and jogged back toward the building.

Inside, you stripped quickly, tossing your training clothes onto the floor and hopping into the shower. The water pressure was criminal, but at least it was hot. You scrubbed fast, trying not to let your mind spiral.

Why Ominis’s place? Why now? What had changed since Tuesday?

You stepped out, dried off, and hurried to your room, throwing open the wardrobe.

Civilian clothes. Right.

The only ones you had were the few pieces you’d worn undercover in Knockturn. They weren’t bad, but they’d been picked for blending in with smugglers, not for… Well. Whatever this was.

You pulled the clothes from their hanger—dark jeans, fitted through the hips and thighs, and a black cropped sweater that showed just enough midriff to make you hesitate. You haadn’t planned to wear it again. 

Still, it was your only option.

You tugged the shirt into place and adjusted the hem before glancing at yourself in the mirror. Your hair was damp and curling at the ends, the rest doing whatever the hell it wanted, and your face was bare. Dark circles ringed your eyes, evidence of a week of poor sleep and high stress.

With a low groan, you grabbed the only brush you owned—a wide-toothed detangling comb from the base infirmary, not even yours originally—and raked it through half-damp strands. It helped. A little. But there was no way to disguise the fact that you hadn’t done anything intentional with it. No twist, no pin, no braid. No sleek ponytail or tidy bun. Just hair. Just… you.

And makeup? Please. You didn’t even own any, nor did you know a single cosmetic charm.

You frowned at your reflection and tugged at your sleeves. Smoothed your hair again. Tried to ignore the tightness curling in your chest. Reminded yourself you were meeting your lieutenant and his childhood friend to discuss potential corruption at the highest levels of magical law enforcement, not impress him with your charm and good looks or whatever.

You sat on the edge of the bed, lacing up your boots, then glanced at the desk across the room. The book you’d been reading still lay open, spine-up where you’d left it. The little margin note Sebastian had left on the last page you read said: Does this author actually think infernal magic respects containment theory, or is he just dense?

You huffed a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. Then you stood and tucked the owl’s scroll into your pocket, reminding yourself that you didn’t care what Sebastian Sallow thought. Not about your hair. Not about your clothes. Not about whether your face was too tired or your sleeves too rumpled. He was your lieutenant. A man who’d pulled a wand on you four days ago. And even if you had for one brief moment cared, it was only because he’d promised not to rat you out for having a cat.

That was it.

Hampstead, Ominis’s Flat – London

Navigating London without magic proved to be a complete shit show. 

The address Sebastian had given you was tucked in a cramped row of flats just off a side street, but you’d taken a wrong turn, boarded the wrong bus, gotten off said bus at the wrong stop, and had to bribe a teenage girl to point you in the right direction.

By the time you arrived, you were half an hour late. And even then, you didn’t knock. Not right away.

You stood outside the flat, staring at the plain green door, heart drumming against your ribs like you hadn’t been deployed in warzones. Like you hadn’t fought dragons, wendigos, dark wizards, and smugglers, or stitched yourself shut with your own wand in a snowy ravine in Manitoba.

Apparently, none of that prepared you for knocking on the front door of a flat.

Ridiculous.

You breathed in, sharp. Let it out slow. Then, finally you lifted your hand and knocked. Three quick taps. You half-wished no one would answer. 

There was a pause. Then footsteps. The door opened.

Ominis Gaunt stood in the entryway, sleeves rolled, collar slightly undone. He didn’t look surprised to see you.

“You’re late,” he said mildly, stepping back to let you in.

You stepped inside, brushing past him with a murmured, “Sorry. Never been in London before. Not… properly anyway.”

He gave a dry little hum of amusement and gestured down the hall. “They’re in the sitting room.”

“...They?”

“Sebastian and Garreth,” he replied, shutting the door behind you with a gentle click.

You hadn’t realized Garreth would be here. Then again, you probably should have. He was one of the two people Sebastian had vouched for. Still, something about it caught you off guard. You’d expected a grim huddle, not a whole committee.

You followed the direction Ominis had motioned toward, down a narrow hall and into a large room. The fireplace had been lit but pushed to low embers, casting a soft orange glow across the space. A large coffee table sat in the middle, covered in parchment, half-spilled ink, and a map of London.

Garreth and Sebastian were both pacing, papers in hand, speaking in clipped, serious tones. 

When you stepped into the room, both of them turned.

Garreth’s reaction was immediate. His eyes widened, eyebrows shooting up. His mouth opened slightly, like he meant to greet you but forgot how words worked. His gaze swept over you in one quick, stunned pass, and for a second he just blinked.

You froze, confused. Was something wrong? Did you miss a memo? Was there something on your face?

Sebastian was far less obvious. His reaction was a flicker, almost nothing. A twitch of his jaw, a glance that lasted one beat too long, and a sharp inhale that he covered with a perfectly timed pivot to snark.

“You’re late.”

You raised an eyebrow. 

“She got lost,” Ominis supplied from behind you as he stepped into the room.

Sebastian glanced over at you again, this time with the faintest twitch of amusement in the corner of his mouth. 

Garreth, still looking mildly stunned, finally found his voice. “Er—hi,” he said, stepping forward with a nervous sort of smile. “Garreth. I mean, you knew that. But… yeah. Good to see you again.”

You gave him a nod, unsure of what to say considering his history of letting officers treat you like the help.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Alright. Now that everyone’s here…” He motioned you toward the table. “We’ve been compiling all the missions with intel anomalies.”

You blinked. “Oh, so… Garreth and Ominis are… up to speed?”

Sebastian nodded. “I told them everything we know.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, the word catching in your throat before it fully landed. Your gaze flicked to the files, then to Sebastian, then to Garreth and Ominis in turn.

You didn’t sit. Not yet.

You hadn’t even told Sebastian everything until you were convinced he might hex the life out of you. And now—just like that—Garreth and Ominis were in on it? This wasn’t some field op, this was the deepest secret you’d ever carried. The kind that could get you killed.

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides.

Ominis seemed to pick up on the hesitation instantly. “You have every right to be wary, but trust me when I say anything said in this room stays here. You have my word.”

“And mine,” Garreth said quickly, looking sheepish. “Honestly, I didn’t realize how bad things had gotten until Sebastian looped me in. I thought—I mean, I knew there were weird calls being made, but—look, we want to help. That’s all.”

You didn’t reply right away.

Sebastian shifted his weight, no longer so rigid in posture. “I should’ve waited for you,” he admitted. “I just… we needed eyes on the intel. But I swear, Ominis and Garreth are the only ones who know.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to parse whether that softened tone was guilt, justification, or something more complicated. Probably all three. You let out a slow breath.

“Well, the cat’s out of the bag now,” you said, finally. “But nobody else is getting looped in without my say-so. Not even the people you trust.”

Your voice was flat, not threatening, but edged with something sharp. A line being drawn. And to their credit, none of them flinched. 

“Done.” Sebastian said.

You gave a faint nod and stepped forward at last, closing the distance to the table. “Alright. Walk me through it. What’ve you got so far?”

Sebastian glanced at Ominis, who picked up a file from the top of the stack and flipped it open.

“We’ve spent the past forty-eight hours cross-referencing mission reports and logs,” he said. “There are inconsistencies in the recorded seizures from two recent raids—items that were supposedly catalogued to be destroyed.” He tapped a page, revealing a ledger scrawled with item codes and timestamps. “But the destruction orders were either forged or never executed, because these items disappeared from Ministry storage last week.”

You leaned in slightly, scanning the parchment. “So someone’s siphoning artifacts out of Ministry storage and… what? Collecting them?”

Ominis’s mouth tightened. “Selling them.”

Garreth spoke up from your left. “There’s an auction tonight. High-profile.”

You blinked. “The Ministry is sponsoring an auction of illegal goods?”

“We think someone in the Ministry is,” Ominous explained. “High enough up that they can reroute evidence, scrub logs, and authorize controlled burns that never happen.”

You absorbed that for a beat, arms crossing loosely over your chest. “So. An illegal black market auction, possibly funded by our own employers. Love that. What’s the plan?”

A silence followed.

“You’re going in. As a buyer.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You and Sebastian,” Ominis clarified. 

You stared at him like he’d suggested you wrestle a dragon barehanded.

“What? No. Absolutely not.”

Sebastian folded his arms. “Why not?”

You turned sharply. “Why not? Because this is insane, Sebastian. We’re talking about a black market auction run by someone inside the Ministry. You want me to walk in there, unarmed, pretending to be on a date with you?”

He blinked, cheeks going pink. “I never said date.”

Ominis raised a hand. “Let’s stay focused. You’ve already been undercover together. You know how each other operates. That familiarity is a strength.”

“And I’ll file it as an off-duty teambuilding exercise,” Sebastian added quickly. “Something not worth poking too hard at.”

You stared at him. “Teambuilding.”

He shrugged. “Technically not a lie… Builds trust. Mutual cooperation.”

“Oh my god.”

Sebastian’s expression softened. “You trust me in a fight, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer immediately. The truth was annoying. And obvious.

“Yes,” you muttered finally.

“Then trust me now,” he said. “We’ll get in, gather what intel we can, and get out. No risks we don’t choose to take.”

You exhaled hard. The thought of playing rich and reckless in a den of aristocratic criminals made your skin crawl. And doing it with Sebastian, who had, against all rationale, been taking up more and more of your thoughts lately, only made it worse. 

You rubbed the back of your neck. “You know I don’t own anything that looks remotely like buyer attire, right? Unless smuggler-chic is still trending.”

“We’ve got options,” Garreth chimed in, eager to be useful. “We know someone.”

Ominis gave a tight nod. “You’ll be outfitted and ready by this evening.”

You stared at them. “So what, you planned all this before I even agreed?”

“We had faith,” Garreth said, clearly trying for optimism but landing somewhere between sheepish and nervous.

You gave him a flat look. “You also had nothing if I’d said no.”

“True,” Ominis admitted. “But we were prepared to grovel.”

“I wasn’t,” Sebastian muttered.

You shot him a look. He had the audacity to smile.

You leaned back in your chair and ran a hand through your hair. “Alright. Fine. But I swear to Merlin, if I end up in a dress with no pockets—”

Ominis gave a cool nod. “You’ll have pockets.”

You opened your mouth to thank him, but then—

“Wait… dress?” Sebastian blurted, the word escaping with just a hint of panic.

You turned slowly.

He looked genuinely unsettled, like the concept had only just hit him. Like he’d been picturing the mission in abstract, not… you in a dress.

Garreth didn’t miss a beat. “Merlin’s beard, really, Sallow? Didn’t think you of all people would get flustered over a dress given your reputation for—”

“—I’m not flustered,” Sebastian snapped, then caught himself. “I just assumed it would be something… tactical.”

Garreth leaned back with a smug grin. “Sure, Sallow.”

“Garreth—”

“Alright,” Ominis interrupted firmly. “That’s enough. Come with me,” he said to you, already turning toward the hallway. “You’ve got about three hours to get ready. Let’s not waste them.”

You stood, casting one last glance behind you, and followed him out of the sitting room. His flat was larger than you’d expected—long hallways, tall windows, clean lines softened by deep-toned wood and carefully chosen furniture.

He moved with purpose, leading you deeper through the flat past a few closed doors. “The room I'm taking you to is soundproofed,” he said without turning around. “The stylist didn’t hear a word of that conversation. All she knows is that you’re being prepared for a formal Ministry function. Nothing else.”

You nodded, tension easing just slightly.

“She’s an old friend from Hogwarts,” he added gently. “Trustworthy. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

Ominis stopped at the last door in the hall and knocked once before opening it, stepping aside to let you in.

Before you opened an elegantly decorated bedroom. In the corner, a folding garment rack hung with dresses in dark velvets and sleek silks. The vanity in the corner was cluttered with hair styling tools, makeup palettes, and an array of brushes. Standing in the middle of it all was a woman you didn’t recognize.

She turned from the rack at the sound of the door, her dark hair pinned up in a loose twist, wand tucked behind one ear like a pencil. She looked you over once and smiled.

“You must be the Warden,” she said brightly. “Perfect. You’ve got amazing bone structure.”

You blinked. “I… what?”

“I’m Poppy. I’ll be handling your look for tonight.” She smiled. “First I’ll need to decide on your color palette.”

“My what?”

Poppy was already circling you. “You need to look like you eat cursebreakers for breakfast and keep a vault of cursed objects for fun. The palette needs to be intimidating, mysterious, and sexy.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. “Right.”

“Don’t worry,” she added, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze. “You’re going to look amazing. Sebastian isn’t going to know what hit him.”

You froze. “That’s… not the goal.”

Poppy grinned like she knew better. “Of course not.”

“I’m not trying to impress him,” you said, probably a little too quickly.

“Sure,” Poppy said, entirely unconvinced.

Behind you, Ominis cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You glanced back toward the door just in time to see it click shut behind him.

Meanwhile, Poppy was a whirlwind in heels.

The moment the door shut behind Ominis, she clapped once and gestured to the cushioned stool in front of the vanity. “Sit, sit. We’ll handle the hair first.”

You sat stiffly, awkward in your own skin, but Poppy didn’t seem to notice. Or if she did, she didn’t comment.

“So,” she said, casually sectioning your hair with a flick of her wand, “how long have you been In London?”

“About a month,” you replied cautiously.

“Mmm. And with the Wardens?”

“Eight years.”

Poppy whistled softly. “No wonder you carry yourself like a blade. Honestly, it’s a dream to dress someone who knows how to stand. Makes everything hang better.”

You blinked at the mirror. “That’s… a compliment, right?”

“The highest.” Her tone was light, but her hands were precise, curling your hair with finesse. “I’ve worked with all sorts. Musicians, ministry spies, models… one time I styled the French ambassador’s security escort. Absolutely tragic posture. You, though—” She stepped back, eyed her work, and smiled. “We’ll have you looking like a femme fatale in no time.”

Your lips parted to protest, but she’d already shifted gears.

“All of this,” she said, waving vaguely to the vanity clutter and garment rack, “is from my own line. Everything ethically sourced. I don’t take anything from magical animals that they don’t shed naturally.”

You glanced at the brush she’d used. “This?”

“Hippogriff feathers. Brushed from Cerus, my oldest. He’s cranky, but his plumage is stunning.”

You smiled a little. “So you raise hippogriffs?”

“Oh yes. I keep a whole sanctuary. Mostly rescues. You wouldn’t believe the state some of them arrive in.” She paused to examine a palette of eyeshadow, then dabbed one onto a brush. “Close your eyes.”

You obeyed, still feeling like a fish in a bloody tree.

“Good,” Poppy murmured, dabbing lightly at your lids. “Just a touch more definition…”

You stayed still as instructed, resisting the urge to peek in the mirror. Every time you so much as leaned, she blocked your view with her body or a palette. And eventually, you lost track of time. There was something oddly soothing about being fussed over.

Finally, she stepped back. “There. Makeup and hair done. Now for the main event.”

She swept toward the rack of dresses, flicking through the hangers until she landed on a deep navy piece. She held it up and gave you a look.

“You’ve got structure,” she said matter-of-factly. “A fantastic silhouette. We’re not hiding that. We’re highlighting it.”

You blinked. “Highlighting?”

Poppy smirked. “That waist? Those hips? You could start a war with those proportions. Honestly, it’d be irresponsible of me not to weaponize them.”

Your cheeks went hot. “That’s—I'm not—”

“Hush,” she said breezily, handing the dress to you. “Go behind the screen and try this one first. Trust me.”

You took it with a stunned nod, trying not to let your palms sweat too much on the luxurious fabric.

“I have backups if you hate it,” Poppy called as you stepped behind the changing screen. “But I think this one’s going to be a problem.”

“For who?”

Poppy just laughed.

Behind the screen, you stripped quickly, awkwardly maneuvering into the silky gown. The fabric was heavier than you expected and had a mind of its own, like it had already decided how it wanted to sit on your body, which was apparently: snug.

Merlin. You weren’t sure you wanted to look in the mirror.

Taking a deep breath, you emerged slowly, smoothing your hands down the sides of the dress in a vain attempt to feel less exposed. Poppy turned, took one look at you, and let out a satisfied hum.

“I knew it,” she said with a grin. “That is dangerous.”

You crossed your arms, then uncrossed them, then settled for clasping your hands behind your back, unsure what to do with yourself. “It feels like… a lot.”

“It’s perfect,” Poppy countered, rushing to clasp a silver necklace on you. “Ready to see?”

You hesitated. “Not really.”

Poppy laughed, light and warm. “Tough.”

She rested a hand on your shoulder, turning you around to face the full length mirror.

You froze.

You barely recognized the woman staring back at you.

She wasn't the soldier who trained at dawn, slept with one eye open, or patched her uniform with sewing charms between field rotations.

This was someone else.

Your fingers curled lightly at your sides. The makeup, the dress… it felt like too much. Like you’d stepped into someone else’s skin, someone confident, someone desirable.

You swallowed hard.

“I… Poppy, I don’t even know what to say.” You drew in a steady breath, trying to gather yourself. “It’s just… I don’t look like this. I’m not the sort of person who—”

“Bullshit,” Poppy said gently, not unkindly. “You’re exactly the sort of person who does this kind of thing. You’ve just never been given the chance to try.”

You blinked quickly, throat tightening.

“Now,” Poppy said, giving your reflection one final, approving look. “Only one thing left.”

You turned to her, wide-eyed. “There’s more?”

She grinned, already flicking her wand. “Pockets.”

Sebastian adjusted the cuff of his black jacket for the third time, even though it didn’t need adjusting. His usual uniform was gone. Tonight he wore a sleek black jacket cut close to the body, and beneath it, a black shirt, open at the collar. No tie. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to wear one, already too aware of the tightness in his chest. 

He looked good. He looked dangerous. And he looked impatient.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you don’t stop,” Garreth said from the armchair, one ankle propped on his knee.

“I’m thinking,” Sebastian replied flatly.

“You’re pacing.”

Ominis, who was seated by the fireplace with his fingers tented thoughtfully, didn’t look up. “He’s been pacing for twelve minutes and forty-seven seconds, to be exact.”

Sebastian ignored them both, turning on his heel again. “Let’s go over it one more time.”

“You mean for the fifth time?” Garreth said dryly.

“We can’t afford to miss anything.”

“She walks in with you,” Ominis said, calm and crisp. “You make conversation with other buyers. Blend in. Figure out what items are being sold. Leave. It’s simple.”

Sebastian nodded but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have the energy. Not when his thoughts kept straying—again—to things that had absolutely nothing to do with smuggled relics or Ministry traitors. Like whether you’d think he looked ridiculous in this jacket. Or too stiff. Or like he was trying too hard.

He scowled and adjusted the cuffs again. A beat passed, filled only by the low crackle of the fireplace and the faint ticking of the clock on the mantle.

And then Sebastian heard it. The click of heels against hardwood.

He turned toward the hall, every inch of him going still as you appeared in the doorway.

Garreth blinked, visibly startled. Ominis didn’t even try to hide his smirk. And Sebastian… Sebastian forgot how to breathe.

The gown hugged you like it had been painted onto your skin. It clung to your waist and hips in a way that made his brain stutter, the silk catching the low firelight and turning it to shadow and sheen with every step you took. The neckline dipped low—low enough to draw his gaze and then force it back up again, because he was suddenly very aware of the fact that you were watching him.

Your hair framed your face in soft, deliberate curls. Your lips were painted a shade so rich and deep it bordered on sinful, and your eyes locked on his like they were daring him to say something stupid.

And he nearly did. But thankfully, Garreth spoke first, 

“Holy hell,” Garreth muttered, sitting up straighter. 

Ominis’s lips curled with quiet satisfaction. “Told you she’d clean up well.”

You shifted your weight slightly, clearly unaccustomed to being looked at like this. “...Is it too much?” you asked quietly.

“No,” Sebastian said quickly—too quickly. “It’s… not too much. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. I mean, strategically. The look works. You’ll fit in.”

You nodded stiffly, oblivious to Sebastian’s rambling. “Okay. Good. I’ve… never worn anything like this before.”

Garreth let out a soft whistle. “Well, you should start.”

You shot him a withering look and his hands lifted slightly, as if warding off incoming hexes. “Okay, alright, message received,” he said, grinning despite himself. “Terrifying and gorgeous.”

Ominis snorted while Sebastian tore his gaze away, jaw tight, hands flexing at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. 

“We should… we should head out.” He said at length.

Ominis rose from his seat with a nod. “I’ll walk you both to the Floo.”

Sebastian stepped forward before he could second-guess himself, offering you his arm with a wordless, slightly too-formal motion. 

Just courtesy. That’s all it was.

But the second your hand settled against his sleeve, fingers curling lightly around the crook of his elbow, his pulse kicked like he was seventeen again and about to make a fool of himself.

“Good luck out there,” Garreth said, grinning like he knew something he shouldn’t.

Sebastian opened his mouth to snap back, but Ominis was already moving toward the hallway, so he swallowed the retort and turned instead to follow. You moved with him, your heels tapping softly beside the dull thud of his shoes.

Then, just before reaching the Floo, you spoke.

“You look good too… by the way,” you said, your voice a little stiff as your eyes flicked briefly to his open collar.

Sebastian glanced over at you, surprised, so much so that he almost missed a step.

Your gaze darted away again just as quickly, but not before he caught the flicker of something unreadable in your eyes.

“Very… brooding,” you added, as if trying to smooth it over. 

A corner of his mouth twitched. “Is that a compliment?”

“Depends,” you said, not quite meeting his eyes. “Do you want to make them nervous?”

His smile deepened into something sharp, knowing, and a little wicked. “Terrified, ideally.”

You laughed, and it caught him off guard. Not because you didn’t laugh often (though you didn’t), but because he’d never realized how pretty it sounded. Soft. Unexpected. It hit him low and warm, curling beneath his ribs before he could stop it.

Merlin, he needed to get a grip.

Ominis wordlessly offered the Floo powder dish. “Keep the improvisation to a minimum tonight. Try to behave.”

Sebastian snorted. “I always behave.”

You arched a brow. “That’s demonstrably false.”

Ominis didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “Just try not to get yourselves arrested. Or cursed. Or stabbed.”

You stepped towards the hearth.

“No promises.”

← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

Banner Credit

[weirdsht]

Stereotypical . Pretermit - LoTCF & Venion Stan! Reader

a/n: please read the tags in detail and proceed carefully. If you are going through something please contact your local emergency hotline or talk to someone about it. I do not condone any of the toxic/harmful behaviours shown in this fic, but rather I'd like for this to serve as a message of how suicide affects everyone involved. Also holy fckin hairball this is 18 pages with 5400+ words

tags: PLEASE READ CAREFULLY AND BE WARNED! semi-detailed aftermath of suicide attempt, gore?, amnesia, inspired by freud's concept of repression still hate the guy tho, hints of depression, insomnia, hints of eating disorders if you squint, hurt/comfort, angst only lasts for a bit tho dw, isekai, yandere everyone if you squint really hard, everyone is trying to deny that they like reader (platonically), Taylor is the best brother

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Navigation Masterlist prev

@areaderspov said:

Hello hello!

I just read your fanfic of Venion!Reader aND I LOVE IT SO MUCH😭 I ACTUALLY TEARED UP ANYWAYS—

Did you ever thought of making and alternative version? —or angst sorta? Like, imagine if reader just gives up on life BUT WITH A PLOT TWIST.

THey could either go back to their world or suddenly be brought to Cale's world again BUT they just like, had a feeling of what happened, but nothing cleared, they mostly confused on what's going on but are trying to be… Chill, in a way. Like everything was only a nightmare and they had no recollection of it.

Maybe they could even sorta recognize Taylor? Like the feeling of their hyung but not really knowing why the connection.

Imagine that Raon is the first to recognize them, and they are in a way very happy since they looked so content, so different.

They don't have the "shackles" anymore so, I'm not sure how everyone else might play it.

Hope you like this idea though!<3

“Hey, wake up. Class ended already.”

You feel someone shake you awake as you groggily open your eyes. Looking around the lecture hall, you see that there really is no one else in the room aside from you and your friend.

“Where should we eat? I think I'm craving something sweet…”

Slinging your bag over your shoulders, you ask your friend for food recommendations. Your friend hummed as you guys walked out of the lecture hall onto the busy hallways of your university.

“There are no classes after this, so we can check out that new cafe outside the campus. Are you craving something specifically?”

You hummed as the two of you exited the building successfully. The two of you walk towards the gate to get away from the busy campus and be on your merry way towards the cafe.

“I weirdly want to eat apple pies…”

“Apple pies? You've never even had one before. Why are you craving something you've never eaten?”

Your friend stopped walking for a second to look at you weirdly before leading you to where the cafe is.

“I mean, you can crave something you've never had. But hmm, it is a bit weird because I feel like I've eaten it plenty before.”

After a few minutes of more banter and walking, you finally reached the newly opened cafe. The interior was minimalist, taking into account aesthetic pictures for social media. Their colour scheme was beige and black, and there were some plants and paintings on the wall.

The cafe seating looks like an open area. No booths can be found, but the seats are still comfortable-looking couches. 

Your friend asks you what else you want aside from pie as you eye which seat would be the best for the two of you. You tell your friend your order before making a beeline for the couch seat in the corner of the cafe beside the windows.

As you sit on the couch, you can feel your body physically relaxing. Weeks of sleepless nights and early mornings are absorbed by the comfortable plush of the seat. Thankfully, those days are about to end as today marks the start of your summer break.

Few more minutes passed by before your friend finally arrived with both of your orders. After finally settling, the two of you continued your light talk while eating your well-deserved sweet treats.

* * *

Summer break was absolutely the best. No deadlines to think about, no group mates to accommodate, no professors to chase for requirements. It's just you, your bed, and your phone.

Six weeks into the vacation and you're still bedrotting. You even go as far as to refuse whatever plans your friends present to you. Well, you didn't mean to spend the entire vacation just lounging around the house; actually, you initially just planned to spend a week and a half catching up on sleep before going out with friends. However, for some reason, your body felt incredibly heavy, and your mind was exhausted. Leading to you spending a month and a half at home to sleep.

Life of a slacker is nice. You actually enjoyed doing nothing. It’s just that there seems to be one problem… you feel more tired after sleeping.

It wasn’t always like this. In fact, you’re usually a good sleeper. Everything just started after that one time you fell asleep during class before the start of summer break. After that time, it was like no amount of sleep could quench the tiredness you felt.

Was it because of that weirdly realistic dream you had that day?

But you could barely even remember it, so it couldn’t be.

‘Well, it was just a dream, so it feels silly to give it this much meaning.’

You thought to yourself as you finally got up to prepare your first meal of the day. It’s already 5 pm, and you are just now starting your day. Well, you live alone anyway, so no one’s going to scold you. Plus, you’re still eating, so you’re still living a healthy life.

With that justification in mind, you finished eating the small portion of food you prepared for yourself before going back to bed.

Days passed until there was only one week left until the start of the new semester. Not once did you go out, even your enrollment was done online, and you figured you could just update your ID on the first day of classes.

Even after all that rest, you still felt tired. Your mental state was also a mess for no reason. Sometimes you would even start crying out of the blue.

Like right now, for example.

You were merely scrolling on your phone when suddenly tears started dripping from your eyes. Unsure of the cause yet still continuing to cry, your heart clenches at the random picture of a dragon plushie presented on your phone.

You would tear up just like this at random times of the day.

‘I have to get myself together. Classes are starting soon, and this year is very critical.’

With that conviction, you fell asleep with a heavy mind and an even heavier heart.

* * *

“CALL A HEALER HURRY”

“EVERYONE ON STANDBY, CANCEL ALL APPOINTMENTS AND DON’T LET VISITORS INSIDE”

Frantic shouts and hurried footsteps filled Raon’s ears as soon as he teleported in the Stan territory. The young dragon just wanted to checked on Venion Stan but such a chaotic scene welcomed him instead.

The curious — and worried — toddler followed the voice while remaining invisible. He could recognise the man shouting to be Taylor Stan. Just what happened to make such a usually composed man sound so frantic?

Raon’s question was answered as he peeked inside Venion’s room, the source of the chaos. From outside, he could see how healers and Cage are desperately trying to heal the young noble. Raon could also see Venion’s bloody wrist.

Copious amounts of blood dripped from the blonde’s wrist onto the bedsheets. There was too much that his bed was stained red; something the maids and butlers are trying to clean, but to no avail.

Taylor Stan can be seen besides the unconscious man. Desperately trying to put pressure on Venion’s wounds to stop bleeding. His own shaking hands gripping onto his brother’s wrist while he tries to stop the tears from escaping his blurry eyes.

Unable to take the sight in anymore, Raon teleports back to where Cale is. His paws shaking as he cries on the redhead’s chest while explaining what he saw.

It wasn’t until the next day he heard a word from the Stan Marquisate.

“I… I’m not sure how to explain what happened, Young Master Cale.” 

Taylor Stan said on the other side of the communication device. Cale’s gaze hardened at the sight of the Marquiss; he looks so gaunt, as if he hasn’t slept in a week. Clearly, something has happened to Venion Stan.

“Take your time.”

Cale said while holding onto Raon’s invisible yet shaking paw from his lap.

“Yesterday morning… when I visited my dongsaeng’s room to start our day, there was a strong stench of blood. So I opened the door and…”

Taylor Stan sighed deeply, his voice shaking but he pushed through it as he has to break the news.

“Blood was everywhere, Venion’s wrist was bleeding, he wounded himself too deeply. At first, I didn’t know how he even managed—no, I didn’t have the time to think about anything else, I frantically called Cage and the other healers to try and save him.”

Even Cale had to take a sharp breath. No wonder Raon looked so traumatised. The scene yesterday was too unsightly for anyone to witness, let alone for a child to see it first-hand.

“We managed to stabilise his condition, we also found out that he did it by breaking the drinking glass on his bedside… but that’s not where it ends.”

Cale and Raon stiffen at the news, only knowing about the news of Venion’s critical condition.

“Did he try again…?”

“No, young master, he hasn’t even woken up yet. We made him wore a magic bracelet that would keep track of his consciousness.”

Then what was the problem? Isn’t everything fine now unless Venion Stan’s health somehow becomes critical again?

Seeing the confused look on Cale’s face, Taylor further explained the situation.

“We are confused too, because later in the afternoon, my dongsaeng disappeared. But the bracelet showed no signs of being removed, nor did it alert us that he woke up.”

Distress became more evident in Taylor’s face as he explained. The news also further shocked the human and dragon combo. Just how and why did Venion disappear?

“Human, we have to look for him! He's unconscious and alone!”

“Wait.”

Cale spoke, making the two look at him.

“First, is there any possibility that he found a way to bypass the bracelet?”

Taylor thought about it for a second before speaking.

“It’s pretty strong as Cage made it and is monitoring it personally, so…”

“Ah…”

“Yes…”

Silence befalls all of them. This seems to be a very tricky case, no one knows where to even start.

“My men are discreetly looking for him, but there’s no progress yet.”

“...I’ll also keep an eye out.”

“Thank you so much, Young Master Cale.”

As soon as the call disconnected, Cale couldn’t help but slouch and sigh deeply.

“Haaaa”

Just what could’ve happened to Venion Stan?

Is this related to the plot he was talking about? Is the universe, or maybe even the gods, making Vention pay for deviating from the novel?

Cale doesn’t pity him.

Cale can’t pity him. His a grown man who doesn’t need Cale’s concerns.

No matter how child-like he seems to Cale—even if the redhead won’t admit it—Cale won't pity Venion Stan.

‘But if I don’t do anything and something happens to Venion, Raon might destroy a country…’

Just the mere thought of the toddler going on a rampage was enough to send a chill down Cale’s spine. He really needs to find Venion before that happens.

As if sensing Cale Henituse’s distress, Ron knocks on his door, stating that he bought lemon tea.

“Ron, scatter your people. Tell them to look for Venion Stan discreetly.”

The attendant looked like he had a lot of questions, but dared not voice them after seeing the distressed look on his young master's face.

“I'll inform them, young master.”

Cale has his people stationed all over this world and the next, surely they'll be able to find Venion on time.

…Right?

* * *

Surprisingly, that usual heaviness in your body was gone when you woke up this time. You could even say that you felt oddly refreshed. It's a feeling you haven't experienced during the summer break. 

You actually felt so light and refreshed that you didn't notice how you weren't in your apartment at first. But soon enough, you noticed that the bed you are in seems softer than usual. The mattress doesn't feel like something a broke uni student can afford.

“Wha- where..?”

The realisation of not being in the comfort of your home broke your dream-like trance. You looked around for clues to determine where you might be.

‘Did I get kidnapped? I’m not worth the ransom money though… Plus, if I was kidnapped, then the kidnapper is certainly richer than me.’

So why would you get kidnapped? But at the same time, there's no other explanation you could think of to justify the sudden change in setting.

‘I haven't drunk alcohol in 2 months, so I was certainly NOT drunk last night.’

After looking around for a while, you found a fancy vanity table against the wall. You got up from the cosy bed to try and inspect it. The colour was gold and certainly looked expensive.

For a moment, the possibility of being kidnapped by a rich mafia boss who's obsessed with you crossed your mind. Because all the items in the room look too high-class.

‘No, I'm too antisocial to even try and catch something like…’

“What the actual fuck???”

You couldn't help but trail off your thoughts and curse out loud as you look at your reflection in the mirror. At first, you just wanted to inspect the drawers of the vanity, hoping to find some clue as to where you were. But instead, you saw how you totally don't look like yourself.

Smooshing and pinching your facial features, you could see the mirror in front of you do the same, confirming that you are indeed looking at yourself.

“Isn't this Venion Stan from the novel I read a few months ago?”

You asked yourself as you observed the mirror reflecting you, pinching and pulling your own cheeks. Your brand-new pale white face with blonde hair staring back at you 

As you further observe your new body in the mirror you couldn't help but notice some differences from the Venion Stan you knew. First was that he was skinnier than how he was drawn in the manhwa. He already had a lanky build from what you read, but he's even skinnier than that. 

The second thing you noticed was how long his hair was. In the manhwa, you recall Venion having above-the-shoulder blonde hair. However, the reflection staring back at you has hair that reaches past the armpits.

‘His pretty… too bad his trash.’

Having had enough of pulling your reddened cheeks, you decided to explore your new vicinity, surprisingly adapting well to the fact that you transmigrated.

The house was small but certainly luxurious. It was just enough for one noble to reside in. You got the idea that it must be some kind of vacation house, the more you see the interior.

While walking towards the front door, you suddenly had a realisation. Venion might look different because it's been a while since the part of him being captured by Taylor Stan.

Then is this house not a vacation house, but something used to house-arrest Venion instead?

“Even if this is prison for that guy, this is practically a mansion for someone like me. I have no reason to complain.”

You don't have to get involved in the plot, and you get to have this fancy house to yourself? It can't get any better than this. Sure, it might be small for noble standards, but for an ordinary, modern person like you? This place was better than anything on the housing market.

Finally, you reached the front door. As you push the doors open, lush, green grass greeted you. Nature said hello with a gush of wind that refreshed you from all the thinking you’ve been doing.

As you step out, it looks like this house was built in the middle of the forest. The perfect place for people who like peace and quiet.

It’s perfect.

This is actually really perfect.

You’re sure Cale and his group can handle bringing world peace to this world. It also looks like Venion’s part in the story is done. There’s absolutely nothing left for you to do other than sit back and enjoy this simple life given to you.

‘If they come to visit, I’ll just pretend to be insane, that should be easy enough.’

Is what you thought to yourself.

“Did you know how worried I was?! Why didn’t you even try to go home?!”

…Wasn’t Venion Stan on house arrest? So why is Taylor Stan on your front door frantically looking for you like you’re a naughty child that ran away from home? You thought they just didn’t care about you anymore, that’s why they didn’t visit for months. But it turns out that you were actually missing? 

Just what is going on?

To know what happened, we must first travel back to the time when you first woke up in that house.

Cage was actually in the Super Rock Villa at the time of the incident. She had a momentary break and decided to visit and see how Cale was doing as well as give updates about the search in person. The excommunicated priestess had seen how worried the young master was about you and thought it would be better to update him in person.

Well, it was actually Raon who was worried, but Cage digressed.

The moment the two are speaking to each other, the bracelet Cage was wearing suddenly emitted a faint, yellow light, surprising both of them.

“Is that..?”

Cale asked, to which Cage softly nodded.

“Yes, I have to go back and inform everyone of what happened.”

“Please do that, I’ll also inform Ron and the others.”

With that, their conversation was cut short as both went their separate ways to alert their respective people.

“Human! I think I know where he is. I need to go to him and check if he's there!”

Raon dashed over to Cale as soon as the redhead entered the room. The toddler is restless, already preparing a magic circle to go to you at any given moment now. 

“Slow down and explain.”

Cale got hold of his child, who was flying in circles, as he was starting to get dizzy from watching. Raon complied and stayed put before starting to explain.

“The kind grandma who wears her hair in a bun! I remember Venion talking to her about building a rest house before. He might be there, and that grandma is the only one who knows the location!”

That grandma in question is actually spending a sound retirement with her family. Venion’s older brother, Taylor Stan, gave her money and house last year as Venion’s birthday gift since the younger man wouldn’t accept any other gift Taylor had.

Wasting no time, Cale informed Ron of what happened before they set off to that grandma’s house in order to know if Venion really had a secret rest house.

“Oh dear,  is that so..? He has a house in a forest near Ten Finger Mountains that I still sometimes go to to maintain. I haven’t gone there this month to clean. Usually, I would not give the address even to Master Taylor, but I’ll give it to you since Venion says he trusts you and this is an emergency.”

Cale Henituse’s face soured for a moment. First of all, when did Venion say that? And second, he thought this grandma was retired? Why is she still working for Venion when she should be spending it with her grandchildren?

“Don’t look at this old woman like that.”

The grandmother laughed as she handed him a piece of paper containing the coordinates of the house.

“The young master told me countless times not to go there anymore. But like you, I’ve also grown fond of that child, he’s also like one of my grandchildren. Plus, the nature there is good for this old body of mine.”

Cale’s face soured even more at her words. He is NOT fond of Venion Stan in any way, shape, or form.

‘I have no reason to be emotionally attached to such a guy. I’m just doing this to prevent Raon from throwing a tantrum.’

Cale and his group thanked the old lady before going back to the underground villa to plan their next move.

* * * 

“He’s there… human, his actually there!”

Raon shouted in Cale’s mind as they saw your silhouette from a distance. It was just the two with Ron visiting the rest house, where you are currently residing. The three of them teleported a few feet away from the house in order to prepare for whatever might be waiting for them.

Well, they just didn’t expect to see you have such a serene look on your face.

Your face looks peaceful, free of worries even. A look Raon has never seen on your face. It’s also something Cale had never read back when he was reading TBoaH.

“Something’s wrong, human! But I think it’s a good kind of wrong?”

Raon questioned, to which Cale nodded along. Something is definitely amiss. The Venion Stan Cale knows wouldn’t be able to get over the trauma you’ve been through like some amnesiac…

…

Wait…

Could it be..?

“Ron.”

“Yes, young master?”

“Approach Venion and pretend that you’re a lost old man wandering the woods.”

“Of course, young master.”

Raon and Cale watched from a listening distance as Ron approached you, whose tending to the flowers in the mini garden in front of the house. Your hair was tied in a half-bun, exposing your forehead. There’s also dirt on the cuffs of your sleeves as proof that you were taking care of the flowers before the assassin interrupted.

“Excuse me, young sir, could you perhaps tell me where we are? I was travelling with my young master, and we got lost with no means to go back to our inn.”

Cale could see a look of recognition pass your eyes as Ron smiled benignly at you.

‘Was I wrong..?’

The redhead had a moment of doubt, perhaps you actually found a way to get over your trauma? But if you did, then why would you run away? Assuming that you ran away at least. 

“Uh… uhm… actually I…”

You stuttered, internally panicking for a variety of reasons.

Why is Cale’s servant, who's actually an assassin in disguise?

Is Cale also here?

Are they actually lost?

Are they here to get more revenge?

How are you going to tell them that you actually don’t know anything, let alone where you are?

“Are you perhaps hesitant to talk to me because I’m a stranger? I’m sorry for that. My name is Ron Molan, and I serve the Henituse household. To be specific, I am currently serving Young Master Cale Henituse.”

Ron made an excuse for you to which you graciously accepted.

“Ah yes, that’s part of it… But it’s also because I don’t know where we are… You see, I don’t really remember anything? I just woke up here one day with no recollection whatsoever. I’m sorry that I can’t be of help in getting out of here, but my house has some spare bedrooms that I can lend to your party as you try and figure out how to get out of here.”

You decided to tell Ron the truth as you figured they are not here to get more revenge, at least.

‘This is their scamming approach, so I should be fine. I don’t have any powers or knowledge that would help Cale save the world anyway.’

With that conviction, you truthfully explained the situation to the assassin as you don’t have much of a choice anyway.

“Is that so, then we’ll take you up on your kind offer. I shall go fetch my young master”

Just as Ron was about to turn around, Raon spoke in his head.

“Lemonade Gramps! The weak human said it’s okay to tell Venion that the great and mighty me is here!”

“Oh, and please do keep this a secret, but we have a great and mighty dragon with us.”

Ron smiled benignly once more before turning around to where Cale and Raon were. Leaving you confused by the bombshell information you just received.

‘...Did I assess the situation wrong? They don’t disclose that information just to anyone, right?’

* * *

“I’ll entrust my brother to you then, young master. Please take care, and I’ll try to go there as soon as I can.”

Taylor’s words went in Raon’s one ear and out the other. It has been a few hours since they entered your house, and Raon has been in a dazed ever since. The toddler just can’t believe his seeing you act so lively… smile so freely.  

Raon had only seen such things in his dreams.

It’s a shame that you can’t remember anything, but on the other hand, he was also glad you had no recollection of what happened. Raon doesn’t think he would get the chance to see you so content if you still have your memories intact.

The black dragon was so out of it the whole day. Sure, he still performed his tasks well, but everyone could tell how he was constantly in a daze. Looking at everything as if it were his first time seeing the world once more. 

He also seemed to cling more to you, cuddling you up every chance he gets, instead of sticking close to Cale as he normally would. The toddler’s actions confused you, made you wonder what happened in the past that made Raon act so close with the person who was his supposed torturer.

Of course, you weren’t aware, but this is just Raon giving you all the affection he had been holding out on before. The you before Raon could see looked so fragile that he was even scared of touching you the wrong way. Fearing that one wrong touch would make you disappear forever.

And after seeing your pale skin and bloody arm as healers worked hard to revive you a few months ago?

Yeah, Raon is definitely not letting go of you anytime soon.

Honestly, it’s not just Raon acting like this. You can’t tell as they hide it better, but Cale and Ron also seem to be on guard. Not the type of guard that is on edge, but rather protective.

It’s especially apparent when you try cooking dinner. The moment you tried to pull out a knife, Ron was by your side, insisting that it’s a servant's job to do such things. That was the worst case, though, for most of the time, the two opted to observe you, making sure that you would not revert to your old mental state.

Finally, after a few more exchanged words, the call between Cale and Taylor ended, and Raon could lift the soundproof barrier he had placed to prevent you from hearing their conversation. They plan on slowly breaking the news to you tomorrow to give you time to prepare for Taylor’s arrival. They also plan to make Cage go first, acting as if she will be the one to inform Taylor of your existence after “miraculously finding a way to contact Cale”.

Raon trusts his weak human’s plan. Cale had never conjured up a plan that didn’t work. Sure, the toddler hates it when their plans end up making their human cough up blood or pass out, but never once had their plans failed badly before.

With that peace of mind, Raon was about to fall asleep when he suddenly heard a small whimper.

It seems to be coming from your room.

“Human, Venion is crying…”

At once, Cale and Raon went to your room. However, your bedroom door was already open once they arrived.

Ron, fast as ever, was already tending to you.

“It seems to be a nightmare, young master.”

The servant said as he wiped the tears from your eyes. Ron held no affection for you in particular. There’s no reason for him to have one. Although you did remind him of his son when they first ran away to the Henituse territory.

But that’s a different matter.

“Or perhaps memories.”

Cale spoke as he and Raon walked closer to your bed. As they did, they could hear your soft whimpers of “Don’t” and “I’m tired”. Raon couldn’t help but tear up a little as he looked at your state.

“Human, does this mean his going to remember? Maybe showing up was a mistake… what if we made him remember those bad memories?”

Raon cried as he lay down beside you, using his paws to wipe the continuous tears flowing down your cheeks. 

“I’m not sure. Let’s observe how he does tomorrow.”

Cale answered honestly, a bit at a loss on how he should proceed.

But it’s not like they can do much if you really do remember.

Thankfully, you continued to act happy and lively the next morning.

“Did you sleep well?”

Cale casually asked you as Ron served breakfast.

“I did, I’ve always slept well since being here! Maybe it’s the nature surrounding us, but I’ve never felt this relaxed before. Hmm, though I think I had a dream? I never seem to remember my dreams these days, though.”

‘He subconsciously remembers… we need to be careful not to make him fully remember just yet.’

Cale thought to himself as he chose his next words carefully.

“So we managed to contact someone last night.”

“Really?”

You beamed at him, genuinely happy that you’ll soon find out where you are.

“Mhm, it’s a priestess named Cage. She’s coming here tomorrow to get us.”

Cale and Raon gauged your reaction; you seem to be doing well, so the redhead continued speaking.

“You actually know her. She’s a friend of your brother.”

“Oh you mean Taylor Stan? The one you told me about?”

The redhead hummed affirmatively as he continued to eat his breakfast. From the kitchen, he could see Ron staying alert as well, ready for anything that could possibly happen in case you remembered something.

“There’s a chance she already told your brother about you, so there’s a chance he’ll follow here after her.”

If you’re being honest, the thought of meeting Taylor Stan scares you. He was lenient to Venion in the novel, but he may still harbour some ill will becuase of all the things the original Venion Stan did.

But for some reason, you don’t think that will happen.

On the contrary, the mere thought of him brings you a sense of comfort. Like a long-lost hyung you haven’t seen for a long time.

Weird… but maybe the original Venion Stan had some lingering brotherly feelings for Taylor?

‘What kind of loving brother incapacitates their hyung though?’

* * *

And that now brings us back to the current situation.

“Did you know how worried I was?! Why didn’t you even try to go home?!”

Taylor Stan couldn’t help but hug you tightly the moment you opened the door. You think a lone tear or two landed on your shoulder, but you’re unsure.

“I didn’t want to risk getting lost…”

You tried to reason helplessly as everyone else inside the house went out to the front porch to greet the marquis. All of you talked for a few minutes before going back to your respective homes. Of course, Taylor promised you that you could go back to this house anytime you want.

Life with Taylor is comfortable, cushy even. You’re supposed to be a convicted criminal, but he spoils you so much.

“Yeah, you’re actually serving your sentence right now. Your punishment is house arrest, and since you ran away from home, your sentence has been extended.”

Taylor smiled at you, and you could only look confused at his logic.

Well, it’s not like you can contest the marquis’ words. Plus, everything works out well for you.

* * *

“...Can I call you hyung?”

You suddenly spoke as the two of you were eating dinner. It’s been a month since you returned home, and you’ve been meaning to ask for a week now.

You’re not sure if you have the right to do so, but he really just gives off a comfortable feeling. Unsure why, but his been your safe person ever since you came to this world despite him not being your favourite character when you were reading the novel.

Meanwhile, Taylor is having a hard time keeping a straight face. He feels so giddy, so excited that you asked to call him hyung, as he had to tell you before. If he as being completely honest, he was glad you lost your memories. Sure, you may have a hard time sometimes, but it's miles better than your state months before.

It’s a fact that everyone around you could agree on that you had no clue about.

“Of course you could, you’re my dongsaeng after all.”

A wide smile etched your face at the approval.

“Okay, hyung!”

But then it fell as you remembered something.

“Honestly, I feel bad I can’t remember anything. I seem to have a good relationship with everyone, and I can’t remember a thing…”

“You don’t have to be. You remember what we told you about you suddenly disappearing because of some unknown force when you were sick, right? All of us are just glad you made it back safely.”

Taylor stopped eating for a moment in order to talk to you seriously. He does not want to see you spiralling into any kind of underserve guilt once more.

Your previous wrecked mental state really took a toll on everyone. 

But that’s now water under the bridge.

Right now, the only thing that matters is the fact that you are happy and smiling.

Taylor Stan couldn’t ask for anything more.

[crowttore]

A knight's duty - Dainsleif x reader

Note: You're not being paranoid if people really are out to get you.

Tags: Dainsleif x Khaenri'ahn royalty!reader, hints at reincarnation, pining, unhappy ending (like with all Dain's life), 1.6k

He could see how fatigue had begun to coil around you, every movement more sluggish than the previous. The tip of your sword was quivering, your leather gloves taut over the back of your hand from how hard you gripped the hilt.

Seeing the glistening beads of sweat trickle down your forehead almost made Dainsleif feel remorseful about how hard he'd been pushing you lately.

Almost.

With practiced ease, he sidestepped your swiftly descending blade, refraining from countering lest he risk injuring you. The soft contours of your body were never meant to bear the weight of armor, yet Dainsleif's biggest concern lay with how brightly your eyes shone. Surely, there were already plenty who coveted that radiance.

How he wished you would see nothing but peace when it came time for you to reign.

"Captain, can we please rest for today? You're not even focused," your whine reached his ears just before the sound of your sword clattering to the ground.

Dainsleif saw how you rubbed your hands, wanting desperately to erase every trace of callouses and bruises formed under his watch.

"We will continue for the allocated duration, princess. Vary your swings and use your momentum as I demonstrated earlier, this is a duel, not a drill."

A feeling of dread had haunted Dainsleif for weeks, his eyes always lingering in the corners of the palace, convincing himself no shadows trailed along the stone. It had begun with the odd withdrawal of his brother, yet he knew better than to let a single act incite panic. This was hardly the first time there had been disagreements or secrets between the two.

Somehow, this felt different.

His eyes flickered to you, repressing a faint tug at his lips upon being met with a petulant expression as you adjusted the sword in your hand.

"My time would be better spent in the library Dain, I'm no good at this."

"We practice to improve."

With a sigh, he parried your foolhardy jab.

"It's not like war is at our door, besides, I have you to look out for me."

"Being able to defend yourself is never wasted, if anything was to happen-"

A downward slash, easily dodged with your lack of reach. What made him raise an eyebrow was the exasperation in your voice as you interrupted him.

"You're always so paranoid, people are happy here."

He hardly had time to consider his words, speaking them more to himself than you.

"It is not paranoia if people really are out to get you."

It had been spoken so softly, words barely formed in his mind where they should have been confined to. He should have screamed it for all to hear. Perhaps then, things could have been different.

Rarely did he look at the sky, what reason did he have when he yearned to bury himself again, freed from the oppressive stares above. His only solace was knowing you'd fallen before the curse had taken hold.

After so many years, he'd come to accept that his failure to protect you in the initial chaos was the only blessing he would receive from this world.

Dainsleif had once been told that the Twilight Sword, whenever bared, was fated to strike down a man.

But what good had titles, legacies, and prophesies ever done him?

Centuries had passed, yet he still felt the softness of your lips in the apple blossoms weaving through his fingers, felt your caress against his blackened skin in the warm autumn breeze, the color of the sky reflecting your eyes alight with stars when he'd first brought you outside the safety of Khaenri'ah.

Your parents had been surprisingly lenient when they learned of that escapade. Too late did he recognize the muted sorrow mixing with relief in their eyes when they saw your happiness; no doubt they had felt the impending disaster.

The mere notion made him seethe, a dull ache that sat behind ruined flesh in a grim reminder of his own oversight.

Worst of all, he swore he'd seen you, laughing as you spun clumsily around in a field of cecilias, sword clutched too tightly in your hand - just like always - in what was undoubtedly your definition of training.

His knees had hit the soft bedding of moss without his awareness, hand already pressed to his heart in preparation to bow. Or was it merely because something he thought lost long ago suddenly hurt?

Legend told that a scratch from the Twilight Sword would never heal. Dainsleif had never considered if perhaps such a weapon could not be mended either. If that was the price to pay for wielding such power.

How long had passed in quiet observation Dainsleif had no idea, like a petrified fool he'd watched until the sun bathed you in warm gold, feeling greed settle like a fog over his mind the longer he watched. It was to protect you; whoever 'you' were now, he supposed. No one acting so careless should be left alone in the wilderness.

That was the excuse he gave as he remained unmoving, drinking in the enchanting visage as you swung at nothing, swearing some of your movements were familiar. It was predictable how quickly you discarded the dull blade to instead lay down in the sea of flowers.

A soft rustle in his periphery was all the disturbance needed for his hand to twitch at the hilt of his blade, old instincts flaring as he suppressed the urge to call your name. The thought of how it would feel upon his tongue made his stomach lurch in fear, yet it still paled before the image of how you'd turned towards him, blood dripping from where a blade was lodged between your ribs.

Fear, agony, and sorrow. Your bubbly voice had been tainted by the ichor that spilled from your lips, a gargled mockery of his name the last thing to leave you beside sobs.

Three foxes hopped from a nearby shrubbery, bringing his thoughts back as he sighed in relief, a few critters were no threat. He shrank down a little further behind his cover as you sat up and looked around, noting with a small smile that at least your senses weren't entirely dull. Perhaps you spent less time in the library here- Dainsleif pushed aside the thought of how much you'd miss all your old books if you knew of their destruction.

Though there were stars dancing in your eyes as the crimson foxes chirped and approached, eagerly pawing at the bag you'd rested your head atop, they were far from the ones he longed to see; even if he knew it had only ever been a foolish hope. You were someone else. Surely, they would not be so cruel as to-

Ah but why wouldn't they?

If there was a single certainty in this cursed existence, it was the continuous cruelty of Celestia. Dainsleif had seen enough come and go without change to a single constellation to understand.

Dainsleif was well aware of his own folly. Already, he had far overstayed his welcome in the City of Freedom, constantly feeling the eyes of inexperienced knights tracing his every move.

Yet he couldn't bring himself to leave, nothing truly urgent enough that he couldn't justify staying here just as well as continuing his hunt elsewhere. After all, Mondstadt was a vile den of monsters if only you looked closely.

Falling into a routine had been easy, feeling how his being longed to adjust even if it enhanced that crumbling sensation in his mind.

For you, he would endure erosion far worse.

For all his care, Dainsleif knew he was far from infallible, a fact proven time and time again, and so it came as no great shock when he looked up from the glass of apple cider he'd been nursing to see you cautiously peering at him.

"You've been following me."

The liquid tingled as it flowed down his throat, fingers gripping the stem a little tighter than necessary at the way your eyes flickered between his face and hand.

"I want to know why," your voice shook with faux confidence as you sat down opposite him, eyes determined to hold him hostage without any effort.

You'd died in his arms and he had mourned a love that never had time to blossom, suffered the passage of centuries alone, only to be confronted with your voice after giving up on his own desires. Even if he should forget himself, he would never mistake how your lips formed the sweetest of sounds.

The urge to run had lodged itself into his bones and itched for control, locked in fierce battle with the need to grasp your cheeks, soft-looking as ever, and feel the reality of your flesh sinking beneath his fingers.

"I mistook you for someone else," neither truth nor lie, Dainsleif found unfit words gathering quickly and threatening to spill over.

Your eyes narrowed in healthy suspicion, fingers drumming against the wooden table loud enough that were it not for the bard performing, the other patrons would've surely glanced your way.

"You 'mistook me for someone else' for several days? You realise how unlikely that sounds, why didn't you simply ask?"

The rest of the conversation was nothing but a blur as he crossed the bridge, midnight breeze cooling his skin. You could take care of yourself, be happy here, without him and his curse.

Everything he touched was fated to die. For you, his hands could continue to twitch at his sides without relief, tears that he had not expected his body able to conjure could continue to press behind his eyes.

Genshin masterlist

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Word with friends 6-2

Wonderful word game by @hedwigoprah

Rules: Use the challenge word to write a sentence or scene and then tag a few friends. Happy writing!

This Week's word is :: Avarice (noun)

1. Excessive or inordinate desire of gain; greed for wealth

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Wearing loose fitting pajama pants Zalan was lounging across three cushions of the couch in the baggiest shirt he owned and frowning. He was looking at the tv but wasn’t paying any attention to whatever show was on. He only had something on to kill time anyway, really he was just bored and waiting for—

The door swung open and Zalan immediately perked up, sitting up to look over the couch back at Harding, ready to tease her for taking so long when he caught sight of her.

“Lace!” Harding was standing there panting, slamming the door shut behind her. A dark red bruise was already blooming over her eye and cheek, her lip was split, there was a cut on her forehead still bleeding. Zalan was hopping over the back of the couch and standing in front of her before she could speak. Gently he held her face examining the damage.

“Daathrata’s goons got me, but that’s not important what’s important is he sent me with a message.” She was speaking in a rush but Zalan was only half listening, his fingertips brushing against her skin, concern for her evident on his face.

“Which goons did this?” He was tilting her chin up trying to decide how bad the bruising was. Harding swatted his hands away,

“Zalan! You aren’t listening to me, he was sending a message. He knows who we are, he called you out by name, not by your crow codeword but your full name. That means he knows where we live, everything about you.” She insisted, trying to get through his thick head but he was gently corralling her towards the little kitchen area and turning away only long enough to pull out a first aid kit from under the sink.

“I can worry about how much danger we’re in after I smash someone’s face in for doing this to you.” He didn’t growl the words but he wanted to. Instead he pulled out a wipe to dab at the cut still oozing blood on her forehead. Softly he brushed away some stray hairs; there were more flyaways than normal, parts of her braids had hair sticking out at funny angles like they’d been yanked on and there were strands loose dangling around her face.

“Viago will-“ she’d started at seeing the way his eyes narrowed, she was always too perceptive, always able to know what he was thinking too well.

“Tell me which underlings Lace, please.” He interrupted, his thumb rubbing under her uninjured eye, angry face softening for a moment as he leaned closer to her. She let out a sigh that he was sure was partially exasperated but there was some relief in it too with the way she leaned into it briefly.

“It was the two bouncers for that stupid strip club- The Jewel of Antiva.” She grumbled, pulling Zalan’s hand away and glaring up at him. “But if you just go over there and kill them you know Viago will be pissed. The Crows have a very tenuous truce with the Daathrata family, if we go after them directly it could be all out war.” She spoke slowly and seriously like she was trying to make him see reason but Zalan didn’t care. He knew Viago would kill him if he waltzed in and shot them but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make it look like an accident. Or a robbery gone wrong. Or a hundred other ways Zalan could hide the deaths while making sure they suffered for touching Lace Harding.

“Discreet is my middle name, Lace.” He teased, putting a small bandage over the worst of the cuts while she rolled her eyes at him.

//

It was almost dark by the time Zalan had gotten both him and Harding moved to a new apartment. Viago hadn’t been happy but they had been wondering for some time now when the other shoe would drop after the data one of their more mysterious contracts asked for had ended up being used in a move against the Daathrata’s empire. Zalan still maintained that the crows had no idea when he got the info that it would be used against the Butcher’s newer mob enterprise so it wasn’t his fault. But despite being upset at him Viago still set them up with a new apartment in a different part of town under some new name.

As soon as they were settled in enough and Harding had been patched up Zalan changed into his gear. Lace followed him around trying to talk him down but he was determined. If they wanted to send him a message they wouldn’t be doing it through Harding again.

“Fine then.” She finally said before grabbing at her own gear from the bags scattered around their bedroom. But Zalan gently pulled her away from the bags,

“You are hurt and I’m only going to kill a few guys, I shouldn’t need you tracking ten locations and covering me. I should be in and out and be back before dawn.” He joked, stepping close and cradling her face in his hands. “I love you and I won’t let them get away with hurting you like this.”

She grumbled at him but yanked him in for a kiss which Zalan returned eagerly before stepping away. He promised Harding he’d be back before sunrise and by the blood that would soon cover his hands come dawn he would keep that promise.

//

The shadows were thick around the downtown strip club. People; loud people, drunk people, people looking for good times milled around the streets, the alleyways clogged with rushing bodies. The sights and sounds of the busy high tech city of Treviso was usually like white noise to Zalan- a calming drone, but tonight it was something to be filtered out, ignored. Tonight he was on the hunt.

In an alley just off one side of the building the crow was positioned up high; not fully on the rooftops but high enough for him to have a vantage point. He was fully decked out in his tactical gear and crouched on someone’s fire escape. There he waited. Silent as falling snow. The noise dipped and grew as time ticked by, But after several hours his targets turned into the alley. They were escorting one of their showgirls to the parking lot around back, sniping quietly at the girl.

The moment they were far enough down the alley they wouldn’t be easily noticed from the road he dropped down. Crashing onto the shoulders of one of the big quanri he used his momentum to shove the bouncer to the ground, smashing the larger man’s face into the pavement. There was a curse from his other side and Zalan swiveled on his heels, lunging for the other guard before he could draw a gun. Knocking the guard over he scrambled onto his back, slipping the steel wire of the garrote around the qunari’s neck and yanked.

The girl had made some startled gasp but wasn’t screaming yet and Zalan spared her a glance while the man under him struggled.

“Get out of here. Don’t turn back. Leave before I change my mind.” He snapped, voice strained from the effort. The girl was pale but she nodded and scurried off. Zalan turned back to the Qunari on the ground and reeled the wire back around his hand again, ignoring the angry gurgles coming from the man, stepping on one of his flailing hands, pinning it to the pavement. Leaning back to put more pressure he could feel the panic through the spasming muscles of the man but just as he was about to reel in another length of wire he was grabbed from behind.

The other bouncer hadn’t stayed down and yanked Zalan by the back of his shirt. The crow cursed and fumbled with the piano wire wrapped around his hands. He could feel the steel bite into his skin through his gloves but he could also feel how much tension that had put on the bodyguard on the ground too. The gurgles were cut off as the force pulled the sharpened wire into the man’s neck cutting it open. Blood spilled onto the concrete and the crow hastily slipped one hand out of the wire, that end falling to the ground and sliding through the wound, cutting deeper.

The bouncer threw Zalan back against a wall. The air wheezed out of him at the impact and the Qunari growled, stalking towards him, nose broken.

“What do we have here- a little crow? Aren’t you too far from your cage?” He taunted, grabbing for Zalan. The assassin ducked out of reach and threw himself past the muscular qunari tossing out a hidden knife. It embedded into the bouncer’s thigh. With a curse the bouncer tried to throw a punch at Zalan who nimbly dodged out of the way.

“Are you here for revenge? For your little dwarf whore? Did she bruise up prettily?” The big man jeered, laughing cruelly at the crow. Zalan whipped his head to he qunari, caution thrown to the wind he leapt at the man, clinging to his back and kicking the knife handle to dig it deeper into the man’s flesh. The bouncer punched at Zalan’s head, connecting several times before the crow dug another small dagger into the meat of his shoulder. He desperately wished in that moment he’d brought his poison tipped knives but he’d told Lace he wouldn’t make it obvious who killed them. He was regretting that choice now as he bouncer growled in pain and slammed his back against the brick of the wall. Zalan grunted at the pain and air whooshing out of him again. He managed to get his feet back under him as he slid down the wall having been dislodged from the man’s back and stood on shaky legs.

“You brought this upon yourself little crow. Your own avarice, your greed, doomed you both. You’ll regret your actions then and now. If you’d just stayed out of the Butcher’s business you wouldn’t need to worry about what we’ll do to her next time.” The big man grinned, a vile thing, and punched at Zalan. Rage helped numb the pain and he took the hit then slid in close to the qunari’s body, kneeing him in the stomach and grabbing onto his neck when he bent over in pain. Grinding his teeth Zalan threw himself into a full body twist, rotating himself until he heard the ugly snap of the man’s neck and felt him go limp and released him letting him fall to the ground.

Breathing hard and with the pain starting to sink in he sneered at the two bodies, retrieving his knives and wire from where they lay.

“I regret nothing. Except not murdering you faster.” He grumbled, pouring lighter fluid over the two men. He drug the two further into the alley and limped back a little ways, tossing the match onto the pile, setting it ablaze. He’d have to get out of there quickly now and he huffed a breath, knowing the bruises would slow him down.

He turned to start his climb back up the fire escape when a headlight flashed over him and the rev of an engine made him glance to the opening of the tiny street. A motorcycle sat there and when the rider flipped up their visor Ilene’s face greeted him.

“Get on the bike if you know what’s good for you.” She called and with a resigned sigh he ignored the pain and jogged over to her, climbing on behind her despite the ever present undercurrent of dread that always settled in the pit of his gut when he rode.

“Who told you?” He grumbled, gripping her middle and praying to everything that she wouldn’t decide to just kick him off the moving bike somewhere at top speed later.

“Harding called and told me you were being an idiot again.” She yelled the words over her shoulder and he tried to ignore the fact there wasn’t a helmet to put on as she gunned it down the road, the speed making his insides drop and his stomach flip. Of course Harding had. At the moment he was grateful not to have to limp his way back but he also knew the other de Riva was going to give him hell when they got back. But he still told himself it was worth it as they sped at incredibly high speeds far away from the fire in that lonely little alley.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s a little on the late side but I’ll go ahead and gently tag some people (who’ve probably already done theirs but just in case you haven’t) @pixiedurango @davrinsleftpectoral @chaosherald @annfirestar @shadowcrow @falcatas @thedissonantverses

@kabsey I borrowed your Rook for just a second, she’s too cool and should definitely still smack Zalan (also let me know if I should change/add anything for her)

[themoonlightfae]

Teasing to Please

Pairings: fem!Reader x Matz

Part of The So Unknown - The Spinoffs

Summary: You've been teasing Hongjoong relentlessly for a week. This comes back to bite you after a group date with Seonghwa, but let's be real: you're not sorry.

Genre: Vampire AU

WC (Total): 2,662

Rating: Explicit

Originally Published: 250519 on ao3

Tags: Under the cut

Tags: alternate Universe - vampire, plot what plot/porn without plot, safe sane and consensual, established relationship, teasing, orgasm denial, St. Andrew's Cross, pussy slapping, sensory play, bondage, light dom/sub, threesome - F/M/M, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough sex, vaginal fingering, squirting

You grunted as Seonghwa pushed you roughly against the wall of the garage, following you quickly to slot his lithe form against yours. You wrapped your arms around his waist instinctively as his lips met your own again. He nipped at your lip before delving his tongue into your mouth, gasping as you slid one hand over the growing bulge in his jeans and began to rub up and down his length.

Both of you stopped suddenly as someone cleared their throat loudly. You sprung apart to see Hongjoong standing there, holding the car keys in one hand and his bag with the other, a bemused expression on his fair features. 

“Couldn’t even wait five minutes?” He smirked. "Like horny teenagers."

“You say like you didn’t have your tongue down her throat at the drive in,” Seonghwa countered. “Let’s go watch Casablanca!” Seonghwa said in sing-song, making a face at Hongjoong. “"How much of the movie did you actually watch, Joong?”

Hongjoong was now looking a level of sheepishness that you hadn’t seen in decades, and you giggled. 

“He has a point,” you shrugged.

Your gaze flicked back to Seonghwa. “Although you’re far from innocent yourself. Between the two of you, I didn’t see the majority of the film. Just saying,” you added with a smirk. “The end credits were nice at least.”

“Hey, did Mingi text you back?” Hongjoong asked Seonghwa, apropos of nothing, and you raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” Seonghwa nodded, and you caught the wicked grin on his face before he managed to smooth it over. “We’re good.” 

Hongjoong sidled up to you slowly, and in that moment you realized that the two of them were eyeing you like a meal. 

“Little bird…” Hongjoong whispered. “What would you say to a little fun in Mingi’s newly finished playroom?”

You gulped, but the word was past your lips before you could think twice.

“Absolutely.”

A short while later, you found yourself lying between Hongjoong and Seonghwa on the bed in the playroom, all clothing long forgotten on the floor and their hands wandering every inch of your exposed skin. You already felt like a live wire under their ministrations, and they had scarcely touched you except to tease in every spot you wanted it most. 

“Is there anything off the table tonight?” Seonghwa asked softly as he dragged his lips over your shoulder. 

“Not that I can think of,” you told him, gasping as he nipped at you. “What did you have in mind?”

You peered back behind you to see that same demonic smile you’d gotten a glimpse of earlier, and your heart, though it had not beat in ages, dropped into your stomach all the same. It had been well over a hundred years since you'd come to be with these men, and they still drove you just as wild as they had when you had first started your relationships. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure," he said, his gaze almost bordering on cautious as he looked down at you. “So many options. Hongjoong? What do you think?”

You looked back to see Joong’s gaze extended beyond the bed, to the far wall where the St. Andrews cross stood. 

In all your years with the clan, Mingi had yet to strap you to it. You’d discussed it plenty of times, but Mingi usually lost patience easily these days, more inclined to cut right to the chase and fuck you senseless until neither of you could form any coherent thought. 

“I have a few ideas,” he said with a smirk. “Little bird…” 

“Hmm?” 

“Get up.”

You shivered. You moved instinctually to do exactly what he said, but then you had another, much more dangerous thought.

Oh. Oh god. Do I even dare? 

You zoned back in to see Hongjoong, now staring at you expectantly, one eyebrow cocked high. You gasped as you felt Seonghwa’s fingers digging into your hip. 

“Do what he says, darling. Now."

“Or what?” You asked before you could stop yourself, enjoying the butterflies in your stomach far too much as Hongjoong’s stare turned sour. 

“Ah-ah,” he tutted. “That won’t do.”

“Color?” Seonghwa whispered in your ear. 

“Green,” you answered quickly. 

Before you could register, the two of them had you on your feet and were marching you across the room. You shivered as the cool wood of the cross touched your skin. Seonghwa and Hongjoong made quick work of the bindings, and Seonghwa stepped forward, holding a blindfold. 

“Wait,” Hongjoong said, holding up a hand. “She’s being a brat. Wouldn’t it be better to know what’s coming?”

“No,” Seonghwa started, and stopped the second you started giggling. 

“Are you guys really gonna stand there and debate whether to blindfold me, while you have me strapped in here?” You snickered. “Seriously.”

“Fuck it,” Hongjoong said. “Blindfold her.” 

Once Seonghwa had the blindfold securely in place, you felt someone come near, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and you shivered. 

“You’re going to obey your masters tonight,” Hongjoong whispered. “Do you understand? No ifs, ands, and certainly no buts.”

You stifled a laugh, and you could tell he knew, as swiftly as his hand connected with your center— the slap wasn’t enough to hurt, but it certainly got your attention, and every other thought you had faded away as you felt wetness pooling between your legs, the sting of Hongjoong’s hand still lingering.

“Yes sir,” you nodded, though you had little intent to let them have what they wanted that easily. 

In the background, you heard Seonghwa muttering, and the sounds of things being moved around in a drawer. You had no idea what to expect— Mingi had told you that he had ordered many new toys for the clan’s new playroom, and you had not pried, wanting to be surprised.

You had also expected your first time in this room to be with Mingi. 

Trial by fire…

Seconds later, the prickle of a pinwheel grazed down the side of your neck, but it was gone just as quickly, and you whined loudly. You heard Seonghwa chuckle. 

“Hmm, I like the way you think, Hwa,” Hongjoong said smoothly. “Oh, thank you,” he added, and your mind was racing again, desperation at the forefront as you tried to decipher what they were about to do. 

A feather touch on your inner thigh made you yelp in surprise, and you tried to take deep breaths as it worked its way up your body, across and over your breasts, and back down. Meanwhile, Seonghwa continued to tease with the pinwheel— both of them seemingly hellbent on driving you insane as they teased you. They were certainly making sure to hit each and every sensitive spot they were aware of, and it wasn’t long before you were a quivering mess, so turned on you could barely stand it, your cunt nearly dripping. 

“So desperate to be touched, little bird?” Hongjoong asked. "You want a cock inside you, hmm? I can tell."

Well, yes, but that sounds like a trap.

You weighed your options quickly, and again decided on the one you knew would get a rise out of Hongjoong. The two of you had been teasing each other for days, and you’d made it your mission to be a brat, just for fun. It wasn’t your norm, but it was fun to mix things up once in a while. Especially when it got Hongjoong this riled.

Another slap to your center snapped you back to reality.

“I asked you a question,” Hongjoong hissed. “Color, love?”

“Yeah, I know,” you told him. “I heard you. And it’s green,” you said nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders just because you knew it would drive him crazier. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Good? That’s laughable,” Hongjoong returned. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been doing this week, little bird. Pressing my buttons like you have.”

“Hey, at least I know how to work a large variety of buttons,” you shot back, earning another, harder swat to your sensitive folds. 

You heard Seonghwa giggling, and another sound of skin on skin, deducing quickly that Hongjoong had likely punched Hwa in the arm. 

“You are being quite naughty, my moon,” Hwa’s voice sounded in your ear, and you felt his body, so close to yours, and yet so far away. The proximity alone made your head spin, and you longed for them to touch you.

Can't give in now.

“Quite sure I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you replied. 

Seonghwa laughed softly, nipping at your earlobe before running just the tip of his long tongue down your neck. 

“Is that right? You mean to tell me that Hongjoong is just being dramatic? You haven’t been an unholy terror all week?”

“I hardly think ‘unholy terror’ is fair,” you scoffed. "A minor terror at best, maybe."

You felt Hongjoong next to you immediately, his lips back against your ear. You could feel the annoyance rolling off of him in waves, and you bit your lip. 

“Oh really? So you don’t think that edging me for an hour yesterday and then leaving me to my own devices was troublesome at all, hmm?”

“I mean,” you giggled. “ I had fun.”

You were getting a little tired of being tied up now, if for no other reason than you wanted just a bit to rest your arms. But you were too committed to the bit to stop being a brat now. You knew Hongjoong had been stressed; the newest move had not gone as smoothly as previous ones and he had spent many hours on the phone that week, trying to track down a significant amount of half the clan’s belongings. This combined with the normal pressure he always felt as the clan's leader had done a number on him.

It seemed your words were enough, however, and after a short whispered back and forth between your lovers, you found yourself untied. You reached for the blindfold, and Hongjoong tutted again. 

“Don’t even dare, little bird.”

“Don’t? Really? But what if…” Your fingertips brushed the fabric, and you could feel the glare he was giving you.

“Little bird…”

“Hmm?” You said sweetly. “You seem stressed, Joongie. Something bothering you?”

“Yes,” he said, as two sets of hands grabbed you roughly, all but dragging you back across the room, bending you over the bed. 

You felt hands on your waist, pulling you down slightly, as the head of a cock brushed against your slick folds. You were so wet it was almost embarrassing, and Hongjoong lost no time in aligning himself and pushing into you in one devastatingly hard thrust. A string of curses followed as he bottomed out, and he set a punishing pace at once, slamming back into you each time with a ferocity that left you breathless despite not needing to breathe at all. 

A split second later, nimble fingers undid your blindfold, and you were met with the sight of Seonghwa, sitting in front of you on the bed, legs spread, cock on full display and standing at attention, the tip angry red and leaking pre-cum. 

“Suck… him…” Hongjoong grunted. “If… if you want… to… come…”

It dawned on you what Hongjoong’s game was without him having to say a word, and you obediently ducked your head, taking Hwa’s cock into your mouth, inch by glorious inch. You brought one hand up to cup his balls as you did so, relishing the deep moan that came from Seonghwa’s throat as you worked his rock-hard cock with your tongue.

“Fuck,” he whined as you increased your pace. “Your mouth is absolutely sinful,” he added, and you peered up at him through your lashes as you grasped the base of his cock with your other hand, somehow managing to maintain your composure as Hongjoong continued to rail into you with strokes so hard they shook the bed. 

Your own release was building, the thrill of teasing Hongjoong combined with the teasing you’d received earlier leaving you incredibly sensitive, and you felt yourself tightening around Hongjoong’s cock. He stopped suddely, and you whined. 

“No,” he said, pushing inside you again and staying still. “Not yet, little bird. Not after you've been such a fucking brat. I thought I told you to obey.”

You ignored him, knowing it would just further irritate him, and concentrated on swirling your tongue around the head of Seonghwa’s cock. Moments later, Hongjoong began again, timing his first thrust just as you took Seonghwa to the hilt, causing you to choke slightly. Seonghwa fisted a hand in your hair, laughing to himself as he held your head still, now fucking up into your mouth slowly, that demon grin plastered on his face once more as he watched you drooling around his length. 

“Mmm,” Hongjoong grunted, his fingers digging into you hips with much more pressure now. “Fuck.”

“Mmhmm,” you murmured, grinning as best you could as Seonghwa shivered. You were still playing with his balls as you sucked him, and you could tell he was getting close just as quickly as Hongjoong was, as both their thrusts became messier, more erratic. 

Seonghwa was the first to come, and you swallowed every drop obediently, knowing that Hongjoong would never let you have your own release otherwise. 

As Seonghwa slumped back onto the bed, propping himself on his elbows, Hongjoong was muttering behind you, a mix of curses and moans, and with one final thrust, he emptied himself deep inside you, cock twitching as he came so hard that you heard him stifling his own scream of pleasure, other hand still gripping your hip tightly as he shook and shuddered against you. You mourned the feeling of fullness as he pulled out. You had been so close, and he hadn’t even noticed, not that you were upset. You had accomplished your goal. 

“So… good…” Hongjoong sighed. “But little bird, you didn’t come for me. That just won’t do.” 

“I volunteer as tribute,” Seonghwa said quickly, tugging you up onto the bed with him. You looked back to see Hongjoong was staring at the two of you, puzzled.

“Huh?”

“Ah, someone is behind on their pop culture studies again,” Hwa smirked as he laid you back against the pillows, settling between your legs. “No wonder you’ve been giving him such a hard time.”

“Don’t be mean to me,” Hongjoong whined, his demeanor much calmer now in more ways than one as he clambered up onto the bed to lay next to you, just as Seonghwa closed his lips around your clit. You shrieked, so sensitive that you could barely stand it, realizing no one had even touched the swollen bud until now. 

Seonghwa was making up for it quickly, however, and now it was your turn to pull his hair as he suckled at your clit, pushing three fingers deep inside you and beginning to thrust. Hongjoong was teasing your nipples, nipping and sucking in time with Seonghwa, and it wasn’t long at all before you were teetering on the edge once more, white-hot pleasure building deep in your core and threatening to overwhelm you. 

“Hwa,” you whined loudly. “Please… right there…” 

“Come,” they both commanded at once. 

It was a little unnerving how it seemed to work every time, yet you found yourself writhing on the bed anyway, screaming their names as you soaked the bedsheets with your own cum. 

“So good for us,” Hongjoong cooed as you came down from your high and Seonghwa settled on your other side. “Sometimes.”

“What can I say?” You giggled. “I aim to misbehave.”

“Heh,” Seonghwa snickered. “Bet he doesn’t get that one either.”

“What?” Hongjoong was staring at you quizzically once more. 

You glanced back at Seonghwa, and the two of you burst into wild laughter. 

“Hey! Stop making fun of me!” Hongjoong huffed. 

“Or what?” You retorted. 

“Keep it up and you’ll find out,” he whispered in your ear. 

Hmm. Challenge accepted. 

It was going to be a very long night.

[borndalemouche]

Okay so I started to write in the tags but I was too inspired and I ran out, so let me write this here instead:

Cue huge angsty misunderstandings between Eric and Assad afterwards.

At first, Eric would be sad that Assad is acting like nothing happened. But then, as Assad would seem way too dedicated to it, not even offering him a small, 'Don't worry about it, let's just forget it,' he starts to overthink and feel guilty. What if Assad was way too drunk and he'd taken advantage? Maybe Assad is acting like nothing happened to cope with what did happen, maybe it's so bad he's having some sort of post-traumatic amnesia...

Eric would let the confusion and guilt eat at him and gradually distance himself from Assad. Assad, in turn, would see his friend/coworker/crush become more and more distant, until Eric seems to barely even stand talking to him. He'd be heartbroken and start trying less and less to keep their friendship going. Which, of course, would comfort Eric in his belief that he fucked.

It would get to a point where it's painful for the both of them to work together, they're visibly uncomfortable anytime they're near each other and everyone is asking them if they're okay and what happened. Eventually, Rolin would decide to lock them in a room and force them to talk. (He's probably thinking they should fuck it out.) They'd end up talking and Eric would apologise profusely, almost on his knees, begging Assad to understand he didn't mean to, 'I really thought you wanted it-Fuck that sounds bad- I mean, I never wanted to take advantage, I respect too much. Of course, I'm attracted to you, you're gorgeous and clever and talented and kind and- I would never had done anything if I'd realised you didn't want to. There are no excuses, but, still, please, I'm so sorry...'

Assad would be real confused, because Eric basically just confessed to liking him, but also, 'What are you talking about?'

Eric would explain, not without trouble, and Assad would absolutely start panicking internally. Did he hook up with Eric and not remember? That would be concerning and disappointing!

'When did that happen?' he'd ask.

And Eric would answer, 'That night we got drunk at the hotel bar, you know, when you had those two days off a week ago.'

And Assad would be confused because, 'I wasn't even at the hotel? In fact, I wasn't even in the city! My sister was in the country and we spent those two days visiting a city two hours away.'

Needless to say, they'd leave the conversation even more confused. Eric would start to wonder if he's becoming senile, and so would Assad. He'd also have mixed feelings because Eric basically just confessed to liking him, but he definitely can't take advantage of Eric’s altered state of mind. Maybe Eric isn't even into him and it's all some sort of dementia or delirium.

Eventually, Armand, who has been watching his mess with an increasing sense of 'Oh no, I fucked up... again!' would reveal himself to the both of them and they'd end up having a hot doppelganger threesome. Armand would then get sent back to his own universe in a 'mission accomplished' sort of trope.

Armand doesn’t show himself at first. 

In this strange mirror world, he lurks in the shadows and observes. He learns that while the mirror people who inhabit this world look identical to the people he’s known for centuries, none of them are vampires. Their lives are different. Their names are different. They’re actors. His life, or rather Louis’ life, was merely a tv show here. 

He watches his mirror self the most. Not-Arun, not-Amadeo, not-Armand. Assad. He rolls the name over his tongue and relishes the taste. He catalogues their similarities and their differences with fascination. There are more differences than similarities in the lives they lead, which comes as a relief. Assad has a normal human life. He is older than Armand physically, graced with a few strands of silver in his hair. He is a brother, a son, a friend.

But as Armand watches over him, it becomes clear that there is something missing in Assad's life.

There is a not-Daniel in this mirror world as well. Eric. In this world, he is an accomplished writer and still married to a beautiful woman. Time has kissed his temples and polished his dark hair into silver but has spared him the slow decay of Parkinson's. He is entirely unsullied by Armand's vampiric blood.

Armand watches the way Assad's eyes light up when he talks to Eric, the way Eric guiltily looks away when his eyes stray towards Assad, the way their touches linger but never cross the boundary of professionalism.

He tells himself that he is helping Assad. Armand is uniquely suited to dealing with matters of the flesh, after all. It's easy to procure brown contacts and a nail file. It's even easier to wait until Assad is out of the way and to find Eric on his way to getting drunk at the hotel bar. He expects it will be easier still to play inebriated with a case of wandering hands to breach that delicate boundary.

He doesn't expect to falter as soon as he is face to face with Daniel's eyes and Daniel's smile and Daniel's laughing voice. It's not really Daniel, but it's close enough to make the shriveled thing in his chest bleed. And he's not really Assad, but he's close enough to make it past Eric's social mores and into his hotel room. It doesn't really matter, once Armand's tongue is behind Eric's teeth, which name is moaned between each thrust.

And in the morning, it won't matter that Armand will not be in Eric's bed because that was never his place to begin with.

[momijiba]

my dear mutuals as 4.0 is almost upon us that also means ARCHON QUEST!!! please... please.. tag your posts with a spoiler tag and put it under read more so that the people who are starting the story a bit later can also enjoy the story as much as you did.