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tojisteddy · 14 days ago

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II HANDS II HEAVEN

or: getting married to Country!Simon wasn’t as easy as you thought it’d be.

“baby I’ve been waiting my whole life, for you and I.”

a part 2 to ruthless.

cw: 6.4k words, 18+ mdni, a lot of plot with smut at the end, Country!Simon, au universe, no use of y/n, fake southern town names, lovey dovey sex, mating press, p in v, creampie, masturbation, against the wall, some of your cousins are shitty, engaged!reader (to Simon), age gap (Simon is 29, reader is 23), pussy pronouns, mentions of religion, lucky!reader

a/n: it’s really been a short amount of time but I thought a part two would be right. I hope you like it. Also won’t make sense without reading the first, sorry. I like building plot.

Simon Riley learned early in your already quick relationship, that you were headstrong.

You’d come downstairs of the house, wobbly legged and doe eyed after he fucked you into the mattress with absolute promises of getting you two married and soon, in nothing but a sheet covering you. And the blonde was sure you there was cum dripping your sore cunt, a smirk danced on his lips as he lifted the coffee cup to his lips.

“I wanna get married in a church.” Your voice was horse as ever, scratchy but you’d sounded so deadset. Knee deep in certainty.

Simon simply gave you a nod, “sure thing lucky.”

“And I don’t want a big fancy wedding, something small. A little quaint.”

“Perfect,” He hummed.

“And I want to get married after my graduation so my family can come.”

“If that’s what you want.”

You laugh nervously, yanking the sheet you almost dropped up and scratching the back of your neck with the other, “A-And it’s my first time gettin married so- so I’m a bit nervous.”

“ ‘S my first time too.” You could’ve melted from his southern accent alone, he set his mug down on the counter and stepped towards you. Cupping your face in his hands, precious girl, “let’s take our time so you can have the perfect weddin, alright?”

You gave a bashful nod, you two meeting half way to kiss each other and laughed. Pretty sweet.

Loving you was so easy. Too easy. You were the sunshine after the storm, a good balance to whatever mess that Simon saw himself as. You were sweet, loved all the animals he had, listened attentively when he spoke about the farm and he did the same for you. Hearts practically growing in his eyes as you talked about your life, your friends and the things you loved what you wanted the most.

You’d decided to have a June wedding, eager to be a June bride above anything. Waiting another year to have some big wedding wasn’t something either of you wanted. You’d settled on the chapel an hour out in Millbrok, your colors would be baby blue and sage, you’d have a small wedding and then a reception under some tents next to the church.

Your mother and father were genuinely shocked, you, their daughter who refused to settle for anything, eager to feel the breeze in your wings, first to move out at 18 (and not on a college campus) was actually settling. And with Simon Riley at that. But they accepted it, felt in their guts that he was a good person for you. Your mother and father themselves had a quick marriage since they fell pregnant with your older sister, they didn’t have much room to tell you, you were wrong.

And if all went to shit, they’d come and scoop you up. And beat Simon’s ass in the process. Your father assured the older twenty year old of that. Simon swallowed the fear down.

“Who are you invitin Ms.— I mean future Mrs. Riley?” Soap asked you after you properly handed him his wedding invitation. Simon was off, collecting another stray horse that was disturbing John Price’s cattle. Soap was one Simons farm hand, he was his top man. A good guy, a little wild. You’d met him one night out dancing and he drove you home. Simon had casually told him from the doorframe, right as your cowboy boots hit the front porch, that you two were getting married and that he should finally get himself a proper tie.

Simon slammed the door shut once he got you inside while you mouth was wide an agape. “Why did you tell him like that?! He’s probably shocked!”

The blonde scuffed, pulling your boots off himself and lifting you to take you to bed, “Idiot won’t believe it till I say it a second time either way.”

And then right on que, there was howls of laughter that came from the brunette. “There ain’t no way on gods good earth you, Ghost, of all people, is gettin married!”

But then he came the next day, for work. And there you were saying your goodbyes because you had just a couple days before graduation. And Soap’s sharp eyes caught it, a fresh, a round cut diamond with a traditional gold band ring on your finger.

“You two- Shoot- You two really gettin hitched, ain’tcha?”

And you beamed, glowing even more than you already had from not just the sun glowing off your brown skin but Simon fucking you silly as a proper send off, squeezing at Simons larger hand.

“Of course, and soon!”

Johnny was more than happy for the two of you, somehow snagging your number from Simon’s phone so bombard you with questions Simon wouldn’t answer. He was a funny guy, a golden retriever. You’d warmed up to him perfectly in Simons eyes.

You couldn’t help the heat that grew on your face, “Well,” you practically sung, “my mom and dad, my five siblings, my grandparents from up north and those aunts ’nd uncles and then my family from down here. I’m pretty sure I can get one of my cousins to cater the reception for us so it really won’t cost much—“

“—Your family from here? From Pinewood?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Just-“ Soap clears his throat, hesitant, “Just the folks in Pinewood, your folks included— they just- They ain’t the kindest to Ghost, especially with his family- you know… Think you should be weary of ‘em, is all I’m sayin.”

Pinewood was the town Simon, Johnny and your family were from. You always knew someone’s family, had the essentials; a bank, a grocery store or two, a library, post office, mayors office, police department a dollar store, a few salons and barber shops, a bakery, a bridal store, and few town known restaurants and bars— a small town. A little too small, that seemed to dunk of Ghost for being. That would change.

You’d make sure of it.

You’d all be family soon enough, they’d have to understand.

You were ambitious of sorts— and most of the time, you stuck the landing after your rushed dismount. When you learned how to properly ride a horse and kicked Ace, a wild thing, too hard, and you went flying full speed down the road— you managed to get a hold of him just fine. When Simon taught you to carve by hand and you almost cut your thumb clean off 4 times, you finally got the hang of it, and made that crooked and polished bowl for your keys at the front door.

Other times, not so much.

The chickens had a weird beef with you, and you forgot to feed the horses on time leading to the ranches whole schedule being off. Or when Ace really did send you flying and you almost broke your fucking arm and neck.

Giving out your wedding invitations would be just like that.

Simon properly told you that, that night on the porch after dinner. Rocking in one of the hand crafted rocking chairs he made, he’d call you over with a sigh, ‘lil girl come ‘ere!’ Like he always did. And you came, now in one of his shirts, with those damn invitations in hand. Already knowing what he was going to say. But you waved him off.

“They just don’t get you like I do Mr. Riley.”

That’s a given. But it didn’t mean others would understand you, a hopeful city girl from a loving family, marrying the likes of him. A cursed man, from a more than broken family, a tarnished name he was trying to rebuild with new foundations, with his own ghosts wandering around.

He’d known your family from down here. Some of them were understanding, like your mother and grandmother but there were others. Hypocritical bitches, who’d go to church on Sunday, sing the church hymns and preach about loving and caring for one another and then curse down the neglected and those who didn’t fit in the box on Monday. Real righteous alright.

But you had that look on your face, big brown eyes, bottom lip sticking out and eyes full of pride— begging him to let you invite them yourself. Practically stabbing him in the heart with cuteness.

He sighed, “Fine, you do what you want.”

You grinned, wrapping his arms around his neck tightly and kissing his cheek, you’d kill him at this rate, “Thank you Si! Let me go call ‘em so we can have lunch! Ugh, it's been so long!”

And you practically ran off into the house, leaving Simon alone in the rocking chair. All the more worried about you.

••●••

You’d looked pretty, almost too pretty to let Simon let you leave the ranch to go talk to a bunch of high strung, stuck up people. Curls perfectly defined in a side part, a long white skirt, a red croquette milk maid top, with necklaces on your neck and all your ear piercings in, a white wedges heels, plump lips beautifully glossed. God, he could’ve lifted that damn skirt and fucked your right then and there.

Simon’s hands hung low on your hips and then lower, squeezing your ass. “Oh, come on Simon! you can’t feel up on me like that! You’ll wrinkle my skirt!” You playfully whined, pushing at his shoulder.

“Fuck the lunch, just stay here with me. We got food here too.”

“Though I’d love that, I already promised with my cousins. Plus,” you give a little point, “your workers are watching,” you keened, pointing over to the men and women a couple yards away, leaning against the horse corral with smirks. Whistling and catcalling away.

“God damn it.” He groans, hands going back to your waist. His ears turned bright red under his cowboy hat at you gushed, fuckin adorable, kissing each of them. And he pulls away, just a little bit to get a good look at you and then pulls you against his chest, putting his head in the crook of your neck, sniffing. He should’ve told you no.

He grumbles, “don’t let them talk to you crazy now. I’ll come ‘nd give them a talkin to.”

“I can do it on my own! It’ll be fine!”

Bless your little heart.

You loved your cousins. And you thought they loved you too. Teeny (Tina) and Gabriella, both a little older than you but you spent so much time playing together whenever there was a family reunion or when you came to see the family. You just knew they’d be the perfect bridesmaids, in fact, you and Teeny were Gabriella’s bridesmaids at her wedding a few years back. You were like sisters.

You had fun catching up with them face to face, your heart pounding more and more. Wanting to find the perfect time to tell them the big news.

Gabriella gave you an all but knowing look, smirking, “Don’t tell me you got more excitin news to tell [+]. You never take a break, do you?”

“Naw, do tell! I wanna hear it all about that city life! Oh! Don’t tell me! You’re gettin yer masters or some shit?! Marryin a big top lawyer?!” Teeny claps her hands with excitement.

You let out a breath, “Sort’ve. Actually it’s somethin a little closer to here as of the last two months.” You reach in your bag, pulling the two cards out and handing them each one.

“I-I’m getting married and you’re all invited! Hopefully you’ll be my bridesmaids!” You squealed, handing out the little invitations. “Well it’s for you and your spouses, and I plan on telling Aunt Julie and ‘nem soon enough. It’s in June! Just like we all talked about!” And you spent so much time picking those invitations out, making sure the signatures of your names together were perfect. Yours practiced and did the calligraphy yourself, the cards were perfect. The picture of you and Simon’s hands on it were perfect, the sage and baby blue bows that held the cards were perfect— so you were hoping for more squeals, more excitement, tears of happiness.

You were met with the exact opposite.

Confusion, disgruntlement— vexation.

“Yer marryin… that Ghost boy?” Gabriella blinked slowly, after a few moments of silence.

“Yes? And It’s Simon, not Ghost,” you corrected with a nervous giggle, waving them off. The nickname was stupid to you, Simon never corrected people when they called him that. Even though the name was making fun of him for simply being, for not dying with the rest of his family and that tragic fire. You’d always made it a point to correct people though, especially when Simon wasn’t there and wouldn’t tell you to just let them talk. Especially when it was with people who were supposed to be family saying it.

“A-Aren’t you happy for me?” You’d felt small, a little lost. This was a happy union. Both your grandmothers said that, your grandfather, your mom and your dad, aunts and uncles and cousins from up north supported you. Most would be at the wedding. Your siblings were a little protective and so were your best friends (all in their own right) but they’d get over it soon enough they’d see how well Simon treated you. How much you truly loved each other. Why was it hard for your cousins down here to understand?

“How could we be happy for you when you’re marryin a man like that [+]?” Teeny spoke, handing the invitation back to you.

“That boy might as well be a demon, [+]. Yer settin yourself up for failure.” Gabriella adds.

“You shut your fuckin mouths.” You cursed, just below a whisper. Why were they being so hateful- so- so—

“—We’re tryin t’protect you! His father was a bastard who terrorized folks ‘round here, who knows what that man’ll do to you! Might do to this town.”

Teeny nods, “He even killed his family—“

“—That ain’t fuckin true Teeny, why would you say that?” Your lip quivered, almost slumping in your seat.

“Oh come on [+], one of those rumors got to be true now. Somebody ain’t lyin. That man barley talks!”

“Cause y’all talkin ‘bout ‘em like this! Why would he want to say shit that’ll fall on deaf ears?!” Your ears were practically ringing at their words. How could they? How dare they?

“Fucks sake [+]! I can't go to no weddin were I gotta watch you marry someone— someone so sinful! Hes got bad energy ‘round him ‘nd suckin you up right with ‘em! You’re still a child. Just don’t know any better.” Gabriella shook her head.

“Then don’t fuckin come! I wanted you there cause you’re my family, clearly that ain’t the fuckin case!” You snatched yourself up, harshly standing from the table with a screech of your chair.

“My grown and adult marriage will be the best fuckin thing and love filled marriage this shitty fuckin town full of gossiping cunts that think they’re holier than thou, has ever laid eyes on! You got the fuckin gall to talk about Simon when he’s nothin but kind and polite to everyone he interacts with, and cares about the stupid fucking town to help with their stupid horses they don’t know shit about! Can’t say the fuckin same for your fuckin wife Gabriella, who’s cheatin on you with Lisa-Ann Cambridge and Yolanda Peterson! All the while, trynna uproot people who’s been here for decades through gentrification!”

Your eyes are frantic darting from both of your cousins and then you point, fuming, “And you, Teeny, supposed to be a future preachers wife, but here you are judging and cursing down folks when you don’t even know ‘em! Haven’t even bothered to check on ‘em! It ain’t fuckin God like, and the likes of you will end up in fuckin hell before the fuckin word reaches anywhere near that man, God be my fuckin witness!”

Your chest heaves up and down fast, rummaging through your purse and throwing whatever bills on the table.

“Now you two have the day you fuckin deserve! I’m gonna go be the best damned fiancée there ever was!”

And you leave out the diner to the bright and sunny day, the diner filled with whispers and disapproving glares.

••●••

You’d couinsidently ended up in a bar, wanting to just have a little something to ease your troubles. Sadly enough, you ended up in your cousins bar. Gaz, to be exact. He saw you walk in, passing by the drunks who also were in at 1 pm and you plopped yourself down at the bar stool.

“How can I help ya cous’, what’re you doin here?” He asked while whiping off the counter, an amused look written on his face.

You sniffed, looking up at him, huffing, “Don’t start with me Kyle.”

“I ain’t start nothin,” he sets the rag down and throws his hands up, “Just, the family group chats gon crazy cause of you.”

You groaned, practically slamming you head down on the bar counter, “I know that, just shut up!”

It’s not like you meant to do that. Yell and tear everyone in that diners ear off. You were just tired. Tired of them being bullies. Tired of them not understanding that you were marrying someone that you so deeply loved.

You weren’t asking for their permission, you were telling them.

For them to out right reject it was just wrong. You didn’t think they’d blab their loud fucking gums in the 50+ family Facebook group chat. Now, you had cousins, aunts and uncles from all over wondering what the hell you were doing. Blowing your mom and dads phone up. Then they were in turn, blowing your phone up. All of which, you declined.

“I’m marryin him Gaz. I’m not backin out.” You rested your head in your hands, taking the napkin Gaz had set down for you and blowing your nose as harshly as you could.

Your cousin winced at the noise, immediately grabbing hand sanitizer and a bin for you to throw the tisheue away. “Yeah, I know. Ghost went ‘nd told me that just after you graduated.”

Your eyes shot up, glossy, “What?”’

“Yup,” he nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, “Came back and told me ‘nd John first. The man wouldn’t even take your eyes off you, and he was just sharin that graduation photo you took together. To me, it wasn’t nothin special. Just looked like two folks hanging out after a while. But that guy was blushin, you know how scared I was? I thought he was fuckin mad at me, thought I fucked with him one too many times! Then he got all serious, still blushin, said you were the love of his life and that you two were gettin married one of these days.”

“Said you’d made up your mind and he just could not say no to such a gorgeous face. Think he really fell in love with you right then ‘nd there [+].”

Your heart swells, a warm and fuzzy feeling radiating off of your skin, you speak weakly, “I really love that guy a lot.” You dab at your face, so sure your makeups already done for.

Gaz rolls his eyes, “I knoooow, no need to cry jeez. Here,” and he slides you a shot of whiskey. “One for the road.”

••●••

There’s a hand that meets the back, gentle and calloused, “Yer drunk Ms. Trouble, let’s go home.”

Your lashes flutter open, body immediately relaxing at that husky deep southern drawl, “ ‘M not drunk,” you shake your head sitting up, “Just had a little shot.”

Yeah, four little shots of whiskey. It was only 3:00 pm.

You were not driving home like that.

So Kyle called your soon to be husband to come get you.

“Oh, right,” you mumbled, going through your bag once more. Clumsily looking for an invitation, then handing one, still new and wrapped up, to Gaz.

“You’re invited to our weddin. So is Auntie Mary and Uncle Derek. Come, or don’t. Cause it seems like no one from the rest of our family wants to go.” Your voice broke, putting your head down yet again. Simon gave him an apologetic look from under his bandana. Lifting your all but exhausted body after paying your tab.

Gaz took it, laughing down at the card, and smiling, “I’ll be there [+]!”

You looked over Simon’s shoulder, mouthing a ‘thank you’ and waving goodbye.

“You alright?” Ghost asked ten minutes into the drive. He’d let you try to get comfortable in the quiet of the car. The radio low, the road practically empty, the engine could be heard. The afternoon summer breeze was hitting your face through the cracked windows of the old truck, sobering you up.

Simon had sent you to the wolves, already knowing how’s they’d react before he sent you off with a hug and a kiss. He’d known you wouldn’t get the answer you wanted, people were mean. But you only learned the hard way, you’d let them bite at you and let them think you were a sheep. Till it got to be too much and start biting back. Pulling limbs, he’d known you’d get out there with blood in your teeth, but your heart scratched up.

You were thankful he didn’t go and say it, ‘I told you so.’ You despised hearing it more than anything.

You bit your lip, bottom lip trembling while you looked out the window. Simon frowned, looking at the road because you didn’t like when looked at him as you confessed, “gon, say what you got to or you gonna hold it?”

Your breath immediately hitched, cries leaving your mouth before you could even get a word out.

“God why did they have to be so fuckin mean Simon? They were callin me childish for wanting to be with you and you- you some demon! You ain’t a demon! You’re human. Why would they treat you like that? Why would they talk about you like that?” You sobbed, tears rapidly falling down your face.

Simon sighed wiping one side of your face with his free hand, you wiping the other but it did nothing. Tears still fell, your voice moaning like you were in agony. You sat back in your seat and closing your eyes.

“I’m sorry dolly, everyone here- they- they ain’t as sweet as you. Can’t help themselves. They don’t know no better.” He cooed genuinely, rubbing your thigh with his thumb.

You shook your head, wailing now, hard. Loud. “Not knowing any better is just a fuckin excuse so they can treat you that way Simon! You didn’t do anything wrong! You’ve never done anything wrong! Do you even know that? That fire was never your fault! It could never be your fault! You were just a child! Why would that be your fault?!”

You let out an annoyed and strangled groan, “Ughhh! Why’d they have to go ‘nd treat you like that!? You were a fuckin baby!”

Not once. Not once in his life had Simon had someone cry for him.

There were people who understood his situation when he was younger, people who looked out for him and he was more than thankful to have some source of kindness in his life even when he felt like he didn’t deserve it.

But to have some cry like this, like you were the little boy who saw that house go up in flames, the one who heard the screams and the yells across the way for help. And you were telling that little boy that it was alright. That that his fathers doings weren’t his, that people shouldn’t be mean to him for something he didn’t do. The short amount of time you’d been together, you’d never judged him. Not when you realized it was a little harder for him to open up to you, not when you realized how hard it was for him to go into Pinewood without a little bit of a stare.

You’d love with all your heart, creating your own little moments of happiness with him on the farm whenever he was free. Silly little things, swimming in the creek, racing against the cows at the farm over, teaching him how to line dance in the house. All but accepting of his faults, and he of yours. Always right there to catch you when you tripped over your own feet while running off.

But sometimes he could wrap his head around it. He’d asked once, while you two sat on the porch after dancing the night away, a bottle of bourbon sat on the steps after burning the back of your throats once.

“You deserve nothin but kindness and the truth, don’t you Simon? Who would I be to judge you?” Your brown eyes twinkled right along with the stars that shone in the sky.

“You’re just you, I’m just me. We’ll be figurin this loooong journey together from now on. Running with coyotes with you, I’m excited.” And you laughed so beautifully, swinging your feet back and forth.

It made that little boy in his heart tremble. Like he was finally okay.

Tears swelled at the brim of his eyes. He took a shaky breath, sniffing before grabbing your hand in his and kissed it.

“Jesus, [+], I love you. Truly I love you.” And he couldn’t stop himself. Whispering it against your knuckles like a prayer.

Maybe, just maybe, God was allowing Simon this pure and utter happiness for the first time in his life. He’d been to hell and back and only god knows why. But someone out there had sent him an angel— a savior, and he was more than happy to be called yours and only yours for the rest of his life.

••●••

With less than half the people you’d intended to come, your wedding was, in every single way, perfect.

You were surrounded with nothing but love and support, so much so, you could see Simons eyes watering no matter how hard he tried to hide it. John was the officiant, a man Simon had trusted with everything in him, it was only right to marry the two of you. You even asked for his blessing, through a deep belly laugh he told you yes.

The only real debate was if your wedding cake should be carrot cake or red velvet.

You told Simon, carrot cake was too old and too picky to be a wedding cake.

Simon told you red velvet cake was just chocolate cake with red food dye.

Yes, there was a great, presidential-esc debate about it. So much so, you had to leave the bakery and come back two days later, both of you with unwavering opinions. The only thing you did agree on is that having the cake half carrot half velvet would be gross.

“Why don’t you two just have two small cakes and the guests can have cupcakes?” Offered through a huff, tired of the bickering.

And that’s what happened.

Both of you cutting your own small, two tiered cakes and feeding the other.

No, Simon did not wipe your face with cake.

Just a little icing on your neck, and he sucked it clean off. Naturally, you had to match it. A hickie being seen on both of your necks in all your wedding photos then on.

You’d go on a honeymoon at a later date, till then, Simon carried you princess style over the threshold. The biggest smile he ever had on his face.

Up until you two saw the state of the first floor. Fully, and obnoxiously decorated with fake lanterns, beach balls, fake grass skirts around the tables, a little container full of sand with a umbrella, blue streamers on the ground of the living room to represent “water” with a paddle board and shot glasses that said, ‘aloha’ and the like— to top it off?

A large sign having on the walls that said, ‘Welcome to paradise! (adjacent :) )’

“Who the hell did all this?” You scream laughed, clutching your stomach. It was ridiculous and Simon rubbed at his temple, voice laced with annoyance, “Soap and Gaz I’m fuckin sure.”

You looked around the island of the kitchen, spread out with pictures of your siblings, a few of both you and Simon from when you were younger, your sure Gaz brought over to decorate this mess.

“Oh John’s here too!” You smile at the picture of John, Soap ad Gaz all too big and muscular but crowded in the small frame.

You took another look around, giggling at the silliness of it all. And then the quiet filled the air, heart pumping. Almost like the air completely shifted.

“Mrs. Riley,” oh, didn’t that just roll off the tongue ever so nicely?

You, Mrs. Riley. didn’t it sound good?

Simon’s hands found your hips, moving your hair out the way, lips trailing from the back of your neck to your chest.

“You mind,” kiss, “if I” another, “take my sweet wife,” another, “upstairs? Think it’s bout time I treat her.”

Your stomach could’ve fallin out your ass. You gulped, slowly nodding only to yelp right after, Simon throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“I-I got a little surprise for you Mr. Riley, if a wait a little.” You giggled, patting his back as he slowly went up the steps.

“How long I have to wait?”

“Like ten minutes.”

What a lie that was. A flat out lie. You were ready fifteen minutes ago. Why? Well you were eager. Wanting, and now have spent the last five minutes pacing the bathroom like it was your first time.

This was the opposite of that.

Just the first time as husband and wife.

“I don’t mind fuckin you in there darlin, ain’t a issue.” Your legs almost gave out from his voice alone. But you made sure the door was locked, doing another revamp of your hair.

“You can’t! We have to do it in bed first.”

“Yeah, first.” Simon scuffed, sitting on the bed just like you told him to. His buttoned shit found it’s was to the laundry bin, shoes and socks off.

“Your eyes are closed?” You asked from the bathroom, fixing the last bit of your lingerie.

A groan, “Yes ma’am.”

“You sound like you’re lyin!”

Another groan through the door, followed by a huff, “they’re closed I swear it, lucky. Come on now, been waitin for ever.”

You let out a sharp inhale, slowly opening the door.

“No peaking” you warn, tip toeing to lean yourself against the wooden dresser.

“[+], I ain’t peakin,” he was, but he could only see your damn socks, so he settled with being surprised. Following your voice across the room. He was already half hard.

You cleared your throat, adjusting yourself one last time. “Okay, you can open.”

Maybe this was the after life. Maybe you were an Angel.

A sight for sore eyes, you were against the dresser in an off white two piece lingerie hugging your breasts and hips, matching lace knee highs with bows on them, a lace garter hugging your thigh, with a pinned veil in your hair. Delectable.

Beautiful.

“Well, say something Mr. Riley! I’m embarrassed!” Your cheeks flushed, eyes looking elsewhere.

The blonde stood, slowly crossing the room to trap you inbetween his large build and the dresser.

He gave you a little smile, a scar that ran through his pink lips moving upward, “You’re cute as shit when you blush.”

“You can’t even see it!”

He presses your foreheads together, holding your chin in his fingers, “You look real pretty [+]. Most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen my whole life.”

And you decide to melt, right in his arms, right then and there. He catching you, laughing against your lips. Kissing you soft. Slow. Slipping his tongue in your parted and your mouth ever so sweetly.

He lifts you by the hips, then setting you in his lap at the end of the bed.

You gently pull away, hands on his “I’m tremblin so much. I’m sorry, can’t really think straight.” You giggle, you feel foolish. You’ve done it with Simon countless times but felt so nervous right now.

But he’s sweet, rubbing your back, he kisses you once more, “We can take our time dolly, let you get comfortable.”

You thank him, god what a fucking sweetheart. His large hands slowly foldles all over you, squeezing and pulling. Slowly taking everything off, everything but that garter and knee highs. Simon would need to engrave the sight in his brain. Your pretty nipples all hard, long lashes peeking through to him. He sticks two fingers in your mouth, you suck on them for a bit before he pulls them out trailing down to your already gushing cunt. You let out a ragged breath as he easing his fingers inside you.

He thrusts his fingers inside your tight walls “Come on darlin, take mine out. ‘S all yours.”

You do, taking hiss length out of his boxers. It’s hard, rushing with blood and veins, a strawberry red mushroom tip.

You gulp, eyes stuck on his his large length. Practically salivating, “Always so big Mr. Riley.”

“Ain’t shit you can’t handle,” he whispers in your ears and you shudder at his words, Simon gives your gummy pink more thrusts. You grind down on him, finally finding a bit of your senses and pumping your hand around Simons dick. You’re both panting, rocking your hips against each other, both needing, desperately wanting more.

You whimpered, biting your lip as your head fell on his shoulder, “Mr. Riley- please-“ you walls tighten around his two fingers and he slowly drags them out. Sucking them both while looking right at you. You shudder, head feeling dizzy, panting and grinding down in his lap.

“Aht, aht, Mrs. Riley don’t be so impatient. Gotta take my time with ‘er sweetheart.” He smirks against your lips. Pecking them once before laying you on the bed, getting in between your legs land slapping his aching cock on his slick clit. A hiccup of a moan escaping your mouth while he rubs his dick between your pussy lips.

“You’re not bein fair Simon.” You pout, trembling at his badly you wanted him inside. Hurry, hurry, hurry.

“Guess I’ll have to listen when you call me that. Right baby?”

You give another sheepish nod, Simon stretched your dripping hole with his tip, sliding right in your velvety walls, that clung to him with every inch he gave you. The blonde’s tip brushing against your cervix. He almost losses his vision at how good you feels how fucking warm you are. He curses, caressing your hips while he takes a deep breath,

“Christ, lucky, who’s makin you so wet lil girl? Huh?”

“M-my husband,” you slurred, toes curling while he pushed your knees to your forehead, folding you half and splitting you open with his large cock.

“That’s right honey. Yer sweet ‘nd lovin. Husband.” And he rams it into you, deep. Giving you harsh thrusts, torturing your poor cunt as the loud slap, slap, slap of your thighs smacking together hits the walls of your bedroom.

“Mr. Riley, hold me!” You mewl, your arms already reaching out for him. Fuck, he can’t get enough to you’d already fucked out and wanting to feel him on you. He does so, making sure to press more of his weight into you as he fucks— no- loves into you juuuust right. His mouth reaches your mouth, kissing the corner of your lips before trailing to your ear. Sucking and biting at it that makes you moan.

He curves his dick into you, swiveling his hips just for his tip to brush against your g-spot. You claw at his arms, shivering and tears form in your eyes. Your sobbing,

“Fuck, Mr- aanh- mmph- Mr. Riley! ‘M gonna cum!” You claw at his back, thighs shaking and Simon bites at your jaw. His hand, adorned with his wedding band, pinches your clit. Grunting once you clench around him and he rubs at it vigorously.

“Fuck baby, show your husband how a good wife makes a mess. Yeaaah pretty, alll over my dick.”

The knots in your stomach finally release themselves, you shudder, clamping down on the blondes length and clinging onto his cock. Milking him for what he’s worth. “That’s it girl, shi- thaaaat’s it. Gonna take my fuckin cum, deep. Damn pretty,”and his tip twitches inside you, ropes of his seed flying inside you womb. And he gives you deeper thrusts to make sure sticks.

He pays your stomach that’s already starting to bulge, “Gonna keep you nice ‘nd full tonight lucky.”

Please, do. But you couldn’t even babel it out. You just yanked Simon closer by his blonde strands as you attach your lips to his. Molding you two together.

••●••

Your hand loudly bangs against the wall of your bedroom. The sun was creeping up in the sky, the crickets ceasing to chirp while the birds begun their songs.

You were drunk on his dick, looking back while he worked into you. One hand on your hip, the other mushing your face into the wall. You don’t even remember getting over here. You’re sure you’d been running half way through and made up so excuse, mumbling that you had to go to the bathroom. That 6’4 freak of a man couldnt wait, a couple seconds for you to hobble back to the bed so he met you half way.

Fucking you right on the floor before pressing you into the wall, nipples brushing the cool paint with every thrust. You shimmied your ass back on him, smirking stupidly as the loud sound of your juices sloshing was heard. Simon groans as you fuck him back

You hiccuped, sputtering out your words, “Mr hicc- Mr. Riley?”

“Yeeees Mrs. Riley.” Simon teased, giving your ass a nice slap, plummeting into your sobbing cunt. There was a ring that formed at the bottom of his dick, your mixed cum down his thighs and clinging to his dark pubic hair.

“I fuck- fuckin looooove you soooo much. Gonna make you happy for- hicc- hmm- the rest of your life. I pwomise.” Your lashes were wet with tears, so gorgeous. So adorable.

Simon croons, ocean eyes finding yours and wiping a stray tear away. “I love you too, my lucky girl. So fuckin amazin. All for me. I’ll- damn it- gonna be good to you too.”

You nodded, dumbly. Barley hearing his words before your eyes closed. He yanks you back by your hair, giving you a sloppy, wet kiss. Pulling away with a smack, Simon growls, bullying his cock into your faster. Harder. Sobs escaping you as you feel it, that electric feeling coursing through your veins. Your toes curling, and you shake, walls suddenly coated with Simon’s white cum while you spasm around him.

He entertains both of your hands together, holding you against his chest while you both cum. Simon leaves soft pecks on your cheeks, rocking you both through climax. Your skin is sticky and hot.

“Fuck, so happy to be married to ya darlin.”

a/n: As always lmk what you think. There’s also plot in this that will make more sense (imo) in little drabbles so I’ll do those soon. Oh, fully inspired by II Hands II Heaven by Beyoncé. I highly recommend. I love yew <3

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yutarot · 2 months ago

Text

1999. l.mk

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ husband!mark, assassin au, romance, enemies to lovers

wc. 10k

warnings. violence, suggestive, lots of fighting, they literally spend half the fic tryna kill eachother idk, mention of alcohol, guns, angst, heavily inspired by +82 pressin and mr and mrs smith (2005)

synopsis. after accidentally nearly killing another assassin, you both get assigned the task of taking eachother out. but what happens when the assassin you’re after turns out to be a lot closer to you than you had ever expected? do you ignore your feelings? or do you listen to your heart, risking both of your lives in the process.

notes — hiii!! i rlly enjoyed writing this it was sooo much fun. i sorta got this idea after seeing the mv for +82 pressin and ive been wanting to write something based on mr and mrs smith for a whileee so it sorta worked perfectly in my head. i hope u enjoy!!! (p.s. thank u @sungbites for being my writing motivation hehe love u)

it’s a night like all the rest, darkness falling through the window like a shadow with nowhere to go: lost, helpless. you’ve always liked night-time, enjoyed the tranquility of the silent hours as thoughts pass through your mind with no clear destination. you lie there, a moment of peace stilling within you as you slowly begin to fall into slumber.

your peace is cut short, all tranquility lost when a voice from beside you arises. ‘babe, can you turn off the light please?’

you roll your eyes in a secretive protest before turning to face your husband, a smile now plastered on your face.

‘of course, honey.’

you hate mark. every single moment of every day, you spend each waking hour questioning yourself of why you ever married him. whether in detestation or disgust, you hate him. but your marriage isn't based on love or hate, so you do what you must: you hide it, conceal your hate behind joyful smiles and the blissful art of routine. after all, you’re good at keeping secrets.

abruptly, he rolls back over to face away from you and you do the same.

‘goodnight, babe.’ he murmurs.

‘goodnight.’

you don’t acknowledge each other again, drifting to sleep in nothing but your own mind.

a night like all the rest.

each morning is always the same: wake up at 7, cook breakfast at 7:30, wave off your husband as he leaves for work at 8, always accompanied by a quick kiss as he walks through the door, and each morning you suppress your hatred just as much as the last. this morning was no different.

as you sit at the dining table, your breakfast laid out before you, you both eat in silence. this is how it’s always been, this marriage, days of simple routine and empty discussion. you don’t know anything about him, not really. yes, you know where he grew up, what movies he likes, what his favourite kind of bread is, but you don’t know what goes on in his mind. evidently, you're okay with that, because it means that he doesn’t need to know what goes on in yours. it’s a marriage of mutuality, an understanding that your life is your life, and weirdly neither of you question it. neither of you question if the love is fake, or if it just isn’t there at all.

however, there’s one, tiny detail which you know you’ll never share with him, a side of your life untouched, undisturbed. on the outside, you’re the symbol of a perfect housewife, compliant, clean and kept, staying home during the day whilst he’s out at work, tidying the furniture and cooking up dinner by the time he gets home. that’s all he sees, thats all he knows. but what he doesn’t know, is that you’re none of that, not a single bit.

after finishing your breakfast and placing down your cutlery, you look up at your husband.

‘delicious, sweetheart, just like always.’ he says, reaching for a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth. he always did sound patronising when he compliments your cooking, but you give him the benefit of the doubt; its the only thing, besides your looks, that he can compliment you for. it's the only talent you show him.

you feign a smile in response, ‘i know just how you like it.’

‘you do.’ he grins back.

you’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this act, pretending like you’re in a happy marriage, and you wonder how much longer he can do the same. but you have to, you’ve done it for the past four years, you can suffer the restriction of a few more.

all for the sake of concealment.

mark gets up from his seat at the table, ‘i had better go, baby, i can't be late; we had this huge data crash at work last night, and there’s lots to fix.’

‘of course, honey. i'll make your favourite for you tonight.’ you lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek as you hand him his jacket, waving him out the door.

its tiring, the act of deception. you watch as his car reverses off of the drive of your house before driving around the corner. you wait a few moments, making sure he really is and truly gone out of your sight. or more importantly, you're out of his.

and once you are, your real day begins.

untying the apron around your waist, you walk steadily and with purpose, climbing the stairs and walking into the room which you call your closet. only it's not only a closet, not really.

pulling back a few items of clothing, you expose the keypay at the back of the room, pressing in the passcode.

0417. the date you got married.

the lock springs open, giving you access to your secret, and highly personal safe.

as always, laid inside are two items of significant importance.

your work phone, and a gun.

you pocket the gun before picking up the phone and selecting the first number in your phone book.

‘agency.’

you hold the phone to your ear, it doesn’t even ring once before the other end picks up; they expect your call, just as they do each morning.

‘i am now alone, will be there in 15.’ you speak, before hanging up and placing the phone in your other back pocket.

the agency is a grand, foreboding building, dark shadows cascading between its outer walls and falling over its glass panels like a shroud. you walk inside, scanning your keycard through the main entrance before making your way to the front desk.

‘yn lee.’ you recite your name. ‘im clocking in.’

the receptionist nods. ‘mrs K wants to see you in her office.’

‘what for?’ you ask.

the receptionist shrugs, implying that whatever your boss wants you for is confidential, and therefore, important.

after a quick journey to the 10th floor via the elevator, you make your way through the white lined corridor, the shiny black marble at your feet causing each step to echo, bouncing off every wall as you step further and further towards the door looming ahead of you.

you knock the door twice before she calls for you to come inside, which you do so quickly, closing it behind you.

she motions for you to sit down, her short, black and perfectly cut hair framing her face and emphasising the gap between her neck and the shoulders of her pristine, grey suit.

you sit, looking at the woman in the desk in front of you as she speaks.

‘it’s an interesting life you lead, agent lee.’ she says, head tilting to the side.

presuming she’s talking about the faux relationship with your husband, you respond quickly. ‘i’d get lonely in that house by myself.’

‘that’s not what i'm implying.’

oh?

she speaks again, standing from her desk as she does so.

‘this job; you’ve been a level 2 agent with us for four years, and despite countless attempts at recruiting you for level 1, you’ve always declined. why is that?’

you take a moment to ponder her question, to truly decipher what she's asking of you.

‘i'm comfortable.’ you reply.

‘nothing about this job is comfortable.’

she’s right. your job is to kill. being a level 1 just means you have to do it alone, estranged from working in groups, harder jobs and more secretive clients. you stay silent as she continues.

‘the reason i wanted you here, mrs lee, is because our agency has discovered an almost identical rival agency in the market. same jobs, same asking price and same level agents. what i mean, in short, is that we now have competition, and that doesn’t happen by coincidence.’

‘you think someone’s leaking intel to a rival agency?’

‘not think, know.’ the red of her lips twist into a scorn of seriousness, as if shes trying to intimidate you.

‘and you think i have something to do with it?’ you ask, disbelief briefly cascading over your thoughts.

she sits back down behind her desk, reaching for a drawer and shuffling through files and files of paper.

‘quite the contrary.’ she replies, and you look at her in confusion before she continues. ‘actually, you're one of the few that i know don't have something to do with it.’

finishing her sentence, she slides an envelope across the desk, nodding for you to take it.

she gets back up from her desk, looking you directly in your eyes, a shift of tone in the air around you.

‘once i've left the room, you’re going to open the envelope, mrs lee. i have two armed gunmen outside the door, under my command, waiting for you to leave. think of it as a little test of what that envelope contains. and, agent lee?’

you don't say a word, looking back at her to continue.

‘this time, i'm not asking.’

her smile is sickening. but you have no time to reproach her before she's out of the room, leaving you with nothing but the cold envelope in your hands and the ever-impending threat of death which falls over you.

after your limited amount of time, frozen in your seat, alone in your bosses office, your mind finally goes back to the envelope in your hand. you open it, pulling out the contents inside. your mind is a state of anger; in your hand lies two pieces of paper, one, a picture of a man in his late 50’s, a cool, silver moustache lining his lip, and one, a letter, addressed directly to you.

agent 1270.

with this letter, i have enclosed a portrait of your first job as a level 1 agent. configurations confirmed him a regular gambler at the artemis casino on 34th street. don’t fuck this up. if you do, i won't hesitate to get rid of you; we have a lot on the line.

p.s. my gunmen are inpatient.

moments after you even get a chance to finish the last word of the letter, two men in black suits burst through the door of the office. you roll under the desk, pocketing both items as gunshots ring out around you.

‘shit.’ you hiss, reaching for the gun in your back pocket. with no time to waste, you emerge from the side of the desk, aiming your gun at the head of the man furthest to you, using your momentum to swing your heel swiftly into the closest man's chest as your first bullet flies through the air. with one man down and the other one winded on the floor, you take your opportunity, walking up to him as he struggles to breathe.

you kick the gun out of his hand.

‘why is she doing this? why make me a level 1 agent?’ you ask, the gun pointed towards the man below you.

he gasps for air, shaking his head. with nothing but raw frustration and pent up hatred at the woman forcing you to do this, you pull the trigger.

anger boils within you, years of working for the agency and never have you stooped so low as to have been forced to kill one of your own. she’s testing you, seeing what you can do, and you’re going to find out why.

you find your way to elevator, pressing the button for the 5th floor. checking your freshly ironed suit for any specks of blood or evidence of your previous fight, you step out of the elevator. you’re instantly met with the level 1 offices, people in suits everywhere, some sat at desks and some engaging with conversation. everyone notices you, but noone says a word. its a very private industry, the industry of assassination, no questions are asked and none are answered.

you walk over to what looks like the main desk of the floor and the woman checks you in, showing you swiftly to your new office. the walls are a pristine white, with a glass desk and an illumination of light that's almost blinding. you set down the documents from K’s letter, examining the mans face. you don't know who he is, you never do, and it’s in your best interest not to care. all that matters is getting the job done, and under current circumstances, it matters more than ever. since, unlike before, it's not only the hidden identity from your husband that's on the line, but as is your life.

you’re not sat at your desk for long, K’s threat looming over you.

you check your watch. 3.14pm, exactly 14 minutes since the artemis casino opened its doors for the evening. tonight, you’ll make sure that someone will never leave them.

after being assigned your own personal assistant, who you've learned to know as agent 4916, you request only three items for your plan to work smoothly and quickly. a dark red satin dress, a vial of poison and it’s respective antidote - not that you expect it to go wrong, but you can never assume the best in a job like yours. even so, you've never once failed a mission, and you were not about to take the risk of failing on the only mission where you don’t give yourself a backup plan; that’s what the knife strapped to your thigh is for.

you thank your assistant with a nod as you step into the taxi you ordered, covering your shoulders with a thick fur coat you acquired secretly from the evidence room.

‘where are y’ headed?’ the taxi man asks, puffing an exhale of cigarette smoke out of the window.

‘artemis casino, please.’

the man grins, ‘you a golddigger, huh?’

you roll your eyes, ‘im married.’ men like this disgust you, always assuming the worst of women. if only he knew.

‘what does he do?’ he asks. it’s at this where your confidence is knocked; you can't exactly say ‘i dont know.’..

so instead you pause, waiting until the car comes to a halt outside the front of the casino before stepping out, replying back with a sly yet dismissive response as you pass him his money through the front window.

‘none of your business.’

the casino is a lot busier than you had hoped, groups of old men and rich couples sauntering amongst the tables. there’s an indistinct mumble of voices, layering perfectly over the chime of jazz music, not enough to drown it out, but just enough to make you listen out for the instruments.

you keep your mind fixated on the picture of the man you're looking for, but as you wander around, a sharp eye scanning all the faces, you spot him, sitting and smiling cruelly in a circle around a poker table. you label this as a perfect opportunity; there’s nothing like the emotion of overconfidence to blind a man's senses.

walking over, you lean a hand on the back of his chair.

‘that’s interesting.’ you say as you peak over his shoulder at his cards.

you catch his attention as he looks up at you.

you continue, ‘i won’t expose you,’ you giggle, feigning emotion comes natural to you now, ‘don’t worry.’ continuing your act, you walk off and head straight over to the bar.

just as you planned, he walks after you.

‘what are you playing at?’ he asks. you ignore him.

the bartender looks at you expectantly, waiting for your order.

‘vodka. neat.’ the bartender nods but the man beside you turns to you in disgust.

you laugh at his reaction before catching the bartender's attention, ‘make that two.’ you say.

the man speaks up. ‘wai-’

‘unless.. this man can't handle his drink?’

he stops talking.

after a moment of silence the bartender brings you your drinks.

you stand up, your drink in hand. you’ve done this many times before and each is as flawless as the last.

you walk around him, slowly, and as if unplanned, you trip, your drink flying straight across his blazer, soaking its expensive lining with the sweet stickiness of the clear liquid.

he stands up, a suppressed rage emerging from within him.

‘oops,’ you say innocently, ‘here, have mine.’

he nods in reply. ‘leave it on the side.’ he says, before storming off to the bathroom to clean himself up.

perfect.

it's then that you set the final action of your plan into place, it's then that you slip the poison into his drink.

not wanting to be with him when the poison takes action, you hurry yourself out of view, climbing to the second balcony floor and placing yourself with perfect vision of the bar you were just at, the drink sitting there, a note you placed reading ‘bottoms up, pussy. i'll be watching’, tucked under the glass in attempts to urge him on.

you watch for a minute, then two, and when it gets to the third, you begin to grow anxious.

but it’s not the extent of time that makes your worry flutter; it's the sudden man sitting at the bar, at the exact seat where the glass is placed.

the wrong man.

you can’t see the stranger's face, only the sharp outline of his back as he slumps over the drink, reading the note you placed under it.

you watch intently as he looks around, his face still under too much shadow to properly decipher his features. the shine of his all black suit glimmers from the point of his shoulders as he reaches for the drink. your stomach drops.

shit.

you stand up in vigour as his lips touch the glass.

you were about to kill the wrong man.

you were about to kill yourself.

clenching your jaw with an abandonment of your mission, you stealthily follow the man from the bar as he clutches his stomach, breathing heavily as he swings himself into a bathroom cubicle. you stand outside the door, listening to his laboured breaths and the sudden bang as his body slumps over the toilet bowl. you can’t see him, but you decide suddenly that you can’t let him die, you can’t fuck up this job and kill the wrong guy, you’d look like a fool.

you slide the antidote under the door of the cubicle with your foot, hearing a breathless, pained whisper of ‘the fuck?’ from the other side, but you don't stick around to exchange pleasantries, not when you nearly killed the man.

you turn to leave, but just as you take a step towards the main door of the bathroom, something on the floor catches your eye, something that the man had dropped in his haste to reach the cubicle.

a business card.

you pick it up, slowly peeling it from the floor.

your face grows stern.

dread envelopes you. your legs grow weak, feeling as it tries to weigh you down.

on one side is a logo you know all too well, the rival agency your boss had warned you about.

on the other side, one word and one number.

agent 1999.

the man you had nearly killed was another assassin.

an assassin from a rival agency.

and he had just fucked up your job.

you’ve been sat at your dinner table in silence for the last ten minutes and mark hasn’t come home yet. part of you is relieved, not having to uphold your character as his wife under all the stress that you're under after failing your mission. however, there’s a part of you that’s waiting for him, the abruption in your daily routine throwing you off, despite how much you hate him.

that’s when you hear the front door click shut, mark coming through to the dining room.

‘honey? what are you doing awake?’ he asks, setting down his briefcase, the tie to match his brown, tartan suit loose around his neck, top button undone. he looks dishevelled, whatever had made him late had ruined him.

you stand up, rubbing your eyes out of exhaustion. ‘you can’t just come home late like this.’

‘im sorry, baby. a lot happened at work, okay?’ he says, walking up to you. he leans forward to catch your eye contact. ‘some idiot sent me the wrong file and the whole network crashed.’

you nod, pushing in the dining table chair as you prepare to leave the room and go to bed.

‘goodnight, yn.’

‘goodnight.’

you can’t help but feel that something is off.

like usual, you wake up at 7, cook breakfast at 7:30 and wave your husband off as he leaves for work. each morning is the same, a list of routined actions you perform, a pretend life you wish you could lead. only this morning, you fear it could be your last.

as you tread down the white hall of the 10th floor of the agency, eventually standing at your bosses door in anticipation, you knock.

she calls you in and you shut the door behind you. there she sits, black bob swaying above her shoulders and thin, red lips pressed into a straight line of discontent. the bullet holes on the desk from yesterday still remain, a reminder of what your boss had promised would happen to you if you had failed to complete the job.

not only had you done that very thing but to make matters even worse, you had also accidentally held an attempt of assassination on a man from the rival agency.

‘good morning, agent lee.’ her voice is stern, deep.

you nod, taking a seat.

‘you know why you're here? yes?’

you nod, not daring to say a word.

‘then i believe you understand the vitality of the situation we are now in because of your mistake.’

again, you nod.

‘words, mrs lee.’ her voice raises, causing you to sit up in your seat.

‘yes.’

she nods, crossing one leg over the other. ‘good. then you shall be pleased to know that i'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself.’

your mind is going a million miles an hour, thoughts racing each other in a swirl of confusion. the perplexion must have been evident on your face as K begins to explain. ‘the agent that intercepted your mission is agent 1999 of the sparta agency. we have reason to believe that he is the source feeding our information to his agency, that’s how he knew you were going to be there.’

it all makes so much sense yet none at all. why would a random stranger pick up an unattended drink at a casino and drink it? unless..

a thought sparks in your mind. ‘you think he drank the vial on purpose?’

a small grin peaks at the corner of K’s upper lip before she continues. ‘he gambled that whoever was on the mission would have had an antidote on them. sparta agency aren’t to be messed with, agent lee, they will use any means to intercept our missions, and with this intel they are our biggest liability.’ she rises from her seat, walking to move over to her wall-panel window, scouring the view that lays beyond it. ‘after this, whoever agent 1999 is will most likely be given the task to kill you; they can’t risk the fact that you might know what he looks like.’

her back is still facing you as you reply. ‘but i don't know what he looks like, i didn’t see his face.’

she turns in your direction, a smirk which you haven’t seen before now plastering her features. ‘and he didn't see yours either. that’s why i'm giving you the task of taking him out, it’s a race of who can find and kill who first, if he’s smart, he’ll always be where you are, it only makes your job easier.’

to take out a criminal is one thing, but to take out a highly skilled assassin is another. you stay silent, conflict in your mind overwhelming you. you love your agency, and you love your job, but you fear that this task is nothing but fated suicide.

K steps back to behind her desk, sitting again to face you as she speaks. ‘if you do this, mrs lee, you would have regained my approval.’ she shuffles through the files on her desk, looking up at you through her brow at her next words. ‘not just anyone can take out two of my men with just a pistol and two bullets. i'm trusting you with this. you have 24 hours to complete the job.’

you check your watch, it’s 10:45 am.

12 hours.

12 hours to take out a high class, heavily skilled assassin.

she really was testing you.

you waste absolutely no time deciding what you’re going to do, rushing to your office and calling for your assistant.

‘give me whereabouts on agent 1999 of the sparta agency, i want all the information you can find.’ you say, and she nods before scurrying out the room.

you’ve never questioned a kill before, knowing nothing but their faces, merciless in all aspects. but there’s something incredibly ironic about this one, something that you’ve never had to deal with before.

he’s just like you.

your assistant returns and you sort through the printed files until you find his personal profile. like the rest of your jobs, you expect to see his face, printed in the top corner, usually a CCTV picture or a mugshot if you're lucky. but much to your surprise, you’re faced with nothing but a grey square, a question mark placed in the middle, almost mocking your lack of knowledge.

you look up at your assistant, a brow raised.

‘there’s no record of what he looks like. not a trace.’ she says.

you nod, a forced sense of acceptance. this man knows what he’s doing.

continuing to search the files, one catches your attention: his previous kills.

671.

‘he uses a revolver..’ you murmur to yourself.

this fact, this small, minor detail, changes everything; revolvers are exceptionally loud guns. meaning almost each and every one of his kills would have been done in private, in basements, elevators.

if you want to lure him in, get him somewhere he will follow, you need to find somewhere private, somewhere you can confront him one on one.

that’s when the perfect idea hits you.

you grab your car keys from your desk drawer, pocketing them in the inner pocket of your blazer. a motel, somewhere far enough from the city but somewhere close enough that he will follow you there.

you’re just hoping that, right now, he’s sat outside your agency waiting for you to leave, waiting to follow you home.

but you’re not going home. not today.

your suspicions are correct when you reach the border of the city, a blacked out mercedes maintaining its speed a few cars behind you. you know it’s him, agent 1999, you don’t need to see his face to be sure.

you pull up to the first motel you see, the lack of cars in the parking lot signalling a perfect place for the job you're about to undertake.

before he can swing into the motel behind you, you step out the car, sprinting to the reception.

you push open the door in eagerness, rushing to the front desk. the receptionist looks up upon hearing the bell on the door ring at your arrival.

‘one night. please.’ you say before sliding a $100 bill across the desk. ‘keep the change.’

the receptionist looks at you in disbelief as she hands you a key with the number 8 engraved on it.

you waste no time, rushing round the corner to the stairwell. it’s just as you make it past the line of sight that you hear the reception bell ring, that agent 1999 has come through the front door.

your curiosity is screaming at you to peek around the corner, to find out who this man is that you’ve been given the task of killing before he kills you. but you refrain, your urge to survive overwhelming you as you begin to climb the stairs, past room 6, past room 7 and past room 8. instead, you go to room 9, placing a gamble that it’s that room that the receptionist will assign him.

you don’t move, don’t waver from your stance outside his door.

not even as you hear the door to the stairwell open, not even as you hear the slow, antagonising echo of his footsteps.

not even as he comes around the corner.

fear.

not the kind that paralyses you, but the kind that makes you regret. that’s what you feel when you see him, that’s what you feel when you look down the barrel of his gun: fear.

but it’s not the gun that scares you.

it’s who's holding it.

the assassin you’ve been hired to kill, the man who's been hunting you down, is none other than the man you had least expected it to be.

your husband..

you lock eyes with him, but you see none of his usual warmth, his usual empathy. all you see is the eyes of the man trying to kill you.

‘mark.’ you breath, raising your gun at him, a mirror of his pose.

slightly, ever so slightly, you see him flinch as you say his name. he’s holding back.

‘babe.’ he says, sarcasm lining his tone. ‘why aren’t you at home?’

a smile of annoyance lines your lips, eyes rolling. ‘could ask the same of you.’

you’re ever so aware of the guns you have pointed at each other. his eyes never leaving yours, he speaks again. ‘i have important business to attend to.’

of course you do, you think to yourself.

its a pity you never liked him, never got to know him. atleast now, you understand why.

‘as do i.’

suddenly, gunshots blast through the air.

amidst the confusion and fear of who shot who, you run to the door labelled ‘8’, turning the key and quickly running inside. but your attempts to shut mark out are quickly abandoned when he swiftly places his foot between the closing door and it’s frame.

you jump back, reaching in your back pocket for the small knife you stashed earlier, hiding around the corner of the room. he kicks the door open, standing in the doorway, gun still in hand. he walks in slowly, treading lightly as he scans the room with his aim.

but just as he gets into the room, you stop him, grabbing his arms from behind him and twisting the gun out of his hand.

he attempts to kick you off his back, mind increasingly aware of the knife you have placed to his throat.

hesitantly, he turns, putting his hands up.

once you’re face to face, you take no time in tackling him. he grunts, the wind knocking right out of him as he hits the floor.

straddling his waist, both of your faces are emotionless, void of any of the pretend love you were used to maintaining.

‘did you know?’ he grunts, breathless, eyes glancing slightly at the blade you have pressed to his throat. ‘did you know it was me?’

you push the knife closer to his skin and he winces.

‘answer me, yn.’ his voice is hoarse, struggling to speak.

you take a deep breath, deciding to tell him the truth.

‘no.’ you say, but curiosity peaks in you again, and this time, you’re taking no chances at missing out. ‘did you?’

his jaw clenches.

with a sudden sense of energy, he kicks you, causing you to fall on top of him, your knife going slack in your hand as he knocks it to the side. he flips you both over in the process so that he’s now above you, taking a hold of both of your wrists.

‘no,’ he says, anger lining his words. ‘well,’ he chuckles, ‘i knew one thing.’

you furrow your brows.

he continues, ‘you’ve always hated me. i’ve always been able to see it in your eyes. you detest the thought of ever marrying me.’

you go to speak, but before you can reply, he cuts you off.

‘i wouldn’t worry, it’s a mutual feeling.’

with that, you reciprocate his anger. all those years of marriage, of putting up with a man you hate in order to give yourself a sense of security, all of it, has come down to this. pushing him off of you, you crawl to his revolver, laid out across the other side of the room.

your hands gain purchase to it, lifting it up to point at him.

your finger rests on the trigger. he’s in perfect shot. there’s no one around, you would complete your mission and regain your boss's trust back. but somehow, something stops you.

as you look into his eyes, the deep brown hue of his pupils looking at you in disgust and anger, you snap.

you just can’t do it.

because whilst his eyes may be looking at you in a new light, it’s those same eyes you have grown accustomed to seeing everyday. nearly every other set of eyes you see, looking back at you, you only get to see once before they’re closed forever, no one being granted the experience of ever viewing them again. but his, you’ve always known that, no matter what, you’d see them at the end of the day, that you’d wake up to them after every nightmare.

you just don’t think that you could let them go.

that you could let him go.

he notices your hesitation, a hint of a smile now making it’s way to his features.

‘you can’t do it, can you?’

you stay silent, finger still hovering over the trigger.

‘over five-hundred kills and now you’re hesitating.’ he taunts.

you stay still, shaking with anger. ‘you’ve done your research.’

‘had to make sure i knew what i was dealing with. although, nothing could have prepared me for this.’ he laughs, as if this whole situation is funny to him.

‘okay then,’ you say, lowering the gun. turning it in your palm, extending the handle out towards him. ‘kill me.’

he looks at you, a stern expression on his face, as he takes the gun from your hand.

but what he’s not expecting is for you to put your palm to his shoulder, making him sit himself down on the bed as you climb to straddle his lap.

he looks up at you, a mix of hatred and annoyance lining his features. slowly, you take his left wrist, guiding his hand to hold the small of your back. his eyes travel to the curve of your waist before looking back up. even slower, you take his right wrist, the one holding the gun, moving it so that the barrel presses firmly against your temple.

you let go of his wrists, the index finger of his left hand drawing circles on your skin, something he used to do years ago, in the age where you used to cuddle up to each other to watch movies. then, you accepted it because you had to make eachother think you loved the other. now, he’s doing it because he knows you don’t.

his face is close enough to yours now that you see the golden specks of his eyes as he looks at you, they swim in the pool of colour, drowning in the light that reflects off of them.

gun still pressed to your temple, mark lets out a deep breath. ‘you really want this?’ he whispers.

barely there, you nod, eyes falling to his lips.

he chuckles, hand at your waist now tracing its way up to the back of your neck.

his eyes flutter as he leans in. it's smooth, gentle but so incredibly angry as he kisses you. in all the years of your marriage, you’ve never kissed mark like this, never shown him enough emotion to be able to connect this deeply with him. your mind soars into a place of nothingness, beyond your world of killing and death, but it’s quickly brought back when you hear a sudden click from the pressure at your temple.

the gun.

you pull away, marks face a look of irritation as his eyes travel between the empty gun and you.

he had tried to distract you.

he had tried to kill you.

you slap the gun out of his hand before climbing off of him, dashing for the half open door.

you hear his footsteps clamber after you, chasing you down the motel hall. sprinting down the stairs, knowing he’s behind you, you keep running and running and running.

but it's not the fear of death that's urging you on, it’s the fear of knowing you didn’t have it in you to kill him.

and he did.

you didn’t go home to cook dinner that night, the image of his eyes on you scarring your memory, the feeling of his lips invading your mind.

instead, you go home with nothing but one intention.

this time you’re not going to let him distract you. this time you’re not going to let him leave.

his eyes were not going to stop you.

driving down your street, an invigorating anger consumes you. a resurgence of betrayal floods your actions as you press down on the gas pedal as though your life depends on it. all because now it’s evident that if you don't kill him, he will kill you.

pulling your car sharply around the corner and onto your driveway, you step out the car, pistol in either hand. you scan the building with your eyes, the warm exterior of your house now a cold shell, a place for death.

someone, tonight, is going to die here, and you will not let it be you.

as you creep around the house towards the back door, silence swarming you, you see a sudden flicker of light from the kitchen.

there he is, usual home comfort clothing, usual messy hair. to him, you’re not a threat; he’s seen it first hand, witnessed your hesitation.

but not anymore, not after he had tried to kill you. you won’t let him take your life away from you anymore than he already has.

you slowly walk towards the back door, twisting the handle to pop it open, but just as you do, the kitchen light switches off. the entire house turns to black.

he knows you’re here.

you walk inside, past your immaculate kitchen, past the stairwell. but it’s when you get to the living room that you hear a shuffle amongst the furniture.

and you’re right next to the light switch.

you reach your hand towards the switch, inches away from turning the light on before a hand clasps around your wrists. you twist, shooting blindly at the figure behind you, an attempt to defend yourself.

‘nice try, honey.’ you hear his voice whisper from beside you.

you turn again, trying to gain an idea of where he is, but before your eyes can focus, a rally of gunshots explode at the wall beside you. unfortunately for mark, he misses, similarly blinded by the darkness surrounding you, but fortunately for you, the fire of his revolver illuminates from the barrel, signaling exactly where he’s positioned from across the room.

moving before you can even think, you run towards him, launching yourself in his direction. you meet the hardness of his shoulder as you knock you both onto the floor, rolling away from each other. you attempt to regain your balance on your feet, but a sound from across the room stops you in your tracks: the chilling swipe of a knife being drawn from the kitchen drawer.

mark has never deviated from his selected weapon before.

he is desperate.

still unable to see each other, you speak out as you eventually stand up.

‘have you ever considered couple’s therapy, sweetie?’ you taunt, hoping a joke would distract him as you crawl across the room to find one of your pistols.

he laughs in reply, ‘with you, or the fake wife i’ve been married to for four years?’

‘i have no idea what you're talking about.’ your voice is sweet, an innocent persona you’ve been willing to upkeep.

his voice sounds closer, raspier. ‘you know, i always wondered why you hated me.’ he says, the sound of his words circling you as you freeze. ‘i thought, maybe you knew what i did for a living, that you despised me for it.’ he stops walking. ‘but now i know that you really do just hate me.’

with that, he lunges in your direction, circulating his arms around you from behind, knife held firmly against the front of your neck. you feel his breath on your cheek, hear his heartbeat.

and it’s racing.

‘you won’t do it.’ you say, fear consuming you.

you feel his lips twitch into a smile from beside you.

‘you’re naive, baby.’

‘then do it.’

there’s a moment of stillness, mark’s breath halting, his heart still pounding.

the pressure at your throat lingers, but it doesn’t increase.

instead, it’s the silence that speaks volumes.

the knife drops to the floor, clattering at your feet, his arms still enveloping you.

he turns your body by your shoulders, and the stillness of the room allows your eyes to focus.

there he is, hair dishevelled as he looks down on you. it’s almost impossible to tell, but amongst the flood of darkness you think you see a hint of a smile in his eyes.

he looks down at the floor, his arms falling to his sides.

‘im sorry, yn.’ he says.

you furrow your brows in confusion.

‘wh-’

but before you could ask what he means, you feel the warm embrace of his arms around you, head falling into his chest as he pulls you towards him, a hand running through your hair.

you stay like that for a moment, basking in each other's comfort, memories of the start of your marriage flooding back to you.

it’s now that you realise the extent of your fear, it's now that you realise what you really feel.

it’s not mark’s eyes that reel you in, not the warm brown or the golden specks that you urge to drift away with, no, it’s just him.

the man you have despised for all these years, for this entire marriage, is the man you don’t.

before you could have it in your heart to figure out why, a high pitched screech blurs around you, a whistle you both know all too well.

‘yn!’ mark pleads, pulling your wrist towards him as he ducks behind the wine cabinet, its bronze structure serving as the perfect shield as he holds your body towards him.

you don’t know why, but you trust his embrace.

as if perfectly timed, the hot surge of the explosion traces your skin as the kitchen falls to ruin, the cabinet protecting you both from the heat of the blast. it’s only a small explosion, erupting only a meter within itself, but your heart pounds at the nature of it.

you look up at mark as you pull away from each other.

‘that wasn’t me-’ you begin, but a shock in mark’s eyes stop you from talking.

you turn, facing the direction of the explosion.

emerging within the rubble of your kitchen wall, is a figure.

the smoke conceals them, hiding the details of their features from you.

but as the second figure emerges from the dust, you recognise their silhouette almost immediately.

agent K. your boss.

‘fuck.’ mark mumbles to himself as he holds an eye contact with the first person so extreme that it has you questioning. meanwhile, you do all you can to avoid K’s glare, feeling her eyes burn into your skull.

both yours and marks.

K and the man you don’t recognise both stand in what’s left of your kitchen, eyes trained on the proximity of you and the man beside you.

you don’t dare to speak first.

‘agent 1270. agent 1999.’ K begins, breaking the silence.

you check your watch, fear and terror consuming you as you read the steady pace of the clock hands.

10:44 pm.

it’s been exactly 11 hours and 59 minutes.

you’re completely and utterly fucked.

K continues, ‘there's a little someone i would like you to meet.’

after her cue, two men in black walk towards you, dragging a half limp man between them, black cloth over his head as they place him on his knees ahead of you.

after receiving a nod from K, one of the two men reach for his hood, lifting it off his head and revealing the terrifyingly familiar face of the man it belongs to.

he smiles, his silver moustache smiling with him.

it’s him, the man you were supposed to poison when you had accidently poisoned mark instead.

mark clenches his jaw beside you, hands digging in his pockets as he glares at the man in front of him.

and suddenly it all pieces together.

your mind draws back to your conversation with your boss.

‘it’s a race of who can find and kill who first.’

that is what she told you when she gave you the task of killing mark, that is why she gave you the job.

because he was set to kill you too.

you were set to take out eachother.

‘this was your plan all along.’ you say, eyes flickering between K and the stranger beside her, completely ignoring the man as he gets dragged away again out of sight. ‘this is what you’d hoped for. you knew, this whole time, what you wanted.’

mark looks at you, and you can see the pieces falling together in his head.

K looks angry, livid even, but it only adds fuel to your flame, so you continue.

‘there was never a rivalry between our agencies, was there?’ you ask, not waiting for the answer; you already know what it will be. ‘there was never any competition.’

K’s anger slowly morphs into a smug look of distaste as she begins to speak, slowly walking towards you.

‘mrs lee, do you really think i would have assigned you such a task? you, an inexperienced solo assassin set to murder a gambler at a casino?’ her eyes search yours. ‘it was all under the plan i had constructed. i instructed you to slip poison into the gentlemans drink, under oath that if you fucked up i would get rid of you, and agent H here,’ she points at marks boss beside her, ‘was to instruct agent 1999 to take a sip of the drink, reasoning it as an interception of rival plans and promising him an antidote he wasn’t going to receive. killing both of you in the process.’ you feel the anger in mark shift beside you. ‘what we didn’t expect, however, was for you to give it to him yourself. so, by all due means, we had to improvise. if we couldn’t take you out, then you would have to take out each other.’

by this point, K is directly in front of you, the scent of her navy suit filling the air around you with an aroma of sweet spice.

but as you look into her eyes, you decide that, really, you’re not scared of her.

you peek at mark beside you, his attention elsewhere, trained on his boss as he remains across the other side of the room, a smug look on his face.

mark speaks up. ‘why? why go through all that trouble to kill us?’ he says, directly aimed at his boss.

agent H comes forward, until eventually, he is side by side with agent K.

your boss smiles, ‘because marriage is a dangerous sport, agent 1999.’

your heart thumps in your chest, your skin crawls.

she knew.

she knew everything.

‘a distraction.’ she sneers, ‘a liability.’

you don’t say anything, you can’t.

‘and though you liked to pretend you hated it, mrs lee, i knew, truly, deep down, there was a vow more important to you than any job you could have been given.’

the silence is deafening, scorching the air around you.

but its not K that finishes the sentence, it's the voice of the man beside you, the voice of the reason behind all of this.

he’s breathless, but the words are laced with nothing but raw honesty as he whispers them, a realisation sparking from within him.

and now he’s finally aware.

‘till death do us part.’

it’s only after those words are uttered that the whole world breaks loose.

shots erupt from wall to wall, glass smashing around you as you follow mark, his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist.

you both burst out the door, his hand letting loose of yours so that you can sprint your way over to mark’s car.

‘get in!’ he yells at you from the driver's seat, but your mind betrays you, a plan of strategy forming in your wits.

‘hang on.’ you yell back at him and with little time to spare, mark rolls his eyes.

he rolls down the window. ‘we don’t really have time for this, yn.’ mark grunts through his teeth, anger enticing him to just drive off without you, to let you die. but he can’t, not like this.

you ignore him, legs close to giving in as you run to the keypad on the gate to your driveway. urging mark to drive through, you press in the numbers, closing the gate before climbing over, jumping into his car on the other side.

‘go, go, go.’ you yell, gunfire belting off the metal of the cars exterior and you shut the door.

skidding the car round the exit of the street, the rubber of the tyres producing a thick layer of smoke behind you, mark calls over to you, ‘what did you d-’

but before he could finish his sentence, your entire house explodes in a massacre of flames.

you grin at him in succession, ‘self destruction code.’

he laughs back at you, ‘you’re crazy.’

‘i know.’

as you begin to gain speed on the highway, mark sliding the car skillfully between the cars around you, you start to notice three other cars doing the same behind you, gaining speed, and the familiar black tint of each window signalling who they belong to.

‘shit, they’re after us.’ you wince, mark looking in the rearview mirror and cursing at the sight. but before he can suggest anything, he peeks over at you, watching as you reach under the seat and find yourself a set of machine guns.

noticing his questioning look, you turn to him, ‘what? that’s where they are in my car, so i could only guess.’ you shrug.

he laughs, in awe at this new version of his wife, ‘i think i can get used to this side of you.’

‘you’d better.’ you reply, before reaching up at the sunroof and pulling it across, making a gap for you to emerge out of. manoeuvring yourself so that you're kneeling on the centre console of the car, you push your upper body out the top of the car, aiming the gun at the cars chasing after you.

beginning to fire your guns, aiming for the cars’ tyres and successfully stalling one of the drivers, you seem to start to lose your balance.

‘mark!’ you call.

‘you okay, baby?’ he yells back, noticing your struggle.

you roll your eyes. ‘you’re driving like a coward’

‘you’re kidding, right?’

you look down at him, peeking your head back through the sunroof. ‘let me drive.’

he sighs in acceptance before you reach your legs over to his side of the car, swapping places with him.

but mark has better ideas.

‘open the trunk.’ he demands, picking up both machine guns from the passenger seat and climbing to the back.

you press the button, the trunk opening up and giving mark a full view of the cars behind him.

you speed up the car, weaving through the traffic in an attempt to divert their bullets.

‘it’s too busy, babe, i can’t aim like this.’ he yells back to you.

‘hang on.’ you call as you speed past cars until you find a junction in the road. you turn the car, slipping across it and nearly flipping the car in the process.

‘holy shit.’ mark yells, clinging onto the handle on the car roof.

you laugh, ‘sorry.’

now with a clear aim of the cars behind you, mark crawls on the backseat, shooting desperately after them.

you begin to grow eager, listening as mark wastes all the bullets you have at your disposal. that’s when an idea begins to form in your head, an impossible yet incredibly daring plan.

amidst all the chaos, you call for him again. ‘mark!’

‘yeah?’ he says, ducking behind the seats to avoid the other cars’ oncoming gunfire, panting in exhaustion.

‘you got any explosives?’

mark’s head tilts, ‘under your seat. why?’

you reach under your seat, grabbing the grenade and passing it back to mark.

‘i need you to open the left door at the back.’ you yell, and he does so, other hand holding on by the seat belt to keep himself upright.

you continue, ‘when i tell you to, throw it out that door.’

‘shit, okay.’ he replies, leaning back against the seat, wincing in pain at the strength to keep himself going.

noticing a straight length of road up ahead, you ready your hand on the car’s parking brake. when you gain enough speed, you quickly turn the steering wheel to the left, forcing the car to a stop in the process. in a whirl of gravity, the car spins on its side as the cars behind you are forced to stop. it's then that you call for mark to throw the explosive.

a bright white light erupts from beside you, a hot breeze brushing past your skin.

the cars go up in flames, both of your bosses inside them.

it's over.

everything is over.

after a few moments of tranquility, mark is already outside the car, pulling you from the driver's seat and bringing you to your feet.

‘you okay?’ he turns to you, eyes searching yours in a second of sincerity that you’ve never seen from him before.

it’s cruel, the way he looks at you, as though nothing has changed, as though you're still that same innocent wife you once were. the thick atmosphere of reality struggles to set in between you as you look back at the damage you’ve made.

both physical and not.

‘they’re gone’ you whisper, ‘it’s all gone.’

he feels everything you feel, he always has, every thought, every emotion, all of it. so he does what he knows he also needs the most, as he pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head and wrapping his arms around you in warmth. he knows you're hurting, and for once in his life, he has the power to stop it.

side by side, you walk. not a word is uttered, not a thought exchanged. you don’t need to, you both understand. it’s bittersweet, but yet terribly foreboding, so you don’t say a word.

you had managed to find yourselves in a nearby town, not a care where you had ended up, home no longer a fortified place, destroyed and abandoned. you stand, complete yet broken, at the front of the town's local church, looking up at the grand design of its wooden doors.

it’s as if you both had gravitated here by some external form of fate, woven into your lives, repeated like a mantra, forcing back to you everything you had seemed to have forgotten. that’s how you find yourselves where you are now, feet facing each other as you stand at the altar at the front of the church hall, the echo of the stone walls reflecting your silence.

for once in your life, you look into his eyes knowing that they’re his.

‘till death do us part.’ you whisper, and you know K was right; you do mean it.

he smiles back at you, dimples showing.

‘till death do us part.’

mark looks at you, really looks at you, a softness in his features and a new found sincerity in his heart.

it was at that exact moment that you realised why you had hated marrying mark lee.

it was attachment: something so incredibly forbidden yet increasingly enticing. all you wanted, all you really wanted, was to love in honesty, but it wasn’t mark that you wanted to love.

it was agent 1999.

two weeks later

the room is plastered in an ugly hue of grey, carpet stained and window forcing a breeze to flow through the curtains. mark sits beside you, listening to the question of the woman before you.

‘so, what made you both want to come here for couples therapy?’

mark turns to you, a smirk lining his lips. you smile, trying to conceal your laugh.

‘i guess you could say we kept a few secrets. isn’t that right, mark?’

he looks at you, eyes wide and heart full.

‘something like that.’

#nct #mark lee #nct 127 #nct dream #mark nct #nct x reader #nct fanfic #mark lee x reader #mark x reader #mark lee fanfic #nct mark #nct scenarios #nct u #nct imagines #nct fluff

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girlkisser13 · 10 months ago

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being married to remy lebeau would include

• the two of you are CONSTANTLY flirting with each other, even well into your marriage. he still flirts with you like he’s meeting you for the first time.

• remy is the king of romance, always finding new ways to surprise you with gestures of love— whether it’s leaving a single red rose on your pillow or whisking you away for a spontaneous weekend getaway to a secluded part of new orleans.

• while he trusts your abilities, he can't help but be protective. he’ll often remind you to be careful when you're apart, and if there's even a hint of danger, he's the first one by your side.

• this man loves pda, especially light touches, like a kiss on the cheek or gently squeezing your hand when you’re nervous or worried. he’s always touching you in some way.

• your life together is never boring. from stealing priceless artifacts to taking down dangerous enemies, you two are an unstoppable team. you both enjoy the thrill of a good heist, and remy loves showing off his skills.

• remy insists on cooking for you, especially his favorite cajun dishes. he loves the look on your face when you take your first bite, and he’ll often cook together with you, enjoying the process as much as the food.

• he’s always there to listen and support you, no matter what. he knows how to lift your spirits when you're feeling down and provides comfort in the most challenging times.

• whether it’s on a rooftop under the stars or in your living room, remy LOVES to dance with you. he’s an incredible dancer, and he’ll often sweep you off your feet, leading you in a slow, intimate waltz.

• remy is known for keeping secrets, but with you, he’s open and honest. you both share your pasts, knowing that your love for each other is stronger than any mistake you've made.

• despite his very flirtatious nature, remy is deeply loyal to you. he never gives you a reason to doubt his love, always making it clear that you’re the most important person in his life.

• remy is a night owl, and he loves spending the late hours talking with you. these moments are filled with deep conversations, laughter, and secrets shared under the cover of darkness.

• he is quite the gentleman. he’ll opens doors for you, pulls out chairs, and always insists on carrying heavy things. his manners are impeccable, even if his moral compass isn't always perfectly aligned.

• if the two of have children, he is extremely protective of them. he always makes sure to prioritize them and spend time with them.

• this mostly comes from his experience of being neglected and he doesn’t want his loved ones ever feeling that because of him.

• the two of you rarely ever argue, but when you do, it’s intense— remy’s fiery nature combined with his strong opinions can make things heated. but he’s also quick to apologize, realizing that your relationship is too important to let anything come between you. <33

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peachdues · 2 months ago

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flirting — Tengen x reader x wives • NSFW • MDNI

Idk I wrote this with @togame-hoe in mind as the fourth wife bc this is her energy

Tengen Uzui is the king of flirting. No question about it. Gender orientation doesn’t matter, a pretty face is a pretty face, and Tengen knows how to get it flustered. A quick comment here, a wink and an eat-your-heart-out smirk, there. People fold right into his palm, just as he intends, and the crown sits a little higher on his head each time they do.

Until you. Until the day he marries you, and Tengen learns that his title as master flirt was little more than a placation. A participation trophy, of sorts, even. Because nothing, nothing at all, can compete with you.

“Do you want me to get you a chair?” He offers one morning, noticing the way you lean against the counter while nursing a cup of freshly brewed tea. He goes to stand, to offer you his own seat at the breakfast table, when you raise a hand to halt him.

“Why?” You reply, lofty, though without missing a beat. “I could just use the one on top of your neck.”

Suma’s shriek of laughter is masked only by the sound of his own tea cup sliding from his hand and clattering to the table, its contents spilling all across the wood and into his lap. Somehow, the steaming tea didn’t burn nearly as bad as his cheeks, and that was all the more offensive.

Tengen doesn’t blush; he doesn’t get flustered. Not like this.

He’s quick to dismiss the incident as a one-off instance where you just managed to wrestle the upper hand from him. You’re quick witted, and he loves that about you. It’s one of the reasons he’d known you’d be a suitable addition to his family. But, your experience prior to him had been limited — he knows this. As smart as you are, his own experience vastly outpaces yours, and that alone should mean he remains on top.

Right?

Wrong. So very wrong.

Have his other wives been humoring him all this time? Letting him think he has the upper hand, that their swooning couldn’t be anything but their very authentic reactions to his smooth talking, rather than their own deliberate machinations to stoke his ego?

All this time, Tengen fancied himself the fisherman holding the pole; in reality, he was nothing more than the bait.

And now that you’ve latched on, you refuse to let up.

“If I have to hear that blonde pain in the ass moan and complain one more time about training, I’m going to scream.”

“I think I’d prefer you screaming my name instead,” you say casually as you pass him by, taking care to impart a sharp smack on his ass that had him blushing the rest of the day.

Then, there is the time you and Hinatsuru are training with him in his courtyard, and the two of you pull that shifty little maneuver that had him laid flat on his back before he could process how his feet had been swept from underneath him to begin with.

“Makio was right.” You tilt your head in consideration, peering down at him while you kept your foot squarely planted on his chest. “You do look better from below.”

How? How do you consistently manage to stun him speechless, when not once in his life has Tengen ever been without anything to say?

It’s maddening; it’s incredibly fucking hot too, but mostly, it’s maddening.

Worse, it’s only a matter of days before your brazenness rubs off on the other wives, and Tengen realizes, to his dismay, that he’s been a sucker played for a fool for the entire duration of his marriages.

“So obedient, Lord Tengen,” Makio teases when he fills her bowl first at dinner one night, just as he always does. Her hand lances too innocently up and down the side of his thigh, right where you all know he’s the most sensitive.

“You’re a terrible influence.” He shoots at you, though the flush in his cheeks only eggs you on.

Once he’s finally ensured each of you have been properly served, he goes to take his seat, only to stumble right over Suma’s strategically placed foot and into your lap.

Tengen doesn’t trip. He doesn’t, god dammit. Yet, here he is, looking up at his wife while you playfully bat your stupidly pretty eyes at him.

“Come here often?” You ask smugly, your fingertips stair-stepping up the massive planes of his chest.

He’s too busy glaring at you to notice how silently Hinatsuru slips to your side of the table and settles down near his feet. “You four are a handful —“

“Ah, ah,” comes Hinatsuru’s gentle admonishment, and your husband’s eyes blow wide as he feels her palm right over the crotch of his yukata. “This is the only handful around here. And it seems like we’ll to deal with it.”

Great, magenta eyes flick back to meet yours, and Tengen’s throat bobs when he sees your wolfish grin. Still, he won’t bow. Not yet; he’s got the strength to shake you off until after dinner. He can make it.

The moment he goes to sit up, your hands slam over his pectorals, forcing him back down into your lap. “Where do you think you’re going, handsome?”

Suddenly, Tengen is all too aware he is surrounded not by four, beautiful kunoichi; the best and brightest his village had to offer, once upon a time.

No. The four pairs of eyes gleaming down at him belong to vultures, and Tengen is the unwitting prey.

And fuck, if that doesn’t make him harder than a diamond. So much so, that the flimsy folds of his yukata do nothing to restrain just how much he enjoys it.

“Makio, dear?” Hinatsuru sing-songs as she knocks your husband’s knees apart, settling into the cradle between his thighs.

Tengen’s stomach dips as the third of his wives joins Hinatsuru, her hand anchored firmly on the inside of his thigh to keep it splayed open. The same, hungry malice dances in her eyes that he sees reflected in yours, when he dares glance up at you.

He does his best to ignore the telltale sensation of fingers tugging open his yukata; of the air that brushes against his stiffened cock, standing taught and desperate for attention. “Bad influence.” He reminds you again. “Terrible, actually. In fact I —“

Whatever quip he’d managed to whip up is smothered under your hand as you press it over his mouth. “Pretty boys don’t speak, dear husband. They take.”

On cue, Makio drags her tongue up the side of Tengen’s engorged cock as Hinatsuru parts her lips over his tip. Tengen’s groan of want vibrates into your palm, and his eyes roll back far enough that only the whites are visible between the slits of his eyelids.

The ends of your hair tickle his temples as you lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead, his face cradled in your lap.

“You don’t mind if we treat ourselves to a little appetizer first, do you, sweet husband?” You coo. Suma sidles up beside you, and leans over his quaking chest to tug one of his pretty, pert nipples right between her teeth, giggling. “You’re simply too delectable to pass up.”

Like he said: you’re a bad influence.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #tengen uzui #kny #kny x reader #kny tengen #kny uzui #uzui x reader #demon slayer uzui #demon slayer tengen #kny fanfic #kny smut #demon slayer smut #tengen smut

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heliosunny · 3 months ago

Note

I love your Mydei marriage of convenience fic. Could you write if he remembered the past life first, perhaps around the time of the wedding? Like when the reader finally remembers, he tries to convince the reader it was just a bad dream the reader had.

Yandere!Mydei x Reader

[1] [2]

The hall was silent. A grand ceremony, attended by nobles and elites, yet it felt hollow. The vows exchanged were not ones of love but of duty. A necessary arrangement.

Mydei stood before you, his expression unreadable, cold as ever. He slid the ring onto your finger with practiced indifference, his hands steady, his lips forming the required words.

"I take you as my spouse."

Simple. Empty. Meaningless.

Just as he had expected this day to be.

But then, a sharp pain shot through his skull. A rush of something deep, something that did not belong to this moment.

Memories—his memories—came flooding back.

Your laughter, bright as the morning sun. The warmth of your touch, reaching for him even when he never reached back. The sound of your voice, breaking as you finally gave up on him. The suffocating regret as you left him behind—forever.

His own death.

And now, here he was again, standing at the altar. Back at the beginning.

His fingers, still lightly touching yours, trembled.

You were here. Alive.

A strange sensation bubbled in his chest. A second chance. Fate had been cruel, but this… this was mercy.

For the first time, his grip on your hand tightened, just slightly.

This time, he would treasure you.

----

You expected him to be cold, indifferent—just as he had always been. You had long prepared yourself for it, knowing this marriage was one of convenience, not love.

This wasn’t the distant, apathetic man you had come to know.

He was staring at you—really staring at you. As if trying to memorize every detail, every curve of your face, every breath you took. His sharp, unreadable eyes held something foreign.

Before you could process it, the priest’s voice cut through the silence. You barely had time to brace yourself. Mydei moved, slow yet deliberate, closing the distance between you. You expected a mere brush of lips, a quick peck for the sake of appearances.

But when he kissed you—

It was gentle.

His lips pressed against yours, not out of obligation, but something softer. It lingered. His hand cradled your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin, as if afraid you’d disappear.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Your heart pounded in confusion as he pulled away, only slightly, his breath still mingling with yours. His voice was quiet, low enough that only you could hear.

“Thank you… for marrying me.”

He sounded—relieved.

You didn’t understand why. As the crowd erupted into cheers, as hands clapped in celebration, Mydei never let go of your hand. His fingers wove between yours, his grip firm.

You should have been the one feeling lucky.

Yet, as he gazed at you with something dangerously close to devotion, it was Mydei who looked as if he had been given the greatest gift of his life.

And for the first time, you felt the slightest tremor of unease.

Because this wasn’t the Mydei you remembered.

----

You were prepared for indifference. For a husband who would rarely acknowledge you, who would leave you to your own devices while he concerned himself with war and politics. A cold, distant relationship where you would simply play your role as his spouse.

Yet, Mydei was anything but that.

The first sign came on the morning after your wedding.

You had woken early, as you had been taught. But when you stirred, the warmth beside you was still there.

Mydei hadn’t left.

Instead, he was already awake, watching you. His arm was draped loosely over your waist, fingers tracing absent patterns against the fabric of your nightgown. When you shifted, his hand stilled—but he didn’t pull away.

“…You’re up early” you murmured, unsure of what else to say.

He hummed, voice lower in the quiet of the morning. “I wanted to see you first.”

A hand lifted, brushing strands of hair from your face before tucking them neatly behind your ear. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Yes.”

His lips quirked, satisfied. “Good.”

And just like that, the morning routine began.

Despite his position, Mydei’s habits were predictable. Disciplined. Every day, he rose at dawn, though he lingered in bed longer than necessary whenever you were with him. He trained before breakfast, sparring with his men or honing his swordsmanship in the courtyard.

He preferred practicality over luxury—his armor was well-maintained but bore signs of wear, his clothes simple despite his status. Yet, when it came to you, his attention to detail was precise.

You had mentioned it only once before-your favorite food, in passing, yet he had remembered.

It wasn’t just the food. It was the way he adjusted the temperature of the bath before you entered, knowing you disliked it scalding. The way he never gifted you perfumes because he had noticed you disliked overpowering scents. The way he adjusted his pace when walking with you, ensuring you were never left behind.

He noticed everything. Every little habit, every little preference.

Mydei never let your efforts go unacknowledged.

When you oversaw the management of the household, he would bring you small gifts—a flower from the gardens, a trinket from the markets, a book he thought you might enjoy.

When you sent letters to the families of his soldiers, ensuring they received aid while their loved ones were at war, he responded with handwritten letters of his own.

“You didn’t have to do this” you told him once, staring at the parchment in his hands.

He smiled, pressing it into your grasp. “Neither did you. But you did.”

The man who once barely acknowledged your existence now memorized your every habit.

You couldn’t deny that he was… kind.

Loving.

The whispers started among the servants first.

"How lucky to have a husband like him."

"Have you ever seen him so affectionate with anyone before?"

It was impossible to ignore. The way Mydei lingered by your side, how his gaze followed you even when he was speaking to others, how he never left without first ensuring your comfort.

When he left for training, he always returned early. If you were in the garden, he somehow found his way there, claiming he needed fresh air—though he always ended up seated beside you, engaging in idle conversation.

Even the household staff, who once feared his cold and calculating nature, had softened.

"They suit each other well."

"They must be happy."

And for a while, you almost believed it.

Until that night.

The dream was vivid.

Mydei was cold, treated you like you were nothing.

Then came your death. You heard Mydei's voice “...there’s nothing to be done.”

What?

You gasped awake, your entire body trembling. Your breath came in shallow gasps, panic clawing at your throat.

I.. am alive?

The moment you turned—

Mydei was there.

Lying beside you, his arm draped over your waist.

Without thinking, you shoved him away.

He stirred, blinking drowsily, his hair slightly disheveled from sleep. “…What’s wrong?”

You scrambled back, your heart hammering. “You—” The words stuck in your throat.

Mydei watched you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he sat up. He reached for you.

You flinched.

His hand stopped midair, but his gaze never wavered.

“You had a bad dream or something?”

A bad dream?

You stared at him, searching—desperately—for some sign that he knew. That he remembered. But his expression remained soft. Reassuring. As if the life you remembered was nothing but a nightmare.

His hand finally lowered, and instead, he reached for the blanket, pulling it over your trembling form. “It’s alright,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

You wanted to tell him. To scream at him. But when he pulled you back into his embrace, you hesitated.

----

The dream haunted you.

No—the memory haunted you.

You could feel it deep in your bones, a lingering unease that refused to fade. The touch of cold regret in your past life, the way Mydei had once ignored you, the suffocating sorrow of your final moments. It wasn’t something your mind could have simply fabricated.

But when you voiced your doubts—when you tried to make sense of it—everyone said the same thing.

“He loves you dearly.”

“How fortunate you are.”

“He is a devoted husband, isn’t he?”

It was always the same words, the same admiration in their voices. There were no whispers of his former coldness, no hints that he had once been distant.

Even the servants, who had once spoken in hushed voices about his indifference, now only smiled when they spoke of him.

“He has always cared for you.”

Always?

That wasn’t right.

But no matter who you asked—no matter how hard you searched for someone who would confirm that he had once been mean—you found nothing.

Your hands trembled as you clutched the fabric of your sleeve.

It felt like a carefully crafted illusion. As if the truth had been rewritten, warped into something new, something unrecognizable.

---

He had known.

From the moment he regained his memories, from the moment he was given a second chance—he had known this would happen.

That you would remember.

But he had hoped.

Hoped that if he treated you well, if he erased every moment of his cruelty, if he smothered you in love and devotion, you would never have to recall that wretched life.

That version of him—the man who let you slip through his fingers, the fool who never cherished you until it was too late—was dead.

But memories were fickle things. They had a way of creeping back in, poisoning the peace he had carefully built.

He wouldn’t allow that.

As he watched you grow more distant, your gaze flickering with something uncertain, something dangerous, he knew.

He would have to do something.

Something to make you forget.

Something to wipe those filthy memories from your mind completely.

----

The River of Lethe.

A legend. A myth. A sacred water said to wash away one’s past, drowning memories in its endless depths. It was said that those who drank from it would forget their pain, their pasts, their very identities if too much was consumed.

And in his desperate search, Mydei had found it.

A vial of its essence, hidden among the ruins of an old kingdom. Not enough to erase a person entirely—but enough to make them forget something unwanted.

Something like a past life.

Now, as he watched you sitting in the courtyard, your fingers tracing the rim of your untouched cup, your expression distant—he knew.

It was time.

He was careful.

He got you a drink like any other evening. This time, pomegranate juice.

You wouldn’t notice anything different. The effects wouldn’t come immediately. The memories would fade slowly, like a dream slipping through your fingers upon waking.

He watched as your fingers curled around the cup. As you lifted it slightly, contemplating something, your gaze distant.

His heart pounded.

You brought the cup to your lips.

He waited.

But you didn’t drink.

Instead, you lowered the cup slightly and turned to him, your eyes sharp. “Who was I before this life, Mydei?”

You never asked questions like that before. Never so directly.

Mydei’s grip on his own cup tightened, but his face remained unreadable. “What do you mean?”

Your fingers drummed lightly against the glass. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” you said. “And it feels like I… lost something. Like there’s a gap in my mind.”

“You said it was just a dream. But why do I feel like I’ve lived it before?”

There it was. The danger he had feared. The one thing he needed to stop.

He exhaled softly, shifting closer to you. “Because it was just a dream,” he murmured as he reached out, brushing his fingers against yours, “You’re overthinking.”

You studied him, searching for something in his expression. Mydei only smiled.

Trust me, his eyes seemed to say.

And for a moment, you wavered.

Then, finally—hesitantly—you lifted the cup again.

Just one sip.

That was all he needed.

You tilted the cup.

The liquid touched your lips.

And then—

You stopped.

Slowly, you pulled the cup away. Your eyes flickered with something unreadable, something sharp.

“You drink first.”

Silence.

A slow, suffocating silence.

Mydei’s smile didn’t falter, but his grip on his own cup tightened just slightly.

You stared at him. Waiting.

And for the first time, you saw it.

The tiniest flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

Something was wrong.

And Mydei—your devoted, affectionate husband—was hiding it.

The air between you two grew heavy.

Slowly, you placed the cup back onto the table. Mydei’s golden eyes followed the movement, calculating. His expression remained gentle, but something beneath it had shifted.

His smile didn’t falter as he exhaled softly. “You doubt me?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you tilted your head, watching him the same way he always watched you. “Should I?”

Then, he chuckled. Soft, almost amused. He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin against his palm, his gaze never leaving yours. “I would never harm you.”

A perfectly crafted response. The cup before you suddenly felt like a trap, the deep red liquid shimmering in the candlelight.

Carefully, you pushed it further away. "I'm not thirsty anymore."

“I suppose I expected this.”

“What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached forward, fingers brushing over your hand, tracing your knuckles in slow, deliberate strokes.

“I knew you’d remember one day.” His voice was soft—too soft. “And I knew you’d start doubting me.”

You tried to pull your hand away.

He didn’t let you.

"But it doesn't have to be this way," he continued, voice almost pleading. "You don’t have to carry those painful memories. You don’t have to suffer from things that don’t matter anymore."

“They do matter.”

The cracks forming in his carefully built patience. The fear lurking beneath his golden gaze.

He’s scared. Not of losing you, but of you choosing to leave.

You had thought that this Mydei—the one who now showered you with warmth was different. That maybe, this was a future where you could finally be free.

But no. He had never changed.

He was still the same man who refused to let you go.

And now, he was willing to erase your very memories to keep you by his side.

You had to do something.

But before you could react, Mydei did something unexpected.

He let go.

And then lifted the cup to his lips.

Your eyes widened. "Wait—"

He drank.

A single sip.

And then, he set the cup back down.

Slowly, he exhaled, licking the last traces of pomegranate juice from his lips. His gaze met yours once more, and he smiled.

“See?” he murmured. “It’s nothing dangerous.”

Had you imagined it? Had you truly been overthinking?

Had you just lost your only proof?

Slowly, he reached for your hand again, his touch as warm as ever, as if this entire moment was just a misunderstanding. As if nothing had happened at all. “You’ve been restless lately,” he murmured, voice filled with concern. “Perhaps you should rest.”

No.

You couldn’t stay here.

Not after realizing the truth.

If you stayed, you might never wake up as yourself again.

You stood abruptly, pulling your hand back. “I—I need some air.”

“Of course.”

You took a step back. Then another. Your heart was hammering.

But just as you turned toward the door—

“It’s alright, you know.”

“I understand why you’re afraid.”

You turned back.

Mydei was still seated, his fingers lazily tracing the rim of his cup. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the dim candlelight, “Memories are a fragile thing,” he continued. “It’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s just… a lingering nightmare.”

He’s trying to confuse you.

You clenched your fists. “You’re the one who’s hiding something, Mydei.”

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t even look surprised.

Instead, he simply sighed, standing up slowly. Like a man who already knew the outcome of this conversation.

“If you truly don’t trust me… then leave.”

He was letting you go.

That was wrong. That was impossible.

Unless—

He’s still one step ahead of you.

You still didn’t trust him.

That was fine.

Because trust could be rebuilt. Memories, however… memories could be rewritten.

His plan wasn’t ruined.

You were afraid now, yes. Suspicious. But that fear would pass, eventually.

Because the Lethe extract was already working.

Not through him, but through you.

That hesitation in your step? That brief flicker of uncertainty? The moment you questioned yourself, even for a second?

That was all it needed.

The water from the Lethe didn’t just erase memories—it corrupted them.

Made you doubt. Made you question.

Made you forget, slowly, without realizing it.

He had known you wouldn’t drink it willingly.

So he made sure you inhaled it instead.

The scent of pomegranate, the faint mist above the cup—it carried traces of the Lethe’s essence, just enough to plant the seed.

And soon…

Soon, you would start questioning everything.

And by the time you realized, it would already be too late.

Your head felt light, as though the air itself had thickened into something heavy, something sweet, something that pulled at your senses like a lullaby sung in a voice too familiar to ignore. The scent of pomegranate lingered in your lungs, rich and intoxicating, winding around your thoughts like creeping ivy.

You took a step toward the door, fingers grazing the wood for support, yet the moment you tried to steady yourself, a wave of warmth rolled through you—slow, subtle, inescapable.

The dizziness didn’t come in sharp bursts, nor did it strike all at once. Instead, it unfurled—like silk slipping through fingers, like honey dissolving in tea. You barely noticed it at first, only the way your body felt too warm, too pliant. The urgency, the fear, the undeniable knowledge that you had to leave—it was all slipping.

"You’re unwell" Mydei murmured.

How did his touch feel so steady?

It was comforting, as though he had always been the one to hold you, to guide you, to remind you of where you belonged. His palm splayed wide against your back, the weight of it grounding, his voice dipping into something softer, something knowing.

I have to leave.

The thought rang in your mind like a distant bell, but somehow, it felt less important than before.

Wasn't he always kind?

Your lips parted, yet before a single word could form, Mydei was already moving, already leading you away from the door with such natural ease that it felt undeniable. The moment your weight tipped forward, his arms were there—catching you, pulling you in.

His breath was warm against your temple. "See?"

"You’re exhausted, my love. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard."

The scent of him wrapped around you, coaxing your body to relax.

No, no, I know the truth. I know what you were before.

And yet, as you tried to hold onto that thought, something inside you wavered.

Hadn't that been a dream?

Had he ever been anything but this?

Hadn't he always cherished you?

Hadn't he always looked at you like this—like you were something precious?

Your breath trembled as he guided you further into the room, his hands firm yet delicate, like he was handling porcelain, glass, something meant only for him.

When did we move?

You blinked, and suddenly, the silk sheets beneath you were cool, unfamiliar, waiting.

Had you walked? Had he carried you? Had you even tried to resist?

A voice at the back of your mind whispered that something was wrong, that you had come here to leave.

But Mydei was already there, his fingers brushing against your jaw with such reverence that your breath caught.

"Let me take care of you" he murmured.

His lips brushed against yours—

He kissed you as though this moment had always belonged to him.

And as warmth coiled low in your stomach, as your fingers unconsciously curled into the fabric of his robes, as his name slipped from your lips like something you had never once denied him— The last of your certainty began to fade.

When you woke, the memories of that life had already begun to unravel.

They weren’t stolen. They weren’t forcefully erased.

They simply… drifted away. Like ink bleeding into water. Like something soft, something distant, something unimportant.

Had you truly suffered in another life?

Or had it all been a dream?

Beside you, Mydei stirred, his bare skin warm against yours. His arm curled around your waist, pulling you closer as if he could sense the lingering remnants of your unease.

"You're awake, love"

Your throat felt dry, as though there were words waiting to be spoken

I dreamed of something strange.

Something that felt... wrong.

And yet, as his lips pressed against the nape of your neck, slow and indulgent, a pleased hum slipping from his throat—the thought melted away.

You exhaled softly, your body relaxing beneath his touch.

And as his arms tightened around you, his breath warm against your skin, the last of your doubts slipped away.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #mydei #hsr mydei #mydei x reader #honkai star rail mydei #mydeimos

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wonderjanga · 5 months ago

Text

Fairy King

The day was normal if not, relatively boring. There had been the usual alien invasion, which the JL swiftly took out. Now they were in a meeting being hosted by Batman so they could go over everything that just happened as if they weren’t there. Now see when the meeting was over was when things got interesting.

JL: *all about to get up so they can go home*

Marvel: “Guys, before we go, can I announce something?”

JL: *groans because they just wanna go home and sleep after that entire ordeal, but still sit down*

Marvel: “I promise it’ll be quick. Look, I’m getting married-”

JL: *half their jaws drop while the other half is still processing what he said*

Marvel: “-And I want you guys all to come.”

JL: *the other half’s jaws drop too now*

Supes: “Wha…? Cap, what do you mean you’re getting married?”

Marvel: *passing out invites* “I mean I’m getting married. To the Fairy Queen. As a result of a treaty to get her to stop waging war on the gnomes.”

JL: *all stare*

Marvel: “Oh, don’t worry guys. Fairy lifespans are only about five years. She’s already a little more than halfway though.”

Flash: “Is that a good thing…?”

Marvel: “For me it is. Don’t get me wrong, it’s absolutely terrible that she’s gonna die, but I don��t really wanna be married to anyone so…”

*silence*

Marvel: “Anyways! I would really love if you guys came.”

They did. After all, they did not want to miss this. Some of the guys even got to go into the dressing room and talk to Marvel.

Marvel: *doing his tie in the mirror, trying to remember how Tawny taught him*

Aquaman: “So… are you guys gonna have any kids?”

Marvel: “No? Why?”

Aquaman: “Well, you know, royal marriages are normally completed after consummation.”

Marvel: *slowly looks over to him with a horrified expression before the expression disappears* “Wait a minute. Fairies make kids by combining magic! Geez… you had me worried for a sec.”

Flash: “So I guess we’ll be seeing another mini Cap running around then.”

Marvel: “What do you mean by another?”

Flash: “Mary is basically a mini you if you were a girl. And Junior? He uh… looks like you too. Kinda. But I’m mostly talking about Mary.”

Marvel: “Oh. I guess so then. We’ll have another mini me. Yay.”

Aquaman: “Will they go into heroics too?”

Marvel: *pauses fiddling with his tie* “Now that I think about it, I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to see what my future wife thinks.”

It was all in all a beautiful wedding. Junior was Cap’s best man. Mary was a flower girl. Flash got to stuff his face with human and fairy food. Aquaman talked politics with some of the fairy politicians. Batman talked about security and defense with some retired warrior fairies. It was nice.

A month later…

Marvel: “Hey guys! Wanna meet my baby?” *has a baby strapped to his chest*

GL: “Whaaaaaaat…?” *rapidly looking between the baby and Marvel before coming to a realization* “Oh is this your fairy baby?”

Marvel: “Yup!”

GL: “Aww look at the little guy.” *reaches over to poke the babies’ cheek*

Fairy Baby: *bites his hand with surprisingly sharp teeth*

Flash: *screams*

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics

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stellarsecrets86 · 6 months ago

Text

Mercury In Houses In Groom Persona chart

[In a groom's personal chart, **Mercury** represents his style of communication, intellectual pursuits, thought processes, decision-making, and how he expresses himself in relationships. It governs his ability to analyze situations, convey his ideas, and maintain mental connections with his spouse. Mercury's placement in a groom's chart reveals how he engages in conversations, resolves conflicts, and the role intellectual compatibility plays in his marriage.]

(PS: For entertainment Purpose Only. Have Fun❤)

**Mercury in the 1st House**

The groom has a sharp, inquisitive mind and likes to express himself straightforwardly. He is articulate, witty, and candid with his partner. His attitude toward relationships is analytical; he discusses emotions instead of acting on impulse. His spouse will likely find him intellectually stimulating but at times perhaps too logical or critical. This placement suggests a tendency to rely on reason rather than intuition, which could create challenges in emotional conversations. A partner who appreciates his mental clarity and engages in lively debates will match his energy. He is likely to attract partners who value intelligence and humor.

**Mercury in the 2nd House**

The groom focuses on practical communication, particularly about finances and security. He may be particular with financial planning and discuss their common objectives with his spouse. In general, his conversations do not dwell on abstract ideas, but on practical matters; therefore, he is a realistic, sensible, and down-to-earth partner. In a relationship, he values stability, though there is also a risk of over-concentration on material issues that needs to be balanced by his partner through emotional and creative expressions. He might be extremely good in business partnerships with his wife, successful in those dealing with clarity of thought and strategy. Intellectual security is his equivalent of financial security.

**Mercury in the 3rd House**

It makes the groom a conversationalist. He thrives on intellectual exchanges and enjoys learning from his partner. He values openness in relationships and looks for a spouse who is articulate and curious. He likes to debate ideas and problem-solve with his partner, so his partner needs to be comfortable with a lot of discussion. Though mentally agile, there is a risk of overthinking or restlessness in relationships. A partner who loves learning and variety as much as he does will keep him emotionally satisfied. Quick-witted and charming, he's often the life of the party.

**Mercury in the 4th House**

The groom is introspective and deeply values meaningful conversations about home and family. He seeks a partner who shares his love for nurturing a warm, communicative domestic life. This placement often indicates a strong mental connection with family members or a deep attachment to childhood memories. He may enjoy talking about family traditions, building a home library, or working on intellectual projects from home. While protective and thoughtful, he may sometimes over-analyze family dynamics or struggle to detach the emotional from the logical. His ideal spouse is someone who can balance his reflective nature with light-hearted companionship.

**Mercury in the 5th House**

This placement suggests a groom in love with creative and playful communication. He is playful and loves to flirt, tease, joke, and mentally stimulate his lover. He brings much charm and lightness into the relationship through his words and may turn it into a continuous and ebullient companionship. He could also possess skills regarding telling stories, writing, or performing and frequently is imaginative in declaring his love. While he craves the exciting newness of love, the drab routine might deter him from commitments. His ideal partner would be someone who sparks his imagination and shares a similar sense of humor. Together, they are sure to create an energetic and entertaining relationship.

**Mercury in the 6th House**

The groom is very detail-conscious and appreciates practical communication in relationships. He expresses love through service and little acts of useful help, such as problem-solving or organizing one's life. He seeks a spouse who appreciates his intellectual contributions and shares his commitment to efficiency. While he is reliable and diligent, he might sometimes be overly critical or perfectionist, which could strain the relationship. His ideal partner would be someone who appreciates his practicality and encourages him to lighten up and enjoy life. Marriage is a partnership to him, for mutual support and sharing responsibilities.

**Mercury in the 7th House**

The groom strongly emphasizes communication and mental compatibility in his relationships. He prefers a partner who will engage him in deep intellectual conversations, discussing mutually shared goals. A good indication is that he might attract a spouse who is intelligent, tactful, and eloquent. There might be a danger of intellectualizing emotions, although he is good at problem-solving through talking. His ideal marriage involves a perfect balance of mental stimulation and emotional closeness. He feels better in relationships where both partners could learn something new from each other and work together for their goals.

**Mercury in the 8th House**

The placement of Mercury in the 8th House refers to a groom who wants depth and transformation through communication. He is attracted to deep discussions about life, death, and everything else mysterious. He values a partner who can engage him on a soul-deep level, exploring hidden truths and shared vulnerabilities. While he is insightful and intuitive, his intense curiosity might sometimes make his partner feel exposed. He must learn to balance his probing nature with empathy. Shared finances and secrets may play a significant role in his marriage, requiring honest and open communication. His ideal spouse is one who embraces emotional and intellectual intimacy.

**Mercury in the 9th House**

The groom is philosophical and seeks a partner who shares his love for learning and exploration. He enjoys discussing big ideas, such as spirituality, culture, or global issues, and may meet his spouse through travel or education. His conversations are often optimistic and forward-looking, inspiring those around him. While he values intellectual freedom, at times, he may feel restless or afraid of being tied down. His ideal match would be someone who encourages his sense of adventure yet can stabilize him. Together, they are likely to take intellectual or physical journeys, making a marriage full of growth and discovery.

**Mercury in the 10th House**

The groom is ambitious and a good communicator both at work and in personal life. He wants a partner who will support his career and share his vision for success. His conversations often revolve around practical matters, such as achieving long-term goals or building a legacy together. While he is an excellent planner, he might sometimes prioritize work over emotional connection, which his partner should balance by fostering intimacy. This placement suggests that his marriage may affect his status, making him more regarded or esteemed in his community. He fares well in a partnership that merges ambition with mutual understanding.

**Mercury in the 11th House**

This placement presents the groom as one who desires friendships and shared ideals in love relationships. He derives delight in discussing future plans, social causes, and community involvement with his partner. His ideal partner would be someone who shares his dreams and supports his urge to leave a positive mark on the world. Though open-minded and progressive, he may at times struggle with emotional intimacy, since his focus might be more on ideas rather than feelings. A partner would do well to encourage balance by fostering both intellectual and emotional connections. They are likely to engage in projects together that help their community or further a mutual cause.

**Mercury in the 12th House**

The groom is introspective and deeply intuitive in his communication style. He often processes thoughts and emotions privately, seeking a partner who understands his need for quiet reflection. This placement suggests a groom who values spiritual or emotional connection over superficial conversation. While he is empathetic and thoughtful, he might struggle to express his feelings openly, which could create misunderstandings. His ideal partner is someone with whom he can be vulnerable and who encourages him to be honest with his feelings. Together, they can build a relationship based on mutual understanding and shared inner growth.

#astrology #astro community #astro observations #groom persona chart #astro notes #briede persona chart #composite chart #persona chart #birth chart #mercury in astrology #mercury in groom persona chart

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advocate-0hanit · 14 days ago

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moonastro · 1 year ago

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Juno persona chart

mars in the houses

what is a juno persona chart? looking into juno persona chart gives more detailed insight of how the relationship and marriage overall of you and your spouse will be like. it also describes them in a sense as well. The Greek Goddess Juno is described to rule over love and marriage and hence why the asteroid is looked into for that theme.

mars in the planet of passion, ones drive and desires. in the juno persona chart, mars determines the energy of the relationship, intimacy and possible conflicts that may occur.

reminder: this is my interpretation from observations and first hand experiences, so don't take this to heart.

**also this can also be used for signs as well, for example if mars in persona chart is in scorpio, read what applies to the 8th house as it may resonate as well.

18+

mars in 1st house: the couples energy in the relationship is full of passion like literally. this house is literally ruled by mars so the energy is intense. very full of energy, full of support from both parties when it comes to ones interests. intimacy is full of power and can be quite tough also, lots of verbality during it. lots of sweating, like A LOT. but it can last very quick also, so the duration of intimacy can be very quick. also during the process the pace can be very fast and rough. since this house is an adrenaline rush house, so performing the act in places that are risky or you know that you may get caught, that may cause a rush to both parties that make them feel alive. conflicts may occur due to being too dominant in the marriage maybe being too demanding or being too rough on their spouse, this may cause some serious arguments, it can even become physical so be careful with that. also being argumentative about ones self centred mindset, lots of vulgar words can be used during arguments.

spouse can have natal mars in aries, 1st house, fire sign or a fire house.

mars in 2nd house: the energy in this marriage is calming and chill. this reminds me of just getting each other and vibing from day one. but on a serious note, intimacy is very sensual and very slow paced. can be very graceful in a way?? also this couple may be into food related s*x so including food as a source of technique. intimacy may last quite along time and can be full of neck and collar bone kisses. conflicts may occur due to disagreements in financial areas and possessions. so for example one party may have an overly excessive tendency to over shop or get stuff that they don't need and so their spouse may get angry about it. also arguments may happen due to financial situations like having problems with the bank or contracts.

spouse can have natal mars in taurus, 2nd house, earth sign or an earth house.

mars in 3rd house: passion in this relationship is quick and versatile. can be lots of changes and adaptations to their passion. during intimate hours, it is very rushed. almost wanting for more after intimacy is finished. i feel like also this placement can change their mind a lot when it comes to being intimate, like saying one thing but doing the other because they changed their mind. also there can be lots of talking while being intimate so lots of grunts, screaming and talking in general, just anything to do with talking can possibly occur. conflicts may occur due to sibling drama or something that happens in the neighbourhood. arguments may start from this placement just constantly talking like in general maybe too much talking or just oversharing to other people and their spouse gets angry at the personal things that are being shared to their friends. also conflicts may happen due to friends, so maybe this placement may not like the friends that their partner hangs out with or they don't like how they act and stuff like that.

spouse can have natal mars in gemini, 3rd house, air sign or air house.

mars in 4th house: the overall passion of this marriage is taking care of each other and being there for each other emotionally. lots of reflection on each other so checking up on each other even if the other person is completely fine, this placement tends to never ignore their gut instinct. intimacy is very sentimental and slow, almost careful as not to hurt the other person or each other. there may be lots of chest techniques involved (i'll let that proceed with your imagination) possibly, intimacy is very full of praise and the person will never go too far for what their partner can handle, always checking up on them also during it and maybe lots of stroking on the head to signify that their partner is doing good. (okayy i think i just went overboard but you get the gist). in terms of conflict, arguments usually arrive from problems with their family members, for example maybe this placements mother and them got into an argument about something and their partner got angry that way and so forth. conflicts also occur when their is a lack of emotional awareness of each other and oneself, maybe this placement got too overwhelmed or stressed and just broke out in anger and start conflict that way.

spouse can have natal mars in cancer, 4th house, water sign or water house

mars in 5th house: the passion between the couple is very open, very playful but can also be that this placement thinks that the relationship evolves around them, that their the main character. of course being the main character is awesome but in this situation its more about only thinking about themselves and not thinking about others. this may cause conflict due to this placement possibly being too braggy or too self-centred and maybe thinking of only themselves. intimacy is full of noises and they make sure to show their partner that they are enjoying themselves. lots of hair pulling and hair stroking. also lots of gripping of the back. this placements just likes to make their partner own them. also arguments may start due to disagreements about children, maybe they don't want children but one does. or maybe they have different hobbies that they do and arguments about their hobbies and how they spend their free time.

spouse can have natal mars in leo, 5th house, fire sign or fire house.

mars in 6th house: the passion in this marriage is based on routine and daily life schedules. intimacy is quite structured and very based on how the individuals daily routine went like, so it depends if they have time to fit it in kind of way into their busy day. this placement tends to also acknowledge positions that feel good to both parties, nothing that goes out of their comfort zone. oh and the aftercare is very important for this placement, very concerned about how their partner felt during it and after it so they take their time to make sure they feel as special. conflict may occur due to health illnesses or sickness. maybe an illness is preventing this placement to do certain things and so their spouse may get angry about it. or arguments may start due to laziness or promises not being kept.

spouse can have natal mars in virgo, 6th house, earth sign or earth house.

mars in 7th house: this placement is very confusing. one minute the couple are fine and getting along and bonding but i kid you not it can be in a second span between them getting along to roaring each others throats out. you get the best of both worlds, what is bad without good? no but this house rules over balance and expect very very versatile energy in this relationship. but when the couple is thriving the connection between the two is very romantic and sweet, very flirtation, LOTS of flirting. also in bed its quite sensual and nothing too extreme or kinky, i would say that when it comes to being intimate both parties are in a good mood to do it, no anger s*x or anything like that unless other factors and aspects disagree. nothing too dirty either, maybe lots of flirting while doing it and dirty talking also. conflicts occur due to getting mad that the other person doesn't give back what they are given, for example when their spouse gets an 'i love you' and they don't say it back and that sort of thing. also arguments about government complications such as legal documents, the law and so forth.

spouse may have natal mars in libra, 7th house, air sign or air house.

mars in 8th house: passion between the two is intense and spiritual. lots of transformation happening when intimacy occurs. even when it comes to the first time when being intimate, it can be such a different and intense occurrence and very meaningful also. this is the house of s*x so intimacy is very sexual, very intense lots of trauma being released so it can be quite emotional. energy in the relationship can be quite secretive, perhaps the other does not trust one with specific things or would rather talk with someone else about it than their partner. on the other hand it can be very money based, the individual may rule over their partners money and even their card. their finances have big presence in their marriage, this individual may be driven by money and is always in control of it either if its their own money or their partners. overall energy in this marriage is transformative also.

spouse can have natal mars in scorpio, 8th house, water sign or water house.

mars in 9th house: passion between the couple is very versatile and very explorative, both parties are down for new positions, techniques and styles in terms of intimacy and are very open minded about them. intimacy can be very fun and exciting, maybe lots of giggles and teasing involved. also when performing intimacy, it may occur in different places, for example like the counter in the kitchen or literally while doing laundry and you just make out like?? literally any place you can imagine, this placement will probably be down for it. as for the energy of the relationship, it very travel and learning based, lots of learning learning learning. this house is ruled by jupiter so very abundant in lots of areas of life (check sign for greater detail). for example if 9th house is in capricorn (and so would mars) then career may thrive, getting respect from people after marriage, having luck in formal situations and finance documents, becoming more mature, receiving recognition for your talents and so forth. if in cancer then the individual may become more caring, be blessed with a family, have greater relations with females, have a greater perception of ones emotions and so on. conflicts may often occur due to indifferences in culture, beliefs and morals. not agreeing on the same location when going on a trip or over getting mad about factual stuff. arguments can start out as jokes and then develop into serious arguments as one can take it too far. so arguments about silly things that may not have significant meaning, (for example arguing over why the other party sneezed too loud??)

spouse may have natal mars in Sagittarius, 9th house, fire sign or fire house.

mars in 10th house: energy of this marriage is full of passion in their career. very successful career and career driven. ready to provide for their family and ready to provide their spouse with income. intimacy is very traditional, very modern and most likely this placement has a schedule of when they do it like on a specific day every week and so forth. also this placement rarely changes their style and technique when being intimate so its most likely the same every time. this placement also likes to baby their partner and be a 'parent' to them, taking care of them and giving them privileges. this also applies during intimacy. conflicts usually occur due to career difficulties, for example, maybe they didn't take up a new job opportunity or maybe they didn't get paid the extra for what they worked for and things like that. also conflicts may occur due to problems with their father, this placements father may bring something that angers their spouse or them.

spouse can have natal mars in capricorn, 10th house, earth sign or earth house.

mars in 11th house: energy of the relationship is unique to them. others may have different opinions about this relationship and lots of outside banter of this relationship. for example people just pin point details that they think is wrong with the relationship. intimacy is quite out of the blue can happen spontaneously which makes it very exciting. lots of different things could be taking place when intimacy occurs. like using some equipment or having like toys for it. conflicts may occur due to opinionated views about humanitarian stuff like not agreeing on not enough help is going on about in the world and the other one may disagree and so on. also arguments about their social groups, perhaps this placement is not pleased with how their partners social group act and they may tell them stuff that they don't like about them. also problems with social media status, arguments about what their partner posts on social media or how they interact with their social media platforms.

spouse can have natal mars in aquarius, 11th house, air sign or air house.

mars in 12th house: the energy of this relationship is full of dreaminess, due to this house being a delusion house, this placement can have the tendency to have unrealistic expectations of their partner, always thinking the opposite of what is real, for example if this placement spouse doesn't help out with laundry, they can get mad but later on they'll think that they will do it next time you know? also conflicts may occur due to addiction problems, perhaps this placement has a smoking or alcohol addition and their spouse may not like it and they argue about that. also arguments may occur due to illusion problems, sometimes this placement may say stuff that's not true (nearly like they just made it up) and make up a full story about something that their spouse or someone else did but in REALITY nothing like that happened, this type of behaviour may cause conflict between the couple. on the other hand, this placement also has a passion to live abroad and may thrive better overseas with their partner.

spouse may have natal mars in pisces, 12th house, water sign or water house.

thanks so much for reading, have a lovely day 🫶🏻

#juno persona chart #astrology chart #astro observations #astro community #asteroid astrology #astro notes #astro placements #astrology community #astrology #astrology observations #celebrity astrology #kpop astrology #sidereal astrology #vedic astrology #vedic astro notes #astro tumblr #persona chart

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henrycangelbaby · 5 months ago

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Babydaddy!simon marrying you!!!!!

(gang this is 18+ im lowkey sorry im horny and can barley write smut lol)

You and Simon elope. It’s a lot easier than an actual wedding, even if it would be only small. It’s not like you have many people to invite anyway; Simon would die before having his workmates at something so personal, and motherhood had kept you from seeing your friend for a while now (you’re sure they would show up if you asked, but it all seems like too much work pregnant). Not even the kids come; the eldest has some idea of what is going on but not enough to care that they are being left out of something very important. The others don’t care, happy and content to sit staring at subtitles all day rather than being dragged to a marriage ceremony.

Simon gets a sitter for them; desperate to prove his worthiness back into your life (even though you are about to marry him), he sets it up and prays it goes off without a hitch. It’s a courthouse wedding; Simon wears a rare button-down top and slacks that you don’t remember ever seeing before (you haven’t he realised that he didn’t have anything remotely nice to get married in and snuck out to get some after work). You wear a sweet satin mini dress; it’s more light blue than white, but neither you nor Simon could pretend to care about that. Simon certainly can’t care, or, for that matter, focus when your legs are on display like that; he feels a certain amount of anger that other people (a geriatric marriage officiant) should get to see the sinful way that your bump is already pressing up against the light blue fabric, breasts popping out to create cleavage that both he and his youngest want a lick at (although for very different reasons).

It's a quick process; they arrive around midday. It seems to be the best time to get a sitter to cover. The ceremony is basically over before it began. It’s a quick and simple thing; it’s romantic and makes Simon’s heart ache but is over quickly. Both have short vows. Simon promises over and over again that you’ll never be alone again; he apologizes for not being as present as he should and so on and so forth. He slips the ring onto your hand, and just like that, you're happily married, walking back to the car hand in hand. Simon cannot keep his hands off you the second you are both in the car.

“My pretty little wife,” he murmurs into your neck, pulling you into his lap the second you are both seated, kissing up and down your neck, murmuring in disbelief that you're actually finally his wife.

He feels like a horny teenager again, his love boner painful as you make out. You don’t let it go further, reminding him that you have a house full of children to get home to. Children who are ecstatic to see you both, they are getting used to seeing Simon around every day, but they certainly aren’t used to not seeing you. The rest of the day goes by as normal, not that Simon feels normal; in fact, he feels unabashedly horny. He has to escape his kids; when you get home, he throws a

“bathroom” over his shoulder before rushing upstairs.

He jerks off fast and almost painfully, something so reminiscent of when he is on deployment, hard as hell after receiving a photo from you. The text says, “30-week appointment.” The accompanying image shows you standing in front of a mirror, bra tight over your breasts and belly big and bare, a hand pushed into your back to counter the weight. ‘Fuck,’ he texts back. ‘That’s hot,’ is all he says, already going back in his memories to find a scenario to jerk off to.

He doesn’t need a scenario today; seeing you all pregnant and pretty wearing his ring—holy fuck, it’s got him going. Going so much that he spills over into the sink, washing away his precious come that he intends to keep you swollen and round with.

That night after the kids had gone to bed, he fucks you hard, calling you his “pretty little wife” and promising to keep you pregnant over and over again. He groans when you moan; you promise that you're his, his wife to keep barefoot and pregnant till the end of time.

#baby daddy Simon Riley #x reader #mae writes 💞#simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #task force x reader #task force 141 #call of duty fanfic

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prettyiwa · 1 month ago

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and you love me

Relationship: Sakura Haruka x GN!Reader Content Tags: Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Talks of Marriage/Proposals, Awkward & Nervous Sakura, Established Relationship, Small Insecurities, Sakura & Reader are in their late 20s, Sakura still falls for Suo's light deceptions, Pre-Marital Hand Holding Summary: Suo once teased Nirei when Sakura was around and Sakura took it to heart. You don't find out about it until it leads to an interesting conversation that changes the course of your relationship. Word Count: 1,945

A/N: This has been rotting my brain for the last couple of days. Very special thanks to @startcarvingdarling and @owoasis for putting me on this train of thought and preventing me from being able to move on. Also tagging @kweenkatsuki-fics because it's important to me that she's here for my Haruka thoughts. I love you all very much.

Additionally, I make a furin reference: the gaiken is the shell of the wind chime, and the zetsu is the bell clapper. Forgive me for the blatant wind breaker simile.

It happens after dinner one random Saturday in June.

Beyond the sounds from the sink as you wash the dishes and gentle clink as Haruka loads the rack beside you, your home is silent. Dinner was perfect, a combined effort between the two of you, something that would’ve been unlikely even just three years ago. The night has you feeling content in the domesticity, earned after a hard week’s work. Every now and then, your cat will meow, asking for attention, but it’s not enough to pull you from your thoughts.

“Hey, Haruka?”

Beside you, he offers little more than a quick glance, eyes returning to the last pan you offer him. “Hn?”

“What if…,” you start, the thought still forming, “for our next trip we visit a ryokan?”

He scoffs, the sound lacking any real bite. “Next trip? We just got back from Osaka last week.”

“I know.” Clicking your tongue against your teeth, you catch the slight uptick of the corner of his lips. “I was thinking maybe sometime next summer? When things slow down for us again. We could choose one that offers kashikiri.”

He stills, hands freezing where they hold the pan and dish towel, though you think little of it, drying your own hands. Deliberately, he places the pan in the dish rack before turning to meet you, asking, “Wh-Why’re you talkin’ like we’re already married?”

You hum, taking a moment to process his question before it hits you, causing you to pause. There’s a slight strain in his voice that urges you to turn. Your favorite blush adorns his cheeks, not as pink as you’ve ever seen, but certainly enough to know he’s feeling a little flustered. Your eyes flit to his fists, to the one resting on the counter’s edge and the other that grips the dish towel so tightly his knuckles are turning white. It’s clear to you that he didn’t mean it as a complaint, more like… he’s surprised.

“Does it bother you? Me, making plans for us like this? So far ahead?” The question is sincere, a quiet worry of yours coming to life. He’s always had a hard time telling you no. Whenever you two go out, he seems to have fun, so it’s possible he doesn’t want to tell you no, but could you have pushed some boundary he’s struggled to voice?

Blush deepening, his eyes go wide. “N-No! That’s not what I meant! It doesn’t bother me!” His voice hitches in the way it does when he worries he’s offended you, and his hands come up, the dish towel swaying as he frantically tries to find a way to remedy this supposed slight. Cute. “I didn’t mean it like it’s a bad thing!”

With your smile, he breathes again, still a little strained. The cat meows again, this time coming to rub against his leg, and his shoulders start to relax. “It’s okay. I never know if I’m pushing us when you don’t want me to, and it’s okay to tell me to slow down. This is your relationship, too.”

Four years together and he still worries about insulting you, just as you still worry about moving faster than he’s ready.

He bristles, brows furrowing as his hands come down, and you can guess his next words before he utters them with a pout. “Stop that, will you? It’s not like I don’t wanna marry you or anything. I-I was just—”

Your body registers it before your mind does, the breath seemingly stolen from your lungs as your heart kicks into overdrive. It hits, ringing like the zetsu as it claps against the gaiken, a startling clarity as his words take hold, sparking your slow smile. Though you understand, it takes a moment for your voice to catch up, and you step forward. He remains frozen in place, his eyes tracking your movement.

Just like you, it looks like he struggles to breathe.

“You want to marry me?”

Your words do the trick, snapping him out of it as he takes half a step back, pointing a finger at you in surprise. “That’s—! I—!”

Does he think he’s said too much? That he’s scared you off?

“You know,” you say, unable to help yourself, your smile growing until it reaches cheek to cheek, “I wouldn’t say no if you asked.”

“You—!” He’s always been so easy to read. His breath catches once more, chest frozen with his sharp inhale as he holds onto it. Your words float between you two and he begins to catch them, one by one, piecing them together with eyes that start to soften. Dropping his finger, his mouth opens and closes before he blurts out, “You’d wanna marry me?”

Incredulity sits heavy on his tongue, and you’re reminded of the way he once hesitated to accept your confession years ago, still carrying lingering adolescent insecurities.

Again, you step forward, lifting your hand with your palm facing upward. His eyes flicker down to your offering and he finally sets down the dish towel, placing his hand in yours, letting you ground him as you’ve done countless times before. It’s a little clammy, though you’ve come to expect that from a nervous Haruka over the years, always something you’ve found a little endearing.

“Yes.”

His fingers come to squeeze your palm and you squeeze back, encouraging the stress to escape on his exhale. Needing a moment, his eyes drift around your home. It’s not technically shared, but he’s over enough that it almost feels like it. You watch as he looks around, undeniably catching on the signs of you two together—the dishes you both finished, drying in the rack; the framed pressed flowers from your first date, still hosting a lovely red hue; the table and chairs he once helped carry up; the black cat you once joked about naming after him because of its white mittens and golden eyes.

When he meets your gaze again, he’s softer, though worry still sits on his brow and in the set of his mouth. You’re patient with him as you always are, watching his slow inhale, his slow exhale, the way he builds the courage to speak.

“You’d really marry me?” There’s still doubt lingering, the same minute disbelief that you’ve been combating the entire time you’ve known him.

“Yes, Haruka. I would.”

“Oh,” he breathes, lowering his gaze to your joined hands.

“Oh?” Tilting your head, you try to catch his attention.

His eyes flicker to yours and pink dusts his cheeks before he pulls on your joined hands, bringing you close. There’s this flash of triumph at your surprise, though it’s diminished by the pink across his nose. That doesn’t stop him from leaning in and rewarding you with a chaste kiss.

Unable to maintain eye contact after, he lets you lead him to the sofa. Flicking on the television, you put on that movie you two never finished, letting him stew in his thoughts, more than aware of what’s been dropped in his lap and what it means to him. Fingers intertwining with yours, he relaxes when you loosely press against his side. Not enough to feel your full weight, but enough to know you’re there.

Your mind starts to wander again and you decide to broach your original topic. “If you don’t want to go to a ryokan, we could visit Sendai for Tanabata instead.”

His fingers tighten around yours, subtly requesting your attention. “Never said I didn’t wanna go to a ryokan,” he mumbles, watching you from the corner of his eyes.

“Oh? I just assumed— Wait. What made you associate the ryokan with being married?”

“It’s— Just… It’s nothin’ to worry about,” he sighs, looking away as his ears turn pink.

A smile pulls at your lips, one you actively try to suppress. “No, no, I want to hear.”

He pulls away slightly, leaning against his left arm as he pointedly looks anywhere but you. It does little but stoke your curiosity, so you lean into him, aware of the way it encourages him to spill.

His brows furrow as he looks at you, his resolve crumbling. When the words come, he glances away again. “Suo and Nirei said—”

“Hold on, really quick. Did Suo say and Nirei ‘agreed,’” you clarify, well aware of Suo’s propensity for tricking his old classmates, “or did Suo and Nirei actively say this?”

Warmth radiates from him as his cheeks flush, eyes flicking to you, then away. “Nirei was talking somethin’ or other about taking his fiance to a ryokan in Kyoto and Suo said something about how kashikiri was only for married couples and… He was lying again, wasn’t he?”

Resting your forehead against his shoulder, your fingers tighten around his. You shift, instead pressing your lips to his shoulder, barely able to contain your laughter, but not your smile. Not trusting your voice, you nod, watching with glee as disappointment hits. His free hand comes up, hiding his face for a moment before continuing, running his fingers through his hair. You watch as it falls back in place before speaking.

“You’ve gotta stop believing him.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He nudges you with his shoulder, looking down at where you remain, that soft smile of his present, just for you to see.

The topic of marriage and future vacations doesn’t come up again for the rest of the night, though his relative silence speaks volumes. The two of you bask in each other’s company, in a movie whose plot you lost a half hour before, in the cat that’s always loved Haruka a bit more than you. It’s not until you’re both getting ready for bed that it comes up again.

The air around him shifts, tenses like it does when he has something important to say but is struggling to find the words. He pauses, fingers pulling on his pillow, and his eyes remain fixated on the bed when he finally finds his voice.

“I… don’t have a ring or anything,” he starts, each word strung together with such astounding effort, “but I… I want…”

When he looks at you, you see all the times he’s ever been careful with you, all of the times he’s worn his heart on his sleeve and has been obvious about his love for you. Your throat goes dry and your heart feels full in your chest, fluttering against your ribs, making the rest of you feel light. His eyes follow the curve of your smile as it grows and you hear it clearly without it being spoken.

“Would you like to get married, Haruka?”

The blush is instantaneous and full bodied, reminding you of when you confessed four years ago. You know his answer, even as he sputters and tries to calm his stuttering heart. He tries to get it out anyway, and he does, sort of, his smile slow to come after everything settles. He’s warmer than usual when he pulls you to him, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

About a half hour later, when his lips are pressed against your shoulder, he murmurs, “H-Hey. Shouldn’t I be the one to ask you?”

“You want to ask me?” As much as you try to turn to properly look at him, he keeps you in place, arms forming a vice around your center (probably to try and prevent the very thing you hope to accomplish). Accepting that you’ll get nowhere right now, you rest your arm on his, letting your fingers trace delicate patterns on the back of his hand.

You take his silence as a quiet ‘yes.’

“I can wait, Haruka. I’m not going anywhere.”

leaf in your hair | on patrol | hanakotoba masterlist | wbk masterlist

#sakura haruka x reader #sakura haruka fluff #wind breaker x reader #wbk x reader #✒.ix writes #wbk.✒#takes place after “leaf in your hair” and “on patrol”#bonus: the framed flower is a red tulip he gave you on your first date #red tulips in hanakotoba can be declarations of love

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