#the olive cushion

[mmyrrhh]

Festive season means you get to be creative with making and serving charcuterie boards to your guests.

Festive season also means you get to bear the aftermath of making and serving charcuterie boards to your guests.

[oliveoomph]

Lily Newmark

[strawberryspiced]

(via The Eternal Olive Throw Pillow by Strawberry Spiced)

[gisatako]

s6ep1, nothing but tragedy and disappointment ahead, right?

[brownbearwrites]

offer my hand and I'll take your name

Felix Catton x fem!Reader x Oliver Quick. (AO3)

It's yours and Felix's wedding night. That doesn't withhold you from inviting Oliver to join in on the fun of conceiving an heir.

pwp, breeding, threesome, praise, cum-eating, general filth.

“He’s good at that, isn’t he?” Oliver asks you, his voice calm and collected in the quiet of the bedroom you’re in. You choke on a sob of pleasure as you nod in agreement, feeling the corded muscles of Oliver’s thighs flex from where they are cushioned underneath your head.

Oliver’s deft fingers gently carding through your hair are a stark contrast to Felix’s, which are digging into your waist to stop you from sliding up the bed with each animalistic slap of his hips against yours. Felix’s brand-new wedding band gleams in the flames of the candles dotting the room, a welcome reminder that this is allowed now, that it’s even required of you two — the familiar slide of Felix’s thick cock inside of you unimpeded by a condom for the very first time.

“Our Felix knows exactly how to fuck your little cunny, doesn’t he?” Oliver teases you.

Above you, Felix groans, his sweat-slick skin like molten gold, “Jesus Christ, Ollie”.

Oliver lets out a pleased hum, his fingers giving a tug on your hair. His other hand wanders down your skin, first possessively curling around your throat before lowering to knead at your breasts. Your nipples harden at his attention, arching your back to urge him on.

“Look at how needy she is, Felix,” Oliver goads you, “Our pretty girl’s been begging you for this, huh? She’s been wanting you to breed her for ages, and she’s finally getting what she’s asked for. She should be grateful, hm?”.

You answer him with a desperate moan, eyes rolling back to glance up at Oliver through your eyelashes. His eyes are dark and stormy, his lips bitten red.

“C’mon now, darling, aren’t you gonna thank Felix for fucking you so well?”.

“Thankー oh fuck, thank you, Felix” you moan.

Oliver tuts, a sarcastic little sound that sends a delighted shiver down your spine, “I know you can do better than that”.

Oliver’s hand slides down over your tummy, fingers gliding over your puffy folds before thumbing at your sensitive clit, your slick easing his movements. You were dripping with it, making a mess of your marital bed. Felix’s hips stutter as he watches Oliver’s movements, entranced by the way his fingers slide against you.

“Thank you for breeding me,” you gasp in between moans, “Always so good to me, letting me have — oh god, right there, Oliver — everything I want. For making me your wife”.

Felix grinds his hips, slowing the drag of his cock inside of you. His impossibly large hands slide up, his arm brushing against Oliver’s as he gropes your breasts, looking you right in the eyes as he does, black pupils eclipsing his warm brown eyes.

“Tell me what you need,” Felix demands, looking like a modern-day Greek god as he towers above you and Oliver, his chest heaving from the exertion of fucking you, “Anything you want, you can have it”.

“Want you to fuck me full, Felix,” you moan, clenching around his cock, “want you to give me your babies”. The confession makes you blush, your already reddened cheeks deepening in color.

Felix groans at your words, a guttural sound that makes Oliver’s fingers twitch where they’re furiously rubbing at your clit. Felix readjusts you, tugging on your legs to place them on his shoulders before he leans in, almost folding you in half as he does. Oliver’s hand is squished between your cunt and Felix’s stomach, cramped but never-stilling against your sweat-slick bodies.

He fucks you with a force that makes your toes curl. The heavy press of Felix on top of you paired with the steady presence of Oliver below you is enough to make you feel dizzy. The muscles in your lower stomach clench deliciously, Felix’s cock now pumping into you even deeper than before.

Above you, Oliver has taken advantage of Felix’s new proximity to lick and suck at the taller man’s neck, adding to the smattering of red marks that were already there. Felix preens at the attention, his thrusts quickly growing sloppy.

“Fuck Ollie,” he moans, “I’m really fucking our girl raw. She’s gonna look so pretty with my cum leaking out of her little pussy”.

You sob out another desperate moan, hips twitching from the stimulation you’re receiving from both men. You feel yourself tipping over the edge, your orgasm suddenly so very close.

“There you go darling,” Oliver encourages you, “cum all over your husband’s cock for me”.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, punching the air from your lungs as Felix continues to fuck you through it, your walls twitching around him. Oliver’s praise barely registers for you, what with his fingers continuing to rub tight little circles on your pussy. The overstimulation sets in quickly, your hips twitching and whiny noises spilling from your lips.

“God, darling, your pussy is milking me,” Felix gasps, jackhammering into you as he chases his own orgasm.

It doesn’t take much more than that to push him over the edge, Oliver’s wet mouth against the column of Felix’s throat as he unloads inside of you with a drawn-out moan. Oliver’s hand stills its movements, sliding out from in between you and Felix to trail back up your torso. He brings them up to your face, Oliver’s digits shiny with your slick as he prods at your lips, prompting you to open up for him. You do as he wishes, obediently sucking his fingers clean from your own spend as you watch Felix pull away, your legs slipping from his shoulders as he pulls his softening cock out of you.

“Ollie, you should come see this,” Felix speaks reverently, sitting back on his hunches, bottom lip gripped between his teeth as he holds your thighs apart, watching as his cum slowly begins to drip out of your puffy pussy.

Oliver is quick to join him, sliding out from underneath you to join Felix at the foot of the bed. You feel exposed in a way that makes your skin tingle, having these two men stare at your dripping core like it’s the eighth wonder of the world. You throw your arms up to cover your eyes, blocking out the sight of your lovers, while you try your hardest to catch your breath.

When one of them leans in, their hot breath fanning over your cooling skin, you aren’t even sure at first if it’s Oliver or Felix who does it. All you know is that there’s a tongue licking broad strokes against your freshly fucked pussy, cleaning up the mess you and Felix had made. You choke out a shocked moan, lifting your arms to find Oliver crouched between your legs, eyes blissfully closed as he laps away at you. Felix sits next to him, lips parted in silent pleasure as his eyes flicker from Oliver to you, his cock soft but stubbornly twitching in interest.

“Look at our boy licking it all up,” Felix croons, reaching out to pet Oliver’s brown locks, pushing him closer up against your sensitive pussy.

Oliver’s hips gyrate against the plush material of the mattress, moaning against your folds as he licks and sucks at you like a man starved. Your thighs clench around Oliver’s head, a wanton attempt at keeping him close. He brings his fingers up to slide inside of you, pumping them at the same pace that he’s grinding his cock against the bed. Before long, Felix’s filthy praise and Oliver’s tongue and fingers pushed you over the edge a second time — your orgasm the drawn-out, toe-curling, shake-inducing kind that washes over you like a tsunami.

Between your legs, Oliver comes with a muffled shout, his face pressed against the sheets as his hips still their erratic humping.

“You’re both so fucking beautiful,” Felix praises, laying himself down on the bed next to you, an arm thrown lazily over your stomach. Oliver eventually scoots himself up, still breathing heavily, and lays down on the other side of you. His hand rests on your hip, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your skin. You feel calm and satisfied in a way that you know won’t last very long, what with Felix’s cock already back at half-mast next to you paired with the still-hungry look in Oliver’s eyes. You fidget with your wedding ring, feeling its unfamiliar grooves and diamonds with the pad of your fingers.

If this was your first night as Mrs. Catton, you couldn't wait to find out what the rest were going to be like.

[emmyrosee]

“I’m sorry we have to break up.”

“…pardon?”

Wakatoshi’s olive eyes peer over his book at you, brow cocked in confusion as you stand above him, your hands on your hips. You don’t look any sort of remorseful or upset; just mildly bored with the fact you’ve just walked up to him and said you’d have to break up.

Like telling him it was raining outside.

You sigh, “we’re just not compatible.”

“Do… you feel that way? Have I done something?” Worry crosses his features, trying to map out what he’s done to upset you, if anything.

“Oh! No, not at all,” you say, and when you provide no other context, he raises his brow and you must notice his growing annoyance because you shrug at him, “my horoscope says we’re not compatible. And I just don’t want to waste my time if we’re not going to make it.”

This, has wakatoshi chuckling. He closes his book and gently shifts to make himself comfortable in the dip of the cushions. “Make it?”

“Look; our signs just aren’t compatible right now.” You smile at him softly, “maybe one day we’ll be there.”

“Im sorry, you must tell me more.” When you flash him a look, he scoffs, “I was reading my book perfectly fine, now you’re telling me we’re not going to be together anymore. I need help understanding.”

You unlock and pass him your phone, his big hand taking it from you before looking at your astrology chart, furrowing his brows as his eyes glaze the contents.

“Non-compatible with leo’s, it says.”

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“And… I’m assuming I’m a leo?”

“Sure are.”

“You’re not seriously about to leave me because the stars said so, correct?”

You cock your brow. He rolls his eyes.

“That should not surprise you,” you say, and he sighs and flicks his eyes up to you.

“It shouldn’t, but it does.”

You scoff, “how august-leo of you.”

“I swear to all of the gods, benevolent and not, do not start using this against me.”

“It’s not me, it’s you, toshi.”

tagging 🩷 @reverie-starlight @wolffmaiden @thoreeo @aliensknowmyillusions @tutuwusworld @lavishcherie @sassycheesecake @cheolattes @rrairey @dira333 @unknownspecies @fluffytriceratops

[lvrxly]

ִ ࣪𖤐- An Odd Feeling

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

summary: your neighbor, Simon, is a single dad. and you frequently babysit his son, Oliver. You've grown to love Oliver, buying toys for him, planning play dates, and even offering to babysit him while his dad goes on a date..wait what? You really thought after all of this Simon would choose you, but maybe he will..?

cw: simon is somewhat oblivious at the beginning >:((, mdni - smut, slight age difference (Simon is in his mid-30s while the reader is in her mid-20s), unprotected sex, breeding kink on Simon's part, oral sex (f receiving), Simon can't help but want another kid after seeing how you treat his :((

a/n: sorry this took so long to get posted! and i apologize for any grammar mistakes, i don't have the energy to edit this right now ;( (it's almost 4am).

hope you enjoy lovies ;)

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"Thanks again for this love, I should be back around 9pm, please try and get him to bed before then," Ghost says frantically as he passes his son over to you along with his diaper bag and favorite blanket.

There was that damned nickname again. 'Love'. Simon always seemed to call you love, it was almost infuriating how that little pet name could make your heart race and your cheeks heat.

Simon had a date with someone a friend of his set up for him, Soap, you think was the guys name. From a photo Simon showed you, she was pretty, gorgeous even. Slim and tall, long blonde hair, and seemingly put together.

"Yeah no problem. Have fun, try and get laid. You definitely need it," You say with a dry laugh, bouncing his son, Oliver, over to your other hip. Why the fuck would you say that? 'Get laid?' Why would you even suggest such a fucking thing knowing you can barely stomach watching him go out on this date in the first place.

He cleans up nice, a fitted pair of dark grey khaki pants with a white button up shirt, the sleeves rolled, revealing his tattooed forearms, and his sandy blonde hair slicked back out of his face, making him less shaggy looking than you were used to.

Simon laughs and waves goodbye as he turns on the heels of his dress shoes and hops down the steps of your front porch. You wave at his back, shutting the door with a heavy sigh. You turn around and set Oliver down, watching as he bolts toward the little corner of your living room which you had designated as his play area for when he comes over.

Your heart feels heavy as you walk over towards your couch, tossing Oliver's diaper bag and blanket onto one of the cushions. You flop down onto the other cushion, kicking your feet up on the coffee table that is placed in front of your couch.

Oliver looks just like his father, from what you could see anyways. Dirty blonde hair, gunmetal blue eyes, and a small dimple on his left cheek. He was an adorable kid, an easy one to babysit too.

Oliver runs up to you, a toy tractor in his hand as he holds it up to you, his other hand rested on your knee as if to help him balance better. "Tac-tar!" He exclaims.

You smile at him, taking the toy he was offering you, and touching your fingertip on his nose, causing the little boy to giggle. Enough about Simon. Oliver was your date tonight. Your own play date buddy.

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It was a little after 9pm, maybe just about 9:47, when Simon got back. He had knocked on your door for a good 5 minutes before he gave up and decided to let himself in.

He used the key that you would poorly hide under your doormat. The two of you would get into arguments about the placement of the key.

"It's the most obvious spot, love, you're gonna end up getting robbed on of these days." Simon had said the day you told him where it was, he was always worrying about your safety. You knew he was an ex-military Lieutenant, but then again that might just be the dad in him talking.

After unlocking your front door and pushing it open he begins to speak, "Sorry I was a little later than I thou-" But he cuts himself off after his eyes land on your couch.

There you laid on your back, an arm falling off the couch and a leg propped up on the back cushion, snoring lightly. That position couldn't have been that comfortable. But that's not what made him freeze. It was how his son was laying on your chest, fast asleep with his favorite blanket draped over his back. You looked as if his son was your own.

His breathe is caught in his throat as he stares at the two of you, slowly shutting the door behind him as he makes his way over to the couch.

A small smile paints his face as he stands behind the small and slightly sad turquoise couch, bending down so his forearms rested in the back cushion. He watches you sleep, his eyes dragging up and down your frame. After a moment he uses a single finger to brush a stray piece of hair off of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

His smile never falters as he pets the back of his sons head, his long blonde hair slightly sweaty from how hot it probably was being all nuzzled up to you.

You stir in your sleep, your eyes fluttering, only for them to end up shooting wide open in shock. You gasp and clutch the back of Oliver, sighing after realizing who was really watching you sleep.

You sit up, cradling Oliver in your arms, careful not to wake him. "Do you normally watch people sleep?" You say with an annoyed look on your face as you rub your eyes, sleep still attempting to pull you back in.

After regaining most of your consciousness, you stand from the couch, your clothes wrinkled and Oliver's little head on your shoulder as you hold him in your arms.

"Eh, define normally," Simon says, a joking tone noticeable in his voice. Was he trying to make a joke? Since when did Simon Riley ever makes jokes? What the hell happened at the date?

"Your in a good mood. You didn't really end up getting laid right? You know what..? I don't think I wanna know." Your words are frantic and slightly irritated. Why did you feel so...odd right now? Simon is a single man. He has the right to go on dates with beautiful women. Unfortunately.

You bounce around your kitchen, rocking your hips side to side to keep Oliver asleep for as long as possible. You can't help but notice how Simons eyes follow your hips as they move. And..what was that? Did he just groan? No no, that would be crazy.

"No I didn't get laid," He finally replies. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. Almost like a breath of relief.

"If I was getting laid I would have gotten back a lot later..It takes more than 30 minutes with me, love.." Simon was suddenly behind you, his breath hot on your neck as his hands hover above your hips, heat radiating off of his tatted skin, almost scorching the flesh of your thighs through your pants.

You stop bouncing his son, glancing over your shoulder at Simon and..holy shit he was close, almost too close. Those damned eyes were pulling you under and you didn't know if you wanted to be saved.

Oliver shifts in your arms, waking up slowly. His tiny hands rub his eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them. Once he's awake and spots his dad he immediately makes grabby hands towards him.

You gladly hand him over to Simon, anything to get away from the man that was way way wayyyy to close for comfort. You give Oliver to his father and take a large step away from Simon. You see his smile falter but he quickly regains his composure when his son calls his name, his tiny hands on Simons cheeks.

"You have fun while I was away buddy?" He asks his son, to which Oliver responds with a vigorous nod. He then begins to blabble on about his trucks and snacks he ate, but you space out, your eyes still locked on the two of them.

Simon looked so good with a kid, he was a good dad. You can't help but imagine how good he must have been to his wife while she was pregnant. Her lose for leaving him. He's a great guy. Unfortunately, that means women probably throw themselves at him. Hot, ex-military, AND good with kids??? Yeah, they definitely do. And you would to, if you were so full of self doubt.

"Love?" You hear Simon say, his eyes now focused on you as Oliver was seemingly put down to go play for a little longer.

"I asked if you're free this weekend? Oliver is going over to his grandparents for a few days and I was wondering if you'd like to do something?" His voice was shy...that was weird. It's almost like-

"Are you asking me on a date?" You say, a teasing smirk playing across your lips.

"No no, well- no it's not like that. Just as friends, you know- without the ruckus of that one running around." When he says "that one" he points towards Oliver, who was currently crashing two tractors together and making a crash sound with his mouth.

"You know what? Sure Simon. I'll see you then."

He smiles, nodding softly as he runs his hands through his hair, the gelled effect must have worn off because it was back to its shaggy state, almost getting to the point it reached his eyes. He needed a haircut, but it's not like you didn't like the shaggy look. It was unexpectedly sexy.

Maybe it was just your hormones talking but everything about this man was unexpectedly sexy. His tired eyes from sleepless nights and early mornings, his tatted arms, a few of the tattoos colored in with what seemed like marker from Oliver, and his tall frame, almost towering over you to the point you had to look up to see his face.

You did suggest that he should get laid, but maybe you're the one who really needed the action. It's been who knows how long, and your getting so desperate that you literally can't look at him without butterflies fluttering in your stomach as well as..further south.

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After sending Simon and his son home, you immediately ran to your bedroom, quickly stripping out of your clothes and hopping into the warm water of your shower. With your back to the water and your hands in your hair, you can't help but let your mind wander back to your neighbor.

What was he doing right now? Was he helping Oliver brush his teeth? Was he just getting into the shower too? Was his shower water warm or cool? Did he have tattoos elsewhere? What did the soap look like running down his chest and down his legs..?

Okay, you need to go to bed. Sleep would do the trick. Right?

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Wrong. Sleep 100% didn't do the trick. Two full days of almost nothing but sleep and this man has been filling your head with thought of him, some more naughty than other. He had crawled into your dreams, your thoughts, and your daily life in general. You cant even pour creamer into your coffee without seeing his smug ass face in your mug.

It was now the weekend, around 7pm on a Saturday. The sun had already gone down and you were sitting in your living room, a random cheesy rom com on the television as you scrolled on your phone. You scrolled through your feed, seeing videos of your college friends out partying, drinking, and having fun. Then there was you, sitting at home with day old mascara on your lashes and sleep evident on your face.

There was a heavy knock on your door, with a raised brow you hop up from your couch and make your way over to the door, peaking through the peep hole to see who it was. And to your surprise, it was exactly who you were thinking of.

There Simon stood, a bottle of champagne and a single red rose in his hands as he bounces on his heels, he was back to his regular shaggy look, unkempt hair, white t-shirt, blue jeans, and his silver dog tag hanging from his neck.

Quickly, you open the door with a smile and invite the man in. As he walks in towards your kitchen counter you quickly become aware of your appearance. Old makeup on your face, and crinkled clothes that you couldn't be bothered to iron.

However, at this point the two of you have seen each other at your worst, hell you've seen Simon running off of two hours of sleep with a sick little Oliver who wouldn't stop crying and coughing.

"Champagne and a rose? This feels like a date to me.." You tease running a hand across his shoulder as you pass him, earning a shiver from the man. you stand on the opposite side of the kitchen island as he takes a seat on one of the barstool chairs you have, sliding the bottle towards you.

"Take it however you want love." He laughs, running his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face, his bicep flexing in the process, and holy fuck.

You shake your head and pop open the bottle of champagne. "I'm glad I know you and Oliver, he's a good kid."

"You're such a big help with the little guy, I honestly don't know what I'd do without you. He loves you a lot." Simon is more soft spoken than usual as he twirls the rose between his fingertips.

You're frantically searching your cabinets for those champagne glasses you got all those years ago but have never used. You swear you still had them.

"It's no biggy. He's a joy to have around and probably one of my only friends!" You laugh, sighing after you cant find those dumbass champagne glasses and grabbing two mugs out of the cabinet instead. Not quite what you'd normally drink something like champagne out of, but it would have to work.

"So I'm not considered a friend? I see how it is," Simon fakes a hurt expression as he takes a mug from you with a raised brow. His shoulders shake in silent laughter after he looks at the mug to which it read "Male Tears" in big black lettering.

You laugh along with him, "Eh, I kinda like your son more than you, he's less broody," You tease, pouring the champagne into each of your mugs. Your mug saying "Reading is Sexy" with blue lettering.

There the two of you sat, at your kitchen island drinking cheap champagne out of coffee mugs with a single red rose placed between the two of you.

-

After a few hours and an entire bottle of champagne, the two of you sat on your couch together, a movie on your tv.

You sat with your legs draped across Simons lap, his hand resting on your knee as his fingers gently rubbed circles into your skin. It tickled, but in a good way.

You fought sleep, your eyelids slowly shutting and reopening. Your breath was calm and slow, a comfortable silence had fallen between the two of you.

"Gettin' sleepy love?" Simon asks with a chuckle, his deep blue eyes lingering on you as he rubs up and down the length of your leg.

You don't bother answering verbally, you don't have the energy. You shake your head in a quiet and small 'no', your hand coming up to rub your eyes. What time was it? It couldn't be that late.

With a groan, you sit up and grab your phone off of the coffee table, tapping your screen a few times for it to turn on. Your screen nearly blinds you, a curse falling from you lips as Simon merely chuckles next to you. 11:57. Almost midnight already? You thought, there's no way.

Simon peaks over your shoulder and shakes his head, running his hands over his face with a yawn. "Surely I haven't been here all that long, it's definitely past our bedtimes," he teases as he moves your legs off of his, standing from the couch with a stretch, his shirt lifting, showing off a fucking happy trail. This man was too hot for his own good. It had to be a crime at this point.

You stand next to him, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you yawn, making your way lazily towards the direction of your bedroom.

"I better get ta' goin'-" Simon begins, before you cut him off.

"Oh please, theres no way in hell you came over here just to hang out as friends, Simon." Your voice is low as you stand before him, your bodies mere inches apart as you stare up at him. Messy hair, sleepy eyes, and those god damn dimples shining through as he smirks down at you. You fuckin' knew it.

His arms wrap around your waist, his face nearing yours as he walks you backwards into your kitchen, your hips hitting the kitchen island. "I've been caught."

His breath smelling of cheap champagne and cigarettes as his lips grazed yours. His lips are soft as he finally kisses you, fitting perfectly against yours.

Simons hands remove themselves from your waist, landing on the kitchen island, trapping you between him and the counter. You deepen the kiss, standing on your tippy toes to match his force, earning an audible groan from the blonde man in front of you.

When the kiss ends, nothing but heavy panting and quiet curses fill the air. "Fuckin' hell love.." he whispers against your neck, his lips leaving a trail of kisses up and down your warm skin.

Quiet whimpers leave your lips as his lips work their way up to your ear, where he whispers a phrase that makes your knees want to buckle. "Get on the fuckin' counter doll, I've waited far to long for this and my tongue is tingling for your taste.."

Obviously, you do as he says, hopping up onto the cool granite. "Atta girl," he says, his voice raspy as he tugs the waistband of your pants down, pulling them off your legs as if he's been craving you for years. Maybe he has been..

In a swift motion he pushed you onto your back, earning a quiet yelp from you as your back touched the cold surface. With his eyes glued on your panties and his hands on your plush thighs you can't help but whimper, letting your head fall back onto the counter top.

"Fuckin hell lovie, you're already so wet..." Simon says through gritted teeth, the pad of this thumb rubbing slow circles against your clit, the feeling of the pressure over the fabric of your panties was enough for you to clench around nothing.

"Simon please-" you whimper, your hips rolling against his touch, eager for more. This draws a chuckle from the man in front of you, he pulls his hand away with a smug smirk on his lips.

Not another word is shared between the two of you before Simon is kneeled on the tile flooring and he has your legs over his shoulders, his face at perfect height with your core. He pulls your panties to the side, groaning at the sight before him. He was so fucking hard right now, straining against the zipper of his pants.

He blows a cool puff of air against your cunt, watching as it flutters before it, his smirk never falters as he runs his thumb over your cunt, coving his finger in your juices.

"Riley I swear to the gods, if you don't stop playing with your food-" you begin, getting cut off with his tongue against your slit and his thumb rubbing circles against your sensitive bundle of nerves. His tongue works in and out of you, flicking and sucking, the noises that fill the kitchen are positively hypnotic. Your whimpers and moans mixed with the wet noises of Simons tongue between your legs. And to top it off, every time you buck your hips against his face he moans, a low growl like noise that makes you absolutely drip.

Simon is only using one hand to hold open your legs, his right hand has traveled down to his pants, unzipping his jeans and finally giving himself that oh so needed friction that he's been deprived of. His tongue goes flat against your cunt, his head shaking side to side, flicking his tongue every so often, just enough to catch the tip of your clit.

He palms himself through his boxers, rutting into the palm of his hand. "You like that baby? You're gettin' louder.." he teases as he sucks on your clit, causing your back to arch off of the counter top and your hands to fly to his hair, tugging on the blonde strands, pressing his face into your greedy little cunt even more.

"Simon! Right fucking there, please please please..." You moan, your thighs threatening to close around his head as your legs shake with pleasure. Your breath is quick and your moans are loud as Simon god damn Riley holds your legs open, sucking and licking your clit, you were about to fall apart right then and there, but after he shoves two fingers into your cunt you absolutely crumble.

The orgasm rushes throughout your body, your grip on his hair tight. He doesn't stop though, his tongue stays glued to your clit, his fingers moving at a pace that makes your writhe, drawing out this heavenly orgasm as long as he can.

You're already fucked out as he pulls his fingers out of you, kissing your fluttering cunt, kissing up your torso and tugging your shirt over your head to kiss all the way up your lips. This kiss was everything passionate, the taste of you still lingering on his lips.

Your eyelids are heavy and your chest rises with a quick pace, still trying to come down from your high. Sweat glitters your skin, your panties hanging from your ankle and your mascara running down your cheeks. "So beautiful, so fucking gorgeous baby.." Simon whispers as he kissed you on the forehead, running his hands over your cheeks. "But we're not done yet, no no no, this night isn't over until I fill you up so full that Oliver will have a fucking sibling by tomorrow.." His voice is deep and sultry, pulling you up off the counter by your wrists and tossing you over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes.

With a yelp from you, Simon gives a little smacks to your ass. His quick strides make it to your bedroom in no time at all. He tossed you on the bed, you landing on your back, your toes bouncing along with the mattress, earning a low curse from the man in front of you. He stands at the end of your bed, quickly pulling his pants and boxers off of himself. He can't go another fucking second without being inside of you.

The image of this man crawling on top of you, his ink covered arms on either side of your head and your legs on either side of your hips as he pressed against you. It was all so much, your cunt was dripping, and from what you could see so was the tip of his cock.

Holy shit his cock, it was huge, veins running up and down the length of it. You figured he was from the start, but now that it's in front of you, how the hell will it all fit?

His hands reach for your thighs, pushing them up so your knees neared your ears, the tip of his cock teases the entrance of your cunt, the bead of pre-cum smearing all over your clit. You wiggle your hips, eager for something, anything but this fucking torturous teasing that this man seems so obsessed with.

"Simon.." You moan, earning a groan from the man. His eyes have not left you this entire time, his gaze wandering up and down your figure with a look of biting desire.

"Moaning my name like that..fuck," He groans through gritted teeth, pressing the tip of his cock inside, fucking finally.

You suck in a breath through your teeth, biting down on your bottom lip as you grip the sheets.

Simons eyes shut with pleasure as he pushes into you. Only to open once again to watch your face, watching for any looks of displeasure, he makes it about half way when your eyebrows furrow and your hand flies to his torso, pressing against his abdomen as a way to tell him to stop for a second.

"It's okay lovie, breath, you're taking me so well.." He whispers, leaning down to kiss your cheek, kissing away a single stray tear that had seemingly rolled down your cheek. Slowly, he continues to push into you, the two of you share a mutual moan as he finally bottoms out, his stomach pressed flush against your clit.

"Good girl, my good girl baby, yes.." He moans, his hands under your knees as he holds one leg over his shoulder and the other off the the side.

Your whimpers, his groans, and the smell of sex fills the bedroom. You rock your hips, indicating the need for friction. With pleasure, Simon gives you what you needs, rolling his hips and pulling out about half way before slamming back inside you. Your loud moans and pleases for more, more, more fill the room, causing Simon to let out a guttural groan, hai cock twitching inside of you.

Simon shifted his hips, dragging his cock out of you. It glistened with your arousal, and it made his face grow hot. He bit back a whimper when he pushed inside you once more. You gasped, and he did it again. Again and again until he had a set a rhythm that had your entire body on fire, writhing against the mattress.

"Yes yes, fuck Simon, makin' m' feel so good, I-" You whimper, your legs shaking and your eyes squeezed shut out of pure pleasure.

Simon had reached a hand down and was now rubbing circles on your clit. Your words had his brain swimming, his thrusts deepening and pace quickening. The tight ball of pleasure was drawing tighter and tighter in the base of your tummy, your cunt fluttering around his cock.

"Fuck baby, you feel so good..wanna put a fuckin baby in you lovie..." His voice is low, his groans turning into whimpers as his thrusts become sloppy, he's nearing his own climax. Your own peak is nearing, your cunt fluttering around his cock, clenching and squeezing as he moves at a pace that is absolutely intoxicating.

"Come for me, baby," he whispered. "Come on my cock. That's it, baby, yeah– good fuckin' girl."

His finger moves quickly against your clit, rubbing as his cock bullies in and out of your greedy little cunt. The force of his thrusts make your tits bounce, earning deep and needy groans from the back of Simons throat.

You came around his cock with a sob of his name, your cunt squeezing him tight as the ball of pressure snapped in your tummy. Your orgasm was hard, slamming over you and rendering you breathless, your head floating. Your clit pulsed beneath the movements of his fingers.

The tightness of your cunt earned a fucked out moan from Simon as he slams in and out of you, reaching even deeper than before. You wanted to scream. He was so deep. You were so full.

"Such a good girl, suck a greedy little cunt— so tight I don't think I'll be able to pull out-, yes baby.." He blabbered helplessly as he becomes utterly pussydrunk, his head lolling back and his eyes closing with pleasure.

"M'gonna come in this tight cunt," Si whispered, almost too quiet for you to hear. He spoke louder when he continued his sentence. "You want my cum, baby? You want me to come inside you? Want me to fill you up, fill this pretty tummy?"

"Yes! Please—!" You practically scream.

"I will— I'll fill you up with all of my fuckin' cum.." He moans, his thrusts sloppy and his grip on your thighs bruising. "Take it all like a good girl," he moaned. "Get you–fuck —get you pregnant. Fill you up with my kids. I'd look after you, baby."

You were basically screaming.

And with that Simon cums, your name falling from his lips as the white hot liquid spills from his cock into you. He doesn't pull out, tugging you up so that you straddled his hips, his hands on your as as he holds you up, him leaning back against the heels of his feet. The two of you share a tender kiss, his lips softly kissing your lips, cheeks, and neck.

"Fuckin' hell love.." He laughs, his voice raspy. He finally pulls out, a deep groan slipping from his lips as he watches his cum drip out of that sweet little cunt. Carefully, he lays you back down on the mattress, staring down at you with low eyes and a small smile on his lips.

"You were so good just now, you know that? So beautiful, so fuckin' hot-" He moves so he's laid beside you, his chest pressed against your back as he rubs small circles on your hip with his finger. "-I loved your moans, and the feeling of your pussy..just stay like this with me for a second, yeah?" His hand runs up and down your side, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence as his breath tickles the back of your neck.

What an odd feeling. It all felt as if everything had always been like this. As if the two of you were meant to be, and this was all just natural.

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

Simon and You sit in your living room together, his hand on your thigh and Oliver running back and forth with a superman action figure in hand making a 'swooshhh' sound with his mouth.

The promise ring on your finger sparkles as you look down at it, you can't take your eyes off the damn thing. It's been a week since he's given it to you, but every time you eye catches the little piece of jewelry you can't help but stare.

Three years of crushing and helping him raise his kid. One night of his name being moaned and orgasm after orgasm. Two weeks form that night he asked you out. It's been four months since he asked you to be his girlfriend. Everything seemed to be moving so quickly. But not, at the same time. It feels like you've know each other forever so it was natural. Nothing odd about falling in love so quickly.

Or maybe the love has always been there, it was the commitment and the confessions and the confusing mixed signals that were messing with the process.

But in the end everything had fallen in place. Simon still lives next door, but that is gonna change soon. He spends more and more time over at your place than his own. Both his and Oliver's clothes litter your laundry, and instead of one lonely toothbrush in the bathroom, there's now three.

Pink, Blue, and a tiny red one for Oliver.

This was how it was meant to be. Simon, Oliver, and you. And possibly another one. Simon is pretty eager for that addition. Now that was a little fast even for you.

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

a/n: not to singledad!simon anymore. <33

p.s.- i tagged everyone who i saw asked to be, sorry if i missed ya! and thank you all so so much for all the love. i love all of ya so so much! <33

[lil-elle]

Overbooked

group: riize

pair: anton x fem!reader

genre: forced proximity, fluff, suggestive

word count: 4.3k

content: coarse language, kissing, nsfw implications

a/n: the way I've been in such an Anton mood recently is insane

“Uhhh…who'd you say booked this room for us..?” Anton questioned, his voice cracking slightly.

“Seunghan, why, what's wrong?” You stood on your tiptoes, his 6 foot height blocking you from peaking into the room.

“Fucking Seunghan…” he mumbled under his breath. Letting out a shaky breath, he took a few more steps into the room, allowing you to squeeze through the doorway past him.

Your eyes roamed the pristine hotel room, grazing the lush grey carpeting, the silky white curtains, and the wide screen TV mounted on the wall. It was a very elegant room, and you thanked Seunghan in your head for getting it for you…that was until your gaze landed on the lone king sized bed against the left wall, wrapped cleanly in white silk sheets and decorated with plush pillows and two towels sat at the end of it.

“Oh…” You cautiously glanced up at him, his head turned towards the wall with only his bright red pierced ears peeking through his hair as a hint to the thoughts running through his mind.

You placed a soft hand on his arm, to which he trembled almost unnoticeably. “Hey, it's fine. I can sleep on the floor.” You reassured him. He whipped his head around, revealing that the red from his ears had spread to his cheeks too.

“N-no! I'll sleep on the floor, it's alright!” The determined look on his face told you that he wasn't backing down from this and that there was no point in arguing. You smiled softly at him, warmed by his charming sweetness and slight stubbornness.

“Thank you…Anton…” His pupils dilated and you watched as the splotchy red on his cheeks spread to the rest of his face and his lips parted, taking in a quick and sharp breath of air. Suddenly he spun around, stomping towards the bed and landing face down onto the soft and sweet smelling sheets. You hurried over to him, concerned, and reached him just in time to hear a muffled “...when I catch you, Seunghan…”

After you two got settled in, kicking your shoes off, placing your bags in the corner of the room and plugging your phones in to charge on either side of the bed, he picked up one of the towels folded neatly on the end. He looked up at you as you melted into a large cushioned chair next to the bed, his complexion back to its regular pinkish olive colour. “I'll go shower really quick, ‘kay?” The sun had begun to set, casting an orange light across the room and prompting you two to start getting ready for bed.

“Okayyy.” You smiled happily at him and heard him gasp lightly again before he quickly disappeared into the bathroom.

The sound of the running water thrummed again your ears as you closed your eyes and settled further into the chair, noticing just how soft it really was. Without even realising, you drifted off, the noise of the shower and the comfort of the chair lulling you to sleep.

Your consciousness slowly drifted back to you as you felt a gentle poke to your cheek, your eyes fluttering open and meeting a very familiar face. His wet bangs brushed gently against your forehead and his round doe eyes went wide as he processed you looking at him. He somehow ended up with his back against the wall on the other side of the room within a second, his forehead all the way down to his neck flushed a deep red. “I-I didn't, I mean-”

You took in the sight of him, damp hair, plain grey shirt drizzled with wet spots from where water droplets fell from his hair, black sweatpants emphasising his long legs. And on top of all of that he was blushing. Hard. You couldn't deny how charming he looked in this moment.

You spoke up, ignoring the obvious heat creeping up the back of your neck and up to your ears, “I-I should shower now…”

You picked up the other towel, and some pyjamas you'd folded next to it, and rushed to the bathroom, heat overtaking your face. As you passed him, you could've sworn you could hear his heartbeat, fast and hard against his chest.

Locking yourself away in the bathroom, you gazed at yourself in the fogged up mirror. From the sight of your whole face, a deep crimson colour, you could tell the heat covering your body was not from the humidity in the small bathroom.

The shower passed by in a daze. You couldn't believe how many times your brain replayed the scene of waking up to Anton's face so deathly close to yours. Close enough that his freshly washed bangs left a streak of water on your forehead. Close enough that you could feel his breath. Close enough that you could've kis–

Your hairbrush fell to the floor with a clang, startling you out of your thoughts. You met your own wide eyes in the mirror as his muffled voice coming from outside the door filled your ear. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah…yeah, fine…” You responded, bending down to pick yourself hairbrush back up, a slight uncertainty in your voice.

“Be careful, please.” His soft, concerned voice filtering through the door stuck a needle in your heart and you placed the brush onto the vanity with a sigh.

You rushed through your routine, washing and moisturising your face, scrunching your hair with the towel to dry it as much as you could, and slipping into your pyjamas. Cautiously, you opened the door to the bathroom and stepped out, taking in the room now with the blinds closed and the lamps on each bedside table filling the room with warm yellow light. Anton was seated back in the chair you previously slept in, bringing the image of his face so close to yours back into your mind once again.

You took a step forward and the floorboard creaked under you, catching his attention and causing him to look up from his phone. Instantly, he froze. There was no way he was hiding the almost neon red that covered his face within a second of seeing you. Your damp hair, you draped in a shirt a little too big for you, your shorts barely peeking out from under it. The cold wetness of your hair against the back of your neck contrasted the warmth of your skin as you tried to push down the hard thrumming of your heart.

You walked forward, watching as his adams apple bobbed nervously and his eyes traced over your figure as if he was in a daze. You made your way to your bag, tucking your previously worn clothes into it, desperately trying to ignore the heat radiating from your cheeks. You didn't understand why you suddenly felt this way, why the unfinished fantasy of what Anton could've done that close to your face wouldn't leave your mind.

You slipped between the cold silk sheets as you watched Anton meticulously set up a “bed” on the floor next to you with an extra sheet he found. The pitiful set up had you feeling guilty for making him do this, and a subtle thought poked at your brain, a thought that made your cheeks flare up again for the 20th time that night. “H-hey Anton, maybe I should-”

“No. It's fine. You stay there.” He reassured as he slipped between the thin sheet, barely separating him from the hard ground beneath him. He turned off the lamp on his side and you turned off the other one in response, leaving the room dark and silent. The only thing that broke through the silence was the sound of his soft breathing, somehow loud in your right ear as you stared up at the ceiling. The sound of your heartbeat joined not long after, rippling through your body and keeping you from drifting off to sleep. Minutes passed, though you couldn’t tell how many.

“A-Anton…?” You stuttered softly, to which he responded with a low groan, ringing through your ear and bringing heat to your cheeks. “...are you awake…?” You heard him chuckle lightly.

“Of course,” the sound of rustling fabric came from your right side and you just knew he was shifting around to face your direction, “why, what's up?”

“It's just…it can't be comfortable down there…” Your voice was laced with guilt as you spoke.

“Hey. I'm not making you sleep on the floor…okay?” His concern made your heart flutter in a way you hadn't felt before.

There was silence for a moment and you took a deep breath before speaking again. “Well what if…” you heard his breathing slow to a stop, as if he was holding his breath and waiting for you to continue. “What if…we both sleep…in the bed…”

The familiar sound of a sharp breath in, followed by silence. The silence continued to stretch out with no sign from Anton that he was going to respond. Had he fallen asleep?

You quickly turned over and flicked the lamp on, letting your gaze land on where you knew he was laying on the floor. His long figure, outlined by the thin sheet draped over him, was laid flat on his back, his hands completely covering his face. His ears were once again giving away his true feelings, bright red behind his long black hair. As if it was contagious, your own ears heated up along with your cheeks. “...A-Anton..?” His breath caught in his throat and you watched as he parted his fingers, peeking up at you.

In a weak and almost inaudible voice, he spoke, “Are you serious…?”

You nodded gently, biting the inside of your lip. He covered his eyes again and rolled over, turning his back to you as he mumbled, the only words you were able to pick up being “...fuck…Seunghan, why…she's so…”

He suddenly sat up with a strained sigh, propping himself up with one of his hands and the other still covering his face. With a better view of his features, you could now see the very familiar sight of him blushing bright red. “An-”

“...fuck it.” He picked himself up off of the ground and turned to face you, his eyes looking anywhere but at you. “Scoot over…” A wide smile overtook your features and you quickly shimmied to the other side of the bed, giving him space to crawl in with you. His slightly shaky hand pulled the covers back and he hesitantly layed down, as if afraid that making contact with the clean sheets would dirty them somehow. He laid awkwardly staring at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. You turned over to lean on your side, looking towards him.

“Anton…?” You spoke suddenly, making him flinch.

“Uh- huh?” His throat sounded dry and his gaze didn't move from a single spot on the ceiling.

“Can you…turn the lamp off?” There was a soft smile on your face, like you were enjoying seeing him so anxious and flustered. Despite that, your heart was still pounding harder than you've ever felt and your whole body burned like you had a fever.

“O-oh…” his voice cracked and he quickly reached his long arm behind him and flicked off the lamp, leaving the room in total darkness once again.

The air around you felt heavy with tension as you both laid there in the darkness. It was just like before, the only sound making its way to your ears being his breathing, only this time it was much closer and faster.

You don't know what prompted you to do it, but you extended your right arm out, your knuckles brushing against his arm lightly and making him twitch. His breathing caught in his throat and the silence that flooded the room made the tension all the more dense and palpable. You trailed the tip of your finger down his arm until you felt the veins on the back of his hand and you swore that you could hear his heart pounding against his ribs. Heat sat overwhelmingly on your cheeks as your fingers clamoured against his hand, intertwining themselves with his. His hand was much larger than yours, fitting with his height but not the soft and introverted personality he presented. He hesitated, his fingers sitting limply between yours, but after a few moments his hand tightened and embraced yours, the sound of his heartbeat only becoming louder.

You could've cut the tension in the room with a knife as you two laid hand in hand in silence, your hearts beating in sync.

Him accepting your hand hold made you bolder and the darkness in the room that obscured you two from seeing each other encouraged your confidence. Slowly, you scooted closer to him, as if afraid to startle him away. He took a breath in, as if he was able to feel your warmth get stronger.

“Y/n…” His voice was soft and deep like usual, although there was a slight strain to it, like he was holding something back. You turned your head, eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, to see him lying on his side, his head resting on the pillow. His eyes looked at you with emotion you've never seen before, emotion that overwhelmed you and forced the butterflies in your stomach to go wild.

He brought your hand that he was holding up to his lips, pressing them against the back of your hand so softly and your flustered brain struggled to comprehend where he got this boldness from. “Anton…” Your voice was weak and breathy, staring back into his siren-like gaze as he held his lips to your hand.

His lips disconnected from your skin with a subtle wet smack and he spoke, his voice rough and quiet. “I'm glad it's so dark in here right now…I'm sure my face is burning up…”

“You–” your trembling voice was cut off by his hand letting go of yours and moving to rest on your waist. His strong hand grasped your hip before pulling you closer to him, your hands coming to rest against his chest. You looked up at him with a shine in your eyes, just shocked by his actions. He sighed softly before chuckling to himself.

“Y'know, Seunghan definitely did this on purpose.” His eyes stared deeply into yours as you processed his words.

“H-huh…?”

“Booking us a room with one bed? Totally on purpose.” His pinky finger fidgeted with the fabric of your shirt, pulling and twisting it with obvious nervousness.

He leaned his forehead against yours as his gaze stayed locked on your eyes, your breath catching in your throat.

He muttered something so quietly that the only reason you were able to pick it up was because of his proximity and the deathly silence that occupied the rest of the room. “...Should never have told him I like you…”

Suddenly every thought in your head came to a halt as his words played over and over again in your mind. It was as if you were forced onto a treadmill, your heart rate rising like crazy and your breathing heavy.

“Y-you…”

He sighed, closing his eyes and nuzzling against your forehead slightly. After a moment of hesitation, he confirmed your uncertainty. “...Yup…” His voice cracked slightly and you heard him swallow anxiously as he opened his eyes to gaze at you again. He chuckled awkwardly to himself, “It's a little obvious…”

You struggled to speak, your throat dry with nerves, but you managed to get just his name out in a slightly scratchy, whiny tone. “Anton…” You watched a shiver run through him as the breath that uttered his name hit his lips. His eyes dropped to your lips and his breathing slowed. The moment seemed to last for hours, despite it only being a few seconds before he met your gaze again.

“Y/n…” his voice, barely above a whisper at this point, speaking your name like that made you let out a soft gasp for air, like you were drowning. “Can I…?” His eyes gestured down at your lips again and when they flew back up to meet yours they were glossy and full of emotion, almost pleading.

Your lips were parted, trying to take in as much air as you could to fuel your rapidly beating heart. His implication muddled your thoughts and you felt as if you were free-falling. You squeezed your eyes shut before taking that final leap and nodding, giving him the reassurance and consent he needed to do something he'd waited so long to do.

His hand on your waist slid up slowly, his fingertips trailing along your arm and coming to rest on your cheek. You could feel his hand trembling.

Almost in slow motion, he closed the gap between you and him, his soft pillowy first only grazing yours and you found yourself fighting a full-body shiver. His breath was hot, almost unbearably so as it covered your lips.

He was hesitating, refusing to finish closing the gap, making you restless.

“An-” With that your mouth was sealed, your words swallowed by the sudden push of his lips to yours. An inaudible squeak pushed up through your throat, drowned out by the soft wet sounds of his lips pressing repeatedly to yours.

He was desperate, much more than you'd expected. It was obvious now that this was something he's wanted to do for a very long time.

His breathing turned to panting as his fingers tightened against your cheek.

“An-mm-”

He used his other arm to prop himself up, putting him in a position where he was leaning over you, his lips still relentless in stealing air from your lungs. His bangs fell against your forehead, light and fluffy from his shower earlier that night, making an obvious shiver run through you.

What you didn't expect was his response to that shiver, a melodic hum from deep in his throat that made you see stars.

His hand trailed back down to your waist, gripping and bunching your shirt in his fist as he tilted his head for a better angle. You gasped for breath against his lips, overwhelmed with the sudden passion he'd drowned you in, but he only submerges you further when he takes the opportunity to flick his tongue against your bottom lip. You gasped, this time with shock and you didn't even notice your hand pushing against his chest, prying his lips from yours.

For a moment, you two just looked at each other's faces, his bright red even in the dark room, his lips parted as he breathed heavily, and his eyelids sitting half-closed. The light coating of saliva on his lips made your head heat up even more and you licked your own unconsciously, making his eyes immediately dart back down to stare at them.

“Y/n…” his voice was raspy and deep, making you squeak with surprise. His hand tightened on your waist and your breath only sped up, anticipating his next words. “I think…I need…to sleep on the floor….” Your eyes shot open at his unexpected words, words that came out through heavy breaths and you were surprised at how he was still out of breath.

“A-Ant-”

“I don't want to stop…” He whispered, almost inaudibly, and it was only now you noticed the look of lust in his eyes. “So…I need to sleep on the floor…”

You sat stunned as he pried himself off of you and made his way back to the makeshift bed on the floor. You couldn't even utter a single word, the memory of the way he was looking down at you, almost like a wild animal that hadn't eaten in days, burned into your mind. What surprised you most, though, was the way your heart fluttered and your stomach turned at the sight.

“A-are you sure?” You managed to stutter out, lifting yourself up to look at him, only for your gaze to meet his broad back. He stayed silent, the audible rapid beat of his heart giving you enough of an answer. You laid back down, your face going red with embarrassment at the thought that you were slightly disappointed.

Safe to say you didn't get a wink of sleep that night, fully awake to welcome the first chirps of the birds outside and the orange light of the sunrise streaming through the blinds. You didn't even spare a glance for Anton as you packed up your individual belongings and cleaned the room, a slave to the way your heart threatened to burst from your chest at the slightest glance of his messy bed hair or busy hands making the bed and gathering his things.

You both made your way out of the room, bags slung over your backs, walking an awkward distance apart from each other as you struggled to keep a blush from overtaking your face. Even his finger pressing the button for the elevator was too much for you, keeping your eyes glued to the floor until you heard the ding signalling the arrival of the elevator. You stepped into the elevator cautiously, your mind swimming at the realisation that you'd be in this small space with just him, if even for a few moments, being too much for you.

The subtle rumbling of the elevator as it travelled floor to floor filled your ears and you could feel heat on the back of your neck from the now close proximity of him.

You were quickly pulled from your chaotic train of thought by the elevator suddenly coming to a stop. Your eyes darted up to the screen above the buttons reading “5” when it should say “G”.

“W-what happened…?” You stuttered out, still unable to bring yourself to look at him. Although, it was a pointless endeavour, as he suddenly invaded your vision, stepping in front of you to spam the button that opens the door. Unsurprisingly, the doors didn't respond, and it seemed you were completely stuck.

“Great…” he sighed, leaning back against the wall and sliding down. For the first time all morning, you were able to look directly at him, your worry taking over all other emotions. You carefully sat down next to him, ignoring the beat of your heart as you peered into his face.

“W-what…do we do…?” You questioned, a slight shake in your voice.

He sighed before leaning his cheek against his knees, looking at you softly.

“There isn't much we can do except sit here and wait for someone to show up and help us.” His soft gaze brought a subtle heat to your cheeks and you questioned how it took you so long to realise you liked him. Suddenly, another realisation hit you like a lightning bolt.

“...Should never have told him I like you…”

His words replayed in your mind. He likes you…and you like him…

Your face flared up, something he definitely noticed as his eyes got slightly wider.

“A-are you okay…?” he questioned anxiously, “claustrophobic…?”

You shook your head slowly, swallowing your nerves. Taking a deep breath in, you finally spoke what was on your mind.

“So…you like me?”

His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open as a pink tint crept onto his face. You gave him a moment to gather himself and he plucked his head from his knees, staring straight ahead for a moment before nodding softly.

Your heart raced as you prepared to confess your feelings to him as well.

“I think I-”

“I'm so sorry.” He hurriedly spat out, leaving you dazed.

“F-for what?” You spoke with a hint of confusion.

“...Kissing you…” He hung his head, as if ashamed.

“Hey, it's okay, you asked and I said yes.” You explained, kneeling to face him. He took in a breath before continuing.

“B-but I got carried away, and you don't even like me like that, and-”

You grasped his face, turning his head towards you to look directly into his glossy eyes.

“Hey…who said I didn't like you…” You said the words with as much composure as you could muster, but the radiating heat in your skin gave away your true feelings. His expression froze in one of shock and you could feel his warm skin under your fingers grow warmer. After a few moments you felt his fingers creep up onto your cheeks, cradling your face.

“Can-”

“Please.”

Without another second of hesitation, he pressed the softest and sweetest kiss to your lips, much different from the passion of last night. You wanted time to freeze in this moment, but the kiss was already over as quickly as it started. You were still steeped in a pool of heat when he spoke again.

“-end?”

“H-huh…?” Your eyes refocused on his, serious and determined.

“...Will you be my girlfriend…?” He repeated, making your heart skip and a wide smile stretched across your face before you even realised. You could only nod before he quickly pulled you into his arms, burying his head into your neck. You giggled as his nose and lips tickled tickled your skin and your heart raced with love and joy.

You both flinched as the elevator suddenly started moving again, the screen finally flicking from “5” to “4” and continuing to go down. You buried your hand in his soft head of hair, chuckling.

“It's like it was waiting for us to sort everything out.” You felt him smile against your skin, making your heart flutter in your chest. He breathed out, his warm breath spreading across the skin of your neck.

“And I suppose I actually need to thank Seunghan…” He mumbled, earning another giggle from you.

“Y'know we're not getting away from this whole thing without a lot of gloating and teasing, right?”

He sighed, finally pulling back from you and looking into your eyes, a wide smile stretching across his cheeks.

He ran a thumb along your cheek gently.

“It's worth it…”

-

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

TAGLIST:

@hyunromi @chocoeon @hyunukitty @minjaezed @ihyeokzu @cake1box @chiiyuuvv

[stararch4ngelqueen]

For the Jason drabbles, what about Jason conforting/taking care of reader while they are sick or even on their period?

We love a supportive man. What he receives he gives back tenfold.

“Show me where, baby.”

His hand roamed along your lower abdomen, imagining the soreness in your tense muscles. The spikes of pain that riddled you bedridden during your most heavy days.

“Here?” He applies pressure, fingers rubbing circles down just under your stomach, along the spot near your hip bone.

“Oww, yes,” you whine, wincing from the pain before being soothed by his massage.

Jason knew what periods were. He knew it’s a natural thing women dealt with. He’s worked with women for years, alongside doing his own research on it during one time you hadn’t left your bed for a while, thinking you were sick at first. It was an.. interesting conversation with Babs over what more he could do to help that the internet didn’t tell him about those relentlessly heavy cycles.

Pain like this took a lot longer to be rid of than a heating pad would allow. Especially the good quality ones with different settings.

Or, if you want something different, something fun that he wouldn’t mind shoving into the microwave for a minute, he’d get you a heatable, plush teddy bear. Or a duck. Or a menstruation crustacean.

He had no idea what the hell that was until you showed him on the site. You received whatever you chose in a box nearly three days later from Prime shipping.

Don’t freak out about blood. Accidents happen. If you got some on the sheets, along his lap when he held you, or on the couch, he could’ve cared less.

He wouldn’t even point it out, if you didn’t know. If you did notice it, he’d immediately shush you in an consolation attack, hiding your shameful expression in the crook of his shoulder.

“Shh, baby,” he’d murmur in your ear. “Easy. Nothin’ I haven’t seen before. S’alright, it’s okay.”

With advice from Babs, he cooks a lot more iron rich meals for you a lot more during this time. Usually, it’s been a team effort. You cook, he cleans up, you wash dishes together. Vice versa.

This week, regardless if you suffer from irregular periods, he does it all. He’ll do it even if he was a walking zombie, he doesn’t care.

Jason will not, no matter what you say, let you lift a finger if he knows you’re in pain. He’s an expert of masking his own, he can tell when you do it.

This even goes if you’re not used to being babied, get used to it. You tend to him for weeks at a time in a single month alone, this is his way of saying thank you for it all.

“Bed.” Jason demands, not even having to turn around from his attention on the stove to hear your shuffling to the kitchen.

“But I’m—“

“I brought you a drink,” he replies. A cup of warm raspberry leaf tea sitting on your bedside.

“No, I mean—“

“I know it hurts, but you can’t take anything until after you eat,” Jason peers over his shoulder, seeing his olive green shirt loosely draped over your body. “Go back to bed, Princess.”

“Can I stay here?” You plea, making his shoulders slump with a sigh. Try as he may, your weakened state makes him more pliable to your every request.

Might as well, since you’re already up. Stubborn girl.

“Go sit on the couch,” he sighs, knowing a few comforters were folded up on the cushions. “Get comfortable, an’ stay there. Dinner’s almost done.”

Jason has pills, plenty of them. From plain Tylenol, ibuprofen, to doctor prescribed muscle relaxers, morphine, etc. All thanks to Alfred.

Broken bones or severe, suture required injuries would be the only times Jason felt complied to take them. He knew addiction, watching it first hand and being involved in it at one point himself. He only took them when he absolutely, positively needed it.

For you, if you needed something stronger, he’d give you half of one pill, or a full, single pill at most. No way would you ever fall victim to such a cruel, toxic routine. He’d keep them locked up, for both your safety and his.

After your said hearty, iron rich meal, you remained on the couch snuggled up together like true lovers.

His guilty pleasure during your period of vulnerability was how much you relied on him for comfort. Positions varied, but his most favorite would be your body laying in his lap as he lounged on his reading recliner.

A gray comforter over your shoulders, some fuzzy socks on your feet. The furnace you called your boyfriend leaving you nice and toasty, his hands settling along your hair and back, preparing to soothe and massage when needed.

He adored when you needed him, he loved catering to you. You were his woman, his little nurse turned patient.

This also sort of gave him an excuse to skip out on patrols, but he never voiced the reasons why he’s gotten calls about it. He just didn’t feel like it, refusing the idea of abandoning you late at night, leaving him tense and unfocused on his routine on if you needed something, and he wasn’t there.

The others, with their detective mindsets could figure it out for themselves as to why Jason didn’t show up on a Saturday night. Or a Sunday, and definitely not a Monday.

He had important priorities, after all.

Just him, you; snuggly comfortable and content, and your herbal scented, menstruation crustacean.

[backtothefanfiction]

Well this is awkward

Warnings: none, maybe a little cringe behaviour from Oliver, fluff

A/N- just an idea that came to me after a dialogue prompt I saw on Pinterest. This is just a quick one before I sleep.

It was hot. Too hot. You couldn’t understand how everyone was so content just out lying in the sun like this, especially when you knew they had to be just as hungover as you were. That’s why you had decided to excuse yourself and take a siesta.

You’d closed the shutters in Felix’s room but left the windows open in hopes that even the slightest breeze would help circulate the heat within the room just enough to give you respite and allow you to sleep. Alone in the room you hadn’t thought twice about stripping off your clothes and slipping naked between the cool white cotton sheets on Felix’s bed, burying your head into his pillow, allowing it to comfort you as you drifted off to sleep.

When you woke an hour later your headache was gone. When you looked to the bedside table you realised a glass of water and a note had been left for you. “Drink up pretty flower then come find us in the library.” Your boyfriend’s sweetness and care for others never failed to make you smile.

Dreamily you rose from the bed grabbing the closest clothes on the floor. You slipped on your denim shorts, but instead of putting your own top back on, you reached for a button up left lying on the floor. It was a little bit too big for you and you did the buttons up messily, but it was just what you needed, light and airy and enough room between the fabric and your skin to not feel like you were suffocating in the persistent heat.

You padded down to the library bare foot. The door was propped open slightly but you didn’t need to see to know who was in there, Venetia’s giggly cackle drowning out the three boys lower chuckles.

“There she is.” Felix cooed as you made your way into the room, moving across the carpet to flop into a small spot on the sofa beside him.

“Yay, finally, Daisy’s here!” Venetia sighed thankfully in a tone that implied that the boys had been ganging up on her and she was grateful for the girl power.

“Hey.” Felix said with a small smile, wrapping his arm around the backs of your shoulder and pulling you closer to him. His lips brushed against yours tenderly before he pulled away to look at you again.

“Hey.” You said back with a breathy smile.

Your eyes followed his as he trailed them down your body, his eyes slowly furrowing. His fingers began to toy with the collar of the shirt as he questioned, “whose shirt is this?”

“I thought it was yours.” You replied.

“No.” Felix said with a frown.

“Umm, it mine.” Ollie slowly said from the other side of the room, hand raised.

“Well this is awkward.” Farleigh said nibbling on his lip trying to feign ignorance to the fire bubbling in his veins over the hint of potential drama; as you and Felix slowly looked to the new comer of the group.

“I picked it up off your floor.” You said, head turning to Felix confused. “Fix?”

“I don’t know.” Felix quickly replied to your implied question before formally asking it to Oliver. “Ollie, why was your shirt on the floor in my room?”

Oliver shuffled on the floor uncomfortably before he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.” He said timidly, “maybe the maid dropped it while collecting stuff and passing through your room.” Everyone knew he was making excuses and looking to pin it on the help, but no one tried to challenge him on it. “It looks good on you though.” He quickly said.

You had no doubt he said it to reassure you, but it only made your skin crawl. You looked to the clock in the room, you had slept so long it was nearing time to get ready for dinner anyway. “I’m just gonna go and have a shower and get ready for dinner anyway.” You say quietly to the room, to no one in particular but more so towards Felix.

“Yeah, okay.” Felix said quietly as you got up off the sofa. “Uh, do you want me to join you.” He said quietly as he sat forward on the sofa cushions, hands rubbing at his thighs.

You made a point of looking towards Oliver, a look of jealousy flashing like lightning across his face before he met your eyes and schooled his gaze again, as you pointedly said to Felix, “That would be lovely.”

The moment you’d gone back into the safety of Felix’s room you stripped yourself of the shirt again, your boyfriend laughing as you opened the door of the adjoining bathroom on Oliver’s side, dramatically throwing it down the hallway.

“Uhh, get me in the shower.” You said as you turned back to Felix, a mischievous look on his face as he obliged. He turned on the water before picking you up with a squeal and dumping you in the shower, still half clothed.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [5.9K]

THE TIMELINE

"Oh no, you know you know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dying, For someone I could die for, someone I could try for Fall apart and cry for, go 'head, risk my life for."

-Someone I Could Die For by Lewis Capaldi

II. ROME, ITALY: 49 BC

The roar that came from the bowels of the Colosseum never became easier to hear. 

The noise seemed to make the city shake, the streets empty, the market stalls abandoned in favour of bloodshed. The games took place in the summer, when the skies were an endless blue and there were no clouds to tamper down the climbing heat. The sun bore down on the sandy pit of the enormous Amphitheatre and the seats were filled, the doors that had already been closed still surrounded by regretful stragglers who were forced to listen to the chaos from outside of the walls. 

Fourteen men had died already, three from the jaws of the lions, two from the bears and eleven from the swords of other imprisoned slaves. The cheering from the crowd made your stomach curl. The floor of the stage was covered in red, the sand streaked with spilled blood and the animals that were bullied back into their cages had their jaws tinted pink. 

It wasn’t a joyous occasion, no matter how many people celebrated in the name of their emperor. The leader of Rome was sitting mere seats away from you, dressed in ruby robes that were slung like a cloak over his white toga and his laurel crown glinted with golden beads that sat tucked into the olive wreaths. He was drunk on wine and violence, and your father sat next to him in the royal box, ever eager to please as he clinked his chalice against his kings. 

Being the daughter of Rome’s most beloved senator certainly had its positives. You were dressed just as finely as the royalty around you, the fabric that was made to fit your frame swept to the floor and only yesterday, the emperor’s cousin had gifted you a necklace made of the finest gold, inset with glittering emeralds, pretty enough for a princess. 

The same cousin smiled at you from across the row, each seat in the royal box made from plush velvet, the high backs ornate and cushioned, unlike the stone carved benches the rest of the civilians were sitting on. You smile back, uneasy but polite, and your father nodded approvingly. 

You were expected to marry, you knew that much. You were already considered too old to be unwed and you knew the rest of the court whispered about how you would now struggle to bear a child. But the man that was expected to be your husband wasn’t who you loved. He wasn’t unkind, he wasn’t cruel - not like you’d heard men could be. The girls in the kitchen would tell you stories of how their husband made demands. Shouting each night for their meals, their baths, how their shirts weren’t stitched right, how their beds would lay cold because their wives were too tired. 

Some men visited the bath houses, you knew that much. Seeking out a lupa for the night, the ladies that were called she-wolves, with their painted lips and robes that showed so much skin. Some men decided that they didn’t need to listen to their wives at all, you were once told, horror etched on your face. Some men took what they thought they owned. 

So no, the emperor’s cousin seemed kind enough. But you weren’t in love with him. You weren’t sure who you were in love with. A dream, perhaps. One that kept returning to you from a young, young age. A dream about a different town, one you’d never been to before. But in your sleep, it felt like home. White buildings and green gardens with tall, tall trees and pretty, ornate gazebos made of stone on the edges of shallow ponds. You were by the sea there, a blue-green ocean that seemed so calm. 

Sometimes monsters came, the marble statues that guarded the city came to life and turned your dream into a nightmare. There was always fire and fury, storm clouds and too big waves and a man with skin the colour of death would try and take your hand. But even when the dream turned bad, there was  always someone else.  

A man, with a blurry face and a mess of almost too long hair. It hid his eyes from you and you could never make out too many details but you burned when you looked at him, you could weep when he touched you. Sometimes he led you through the burning town, his hand clasping your own as you both tried to run and run and run. 

Other times, you lay in a bed with him, skin bare and your head on his chest as he murmured the sweetest poetry to you, words that made your heart race. Your dream was encased in white linen sheets, a hazy, soft light that always made it look like early morning and when the man’s lips met yours, you always woke up. 

Him. You loved him. 

You hadn’t been in love before, but whenever you dreamed of the stranger, you were sure that must have been what love felt like. 

“Have some grapes, darling,” your thoughts were interrupted by your father as he thrust a plate of fruit and cheese under your nose. 

But the fifteenth gladiator was being dragged through the gates by the armpits, a clawed hammer still sticking out from his chest and your insides turned over at the idea of eating such sweet treats as blood poured from the men in front of you. The emperor’s box was almost nauseatingly close to the fights. 

You shook your head before you remembered your manners, smiling politely and murmuring, “I’m quite alright, thank you.” You blew out a breath, shaky and faint. 

From your other side, one of the young girls who had been gifted to you on your sixteenth birthday waved a giant fan. A large peacock feather, a huge plume of colours that merely wafted the too warm air back and forth but you smiled your thanks at your lady in waiting, a pretty girl who’d turned into a prettier young woman. She was small and lithe, angular in the face with curls that came to her sharp jawbone and she smiled back. 

Nancy, as she’d introduced herself to you a week after she’d arrived at your fathers house, from the Wheeler family of Liguria. She didn’t like the gladiator fights anymore than you did, always murmuring about the rights of the animals and how inhumane it was later in the night as she drew you your bath. 

“—from Verona,” your father was saying with a mouth full of provolone. “One of their best, so they say, His Majesty simply had to have him.”

You blinked, frowning in confusion at your fathers words. You hadn’t been paying attention in the slightest and nothing you’d caught made any sense. “Sorry?” You grimaced apologetically and took a few pomegranate seeds from the plate of food in apology for your rudeness. “Who is from Verona?”

Your father rolled his eyes, a sure sign that you’d be lectured in his study later for your lack of respect. “The next gladiator, child.” He gestured to the stage where the soldiers were locking the gates to the tigers, each big cat growling with menace when the men came too close to the bars. “They say he’s unbeatable. Our Highness offered a more than generous helping of coin for his papers but Verona’s general didn’t seem to want to part with him.”    

You frowned again. The crowd seemed to be aware of this man and his presence, murmuring and shifting in their seats in anticipation. “If that is the case,” you prodded. “Then how is he here? If the gladiators… owner—” the word left a terribly bitter taste in your mouth and you felt heavy with guilt when Nancy’s fan brushed your shoulder. “If his owner didn’t want to sell him?”

Your father snorted, an unattractive sound that made Nancy wince beside you. “No one tells the emperor of Rome ‘no’, dearest.” Your father shrugged. “The gladiator cannot be owned, if his owner is dead.”

Bloodshed. Always bloodshed. 

A man came from the east side gates with chains around his ankles and wrists. You couldn’t quite see him for your seat, not yet, but the crowd above and around you roared, eager for the final fight to begin. The man already looked beaten and tired as soldiers stepped forward to unlock his manacles and you sat forward in your seat for the first time since you entered the Colosseum that day. 

He had messy hair, dark brown and hanging just past his chin. It was already damp looking, matted and dirty from being kept god knows where as the emperor's new toy. He was shirtless, his body lean but corded with muscle. He had wide shoulders and a lithe waist, powerful thighs and skin that was tanned from the sun, a sure sign he spent too much time outside, training hard in the Italian heat. 

As he moved closer to the middle of the stage, you saw the marks on his body, leftover scars and new slices in his flesh that still looked viciously red. The crowd got louder as a sword was thrown at his feet, a large, heavy looking thing with a bronze handle. Some cheered for the new warrior, hoping for some excitement, while others jeered and booed, already too attached to their darling reigning champion. 

The gladiator picked up his sword and the crowd became wilder still, but he gave them no mind. He didn’t put on a show like some of the others, he didn’t flex his muscles or raise his weapon like it was already a prize. His leather loincloth was a deep wine colour, the tan leather pleats looking far from newly made and the material was already streaked with blood and dirt before his first opponent arrived. 

Your heart felt heavy for him, as it did for all the others who were forced into the Colosseum - prisoners, slaves and animals alike. You watched the gladiator flex his wrist, testing the weight of his weapon just as the gates in the west cranked open. 

Rome’s current champion strode out from the shadows and into the bright sun, his bare chest glinting with sweat and Hargrove held his hands aloft, grinning as the crowds went insane. He beat his chest, his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and when he was handed his own sword, he wasted no time in running towards the new fighter, the steel blade glinting. 

You gasped, moving closer still to the edge of your seat and you couldn’t find it in you to bear much mind to the looks your father and Nancy shot you. It wasn’t like you to take such an interest in the sport, never mind be so heavily invested. You didn’t like to watch the wounded, preferring to close your eyes when the screams began, hiding cowardly behind Nancy’s fan when the blood turned the sandy stage pink and red. 

But this new gladiator, he was fast. 

He dove at the last second, dodging the tip of Hargrove’s blade and he rolled towards the section where you sat. Dust kicked up from the move, his sword tearing into the wreaths and sashes that hung from the Emperor’s box. You grasped the edge of the wooden frame, peering over the side and down to the stage, hoping to not see blood already. 

Instead you found the gladiator looking back up at you, his sword still in his grasp and when his eyes met yours, they widened. Something like recognition hurtled through you, a feeling that sucked the breath from your lungs and you felt dizzy, like lightning itself had struck you from the sky. You thought the man perhaps felt the same, a frown on his face telling you that he felt just as confused as you did. 

But before you could consider where on earth you could have possibly seen his face before, Hargrove attacked again, bringing his blade down to where the gladiator's shoulder should have been, if he hadn’t rolled once again. 

You were on your feet now, the stares of your father be damned. Your eyes were wide, your heart beating far too fast, like you yourself were on the stage, being hunted for sport. Wood splintered into the space under your nails as you watched the man run, his muscles pumping, his eyes narrowed. 

“Darling, are you quite alright?” Your father placed a hand on your arm, more confused than concerned. 

“Yes, I just— yes.” You cleared your throat and sat down again, albeit back to the edge of your chair. You could feel the rest of the royal party staring at you. “Where did you say the man was brought from? The new gladiator?”

“Harrington?” One of the Emperor’s councilmen interjected. He pointed a pudgy finger at the brown haired gladiator, who was now swinging his sword with as much power as Hargrove. “Steven Harrington of Verona, best of his breed I heard. His general didn’t take too kindly to the King’s offering and well— you know what happens when his Highness is made to feel upset.”

The metallic clink of the swords filled the arena as everyone held their breaths. Not many had lasted this long against Hargrove before. 

“Rumour has it that he didn’t take too kindly to his general being beheaded. Took six men to get him into the back of the cart, even more to make him train. He’s been refusing food all week.”

The idea of it made you feel unwell, a sickly, creeping kind of pain curling around each of your ribs and suddenly you were starving, just as much as you were sure the man would be. But still, I didn’t seem to make him move any slower, it didn’t hinder him in bringing his sword down any harder. 

But strangely, every time the new gladiator was struck, every time his knees hit the raw sand, every time he got close enough for you to see him suck in a gasping breath— you felt it too. 

It was a battle like you’d never seen before, more vicious than the others from that day, a showdown under the blazing heat of the high sun. No tiger seemed as powerful as Steven Harrington of Verona did. There was something animalistic in the way he moved, all power and lean muscle, a steely glint in his brown eyes that you didn’t dare look away from. He moved too quickly for Hargrove’s blade, dodging and diving as he flung up sand, blinding his opponent and slicing at his legs. Each move was a blur, the stage bleeding with fresh red, the blonde gladiator on his knees. 

But Hargrove was ruthless, grappling with the newcomer until they were both wrestling in the dust cloud and the crowd went insane, people chanted and stomped their feet, the amphitheatre shaking down to its very bones. The imperial box quaked with the energy, but truly, you weren’t present enough to feel it. 

Your eyes never left Steven’s fighting figure. 

The swords seemed to be forgotten, the steel blades rusted with blood, both fresh and new, and they lay in the sand. Fists flew, knees pressed to chests to keep the other down and it was brutal, it was harsh, it was deadly. 

You wanted to vomit. You feared you might. 

You wondered what would happen if you leapt from your chair, if you let your skirts get torn and bloodied in the mess of the stage, if you threw yourself down onto the sand and begged for Hargrove to take his hands away from the new gladiator's throat. 

Would you be punished? Beaten? Locked away? Killed?

You weren’t sure but somehow, all the options felt worth it. You couldn’t watch this man die before you. Not when it felt like you’d already witnessed his death before. 

But Steven wrestled himself out of Hargrove’s hold, twisting and tumbling whilst he gasped, one hand clutching at his reddened neck and the other grappling for his blade. He swung it through the air, arching wide, his wounded shoulder ripping with effort it took but the sword landed where the warrior intended it to. 

Silence settled over the colosseum, the air still enough for you to hear the surviving champion heave out gasping, heavy breaths. There was blood on his hands, his chest, his face. 

His right eye was already bruising, red and lilac coming to the surface of his skin like fresh blooms in spring. His shoulder was a mess, his right leg causing him to buckle slightly as he rose to his feet.  

The man turned, jaw slack, his sword falling limply to the ground once more, his opponent still and at his feet. His eyes found yours and time stilled, at least, to you. The crowd erupted, an explosion in its own right, the entirety of Rome cheering for their new champion. 

A man you were sure you already loved. 

By the time the fight had ended, you felt beaten and bruised. There were no marks on your skin, no blood seeping through your gown, but something inside of you hurt all the same. It felt like something was clawing at your heart, a memory that was banging on the front of your skull, screaming at you to remember. 

When the guards dragged the gladiator from Hargrove’s limp figure, he dropped his sword to the sand and spat a mouthful of blood towards the ground at the royal pit. The Emperor merely chuckled as others around you gasped and before you could even hear your fathers protests, you were on your feet. 

Steven Harrington was shackled once more, the metal chains clinking around his hands and feet. And as he was led away back into the arches, the gears of gates making an awful protesting noise, his eyes found yours once more. 

A burning gaze, too intense to look away from and you could’ve sworn on the gods, on the stars above, that something inside of you tugged sharply. Like the pull of a string, tied in a bow between your ribcage, urging you forward. 

Telling you to go. 

So you did. 

You gathered your skirts in your hands and made your way to the exit of the box, too focused to hear your fathers objections until the guards at the doorway halted you with their spears. The wooden stalks crossed themselves over your chest and you froze, the string tied to your heart pulling tighter and tighter and tighter— 

The Emperor was staring at you, with cold eyes and a smile that wasn’t really a smile. He spoke to your father, not you. “Where, my dear senator, is your lovely daughter running off to?” The king turned back to you, brows raised. “Doesn’t she know that more wine will be served soon? My cousin is looking forward to her company.”

Your father stared at you, a stricken expression on his aged face because everyone in the royal box could read between the lines of the Emperor. 

You cleared your throat, eyes still trained on the sharp metal points of the spears that were very much in your face. “Forgive me, father - your highness - I was merely hoping to get some fresh air.”

“The sight of all that blood makes her rather delicate,” your father agreed and the crowd of councilmen, generals and their wives tittered in their jewels. “She isn’t one for conflict.”

The Emperor stared at the side of your face, something you could feel despite bowing your head in his presence. You stared at the floor and waited, heart racing. 

The royal tsked. “What a pity,” he declared but he waved a hand, each finger heavy with golden rings, and his soldiers stepped aside. “Be back in time for the parade, child, you have company to entertain.”

The Emperor’s cousin leered at you, his wine glass empty, his lips stained ruby but none of it mattered right now, not when you were taking off once more, skirts dragging across the dust and sand, your chest heaving as you tried to navigate your way through the crowd that was already dispersing. 

More guards, heavily armoured and with their swords drawn, were too preoccupied with a fight that had broken out between the arches, two lower class men arguing over a coin they found on the ground. Taking your chance, you moved with your head down, your face hidden as you slipped through a door that was normally carefully watched. 

The heavy wood slammed shut behind you, the sunlight swallowed whole. Burning torches lit the narrow corridor, a maze of them leading you underneath the Colosseum. The hypogeum was almost damp as you tried to navigate its many walkways, a gasp leaving your throat as you took a wrong turn and ended up face to face with the iron bars that separated you from the animals. 

A huge tiger growled at you, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl, the stench of raw meat and faeces hanging in the cool air. You backed away, eyes flickering from cage to cage, each one filled with another poor creature. Lions, bears, a rhinoceros and its offspring, and beyond them, an even larger cell holding prisoners. They all stared at you, men and animals alike, but nothing was spoken. 

You backed away, unable to breath, turning on your heel and walking quickly enough to spot the familiar grey robes of the healers used after the battles. You followed, your steps light, and watched him enter a small room. Between the door opening and closing, you spotted the gladiator perched on a wooden table, his head bent low and his face hidden behind his damp hair. 

You weren’t sure what possessed you, but before you barged into the room too, both men staring at you from the table where the healer held a ragged cloth to the gladiator’s shoulder. 

“Miss, you have no need here,” the healer announced, his voice strict and cold. He narrowed his eyes as he gestured to the door. “This is no place for—”

“My father sent me.” It was a lie, of course. A bold and bare faced one at that. But you stood a little taller and lifted your chin, the emerald necklace at your throat shining in the low light that came from the small fireplace in the corner. “The senate has questions I’ve been asked to deliver. I shall not leave without the appropriate answers.”

On the mantle, beside bottles of acids and other medicinal vials, sat a small statue of the goddess Veratis. Her marble eyes seemed to judge you and your lies and you swallowed down the bitter taste it left on your tongue. But looking at the man - this stranger from Verona - the need to speak to him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming you to the point of senselessness.  

The trouble you could be in if you were to be caught in your lie… or worse, down in the hypogeum. This was no place for a woman of your standing, never mind to be alone with a gladiator, both of you unspoken for. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat. 

“If we may have some time alone?” You added with more authority than you should have held. “Unless you’d prefer that my father leave the Emperor’s side to ensure his orders are fulfilled?”

The healer sighed but placed down his tools. He flashed you a smile that was all crooked teeth, more bite than kindness, but he made his way to the door. “That won’t be necessary, My Lady,” he told you and he left, closing the wooden door behind him. 

The silence was a deafening thing. The crackle of the fire was still there, the distant roar of some poor, wounded animal, but whatever was held between the two of you took on a life of its own. It seemed to suck the rest of the world into it until there was nothing left but you and this man. He was staring at you still, brown eyes wide and so familiar, looking as confused as you felt as you stared right back. 

It felt too easy to take a step forward, but the warrior flinched. Your next was slower, softer, more cautious. Your hand found the rag that the healer had once held, what little water it had been soaked in was cold, the material harsh. It didn’t take you long to find a new cloth in one of the drawers of the apothecary table and you took your time to warm some fresh water over the hearth. 

Honestly, you didn’t know too much about medicine, only the basics that your father’s head servant had taught you as a young child. You found the small bottle of alcohol with ease, plucking it from the shelf and adding it to the warm water before soaking the new rag. 

You held it up in offering to the man, still far enough from you that his dirty hair hid most of his face. His tanned chest was streaked with sweat and dust, marred with old cuts and fresher wounds from Hargrove’s weapon, but for the most part, he seemed okay. 

“Can I?”

The gladiator lifted his head then, his hair falling away from his cheeks and you took in a sharp breath at the sight of his face. He was handsome, painstakingly so, but over and above all else, he was someone you were sure you knew. 

The man nodded, just once, lips pressed together and as you came closer, his nostrils flared and his large hands gripped the edge of the table. His eyes raced across your features, recognition coming to the surface and before he could ask the questions that were clawing at his throat, you lifted the cloth and pressed it to the cut on his shoulder. 

He hissed, teeth bared and you frowned, hushing him softly, apologies murmured just as quiet. “I’m sorry,” you told him and gods, he knew you meant it. “I need the alcohol to soak the wound.”

Your heart stuttered when he let you, shoulders tight and back ramrod straight, but his eyes were on your face the entire time you worked. “You’re not a healer,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

His voice rung through you, a deep timber that was hoarse and scratchy, no doubt from refusing to speak since his capture. You hoped he’d been drinking enough water. 

You shook your head as you pulled away, dipping the bloodied cloth back into the bucket. “No, I’m not,” you confirmed. 

Another swipe at his skin had him jerking in response but the blood and dirt was finally clear of the cut. It would need stitches, you were almost sure of it, but your skills started and finished at the basics. 

“Then why are you here?” The gladiator’s eyes were trained on your necklace, a sure fire way to recognise nobility and you were overcome with the urge to rip it from your throat. “Why did you follow me?” He spoke like he already knew the answer. 

You were hesitant about it, but you couldn’t stop your hand from lifting to his neck, fingertips brushing two beauty marks on his skin. They felt electric under your touch and you were impossibly warmer now, despite the old cell lacking the heat from the summer above. 

“I feel like I know you,” you whispered. Your voice cracked with an emotion you didn’t quite know the name of. “I feel like I’ve mourned you.”  

The gladiator looked back at you from behind his damp hair, the long strands matted with his and his enemies blood. He didn’t look as concerned as he should have been at your strange words. In fact, he leaned into your touch, lashes fluttering at the sensation. 

“What an odd thing to say to someone who hasn’t died,” he answered quietly. But his gaze roamed over your features and something about being so close to him felt cosmic, it felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen. “I think I’ve met you before,” the gladiator whispered. He sounded reverent now, his own hand shaking as he brought it to your face. 

He cupped your jaw, your chin, his rough fingertips trailing over your soft skin and when his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, you gasped and pressed closer. 

“I think I meet you when I sleep,” he said and he frowned at his own words, at how confusing he must’ve sounded. “Every night, when I close my eyes. You’re in a garden and then you’re in my arms.”

Flashes of a bed came to mind, white linen sheets and too much bare skin. A man’s chest, tanned and muscled from hard labour, your hands that roamed the expanse of his back. You remembered how he kissed you in your dreams, with a longing so intense it could waken the gods. 

Like he had enough love for you that he could end the world. 

You could only nod. His thumb was still pushed to your bottom lip, your mouth parted as if you were waiting and his stare was so intense you felt warmer than you had in the stadium above. 

Who was this stranger?

And why did it feel like something inside of you was being stitched back together by the sheer sight of him? His touch felt healing, it felt like home. Like it was only made for you to feel. Like he was made only for you. 

Above, something boomed. Loud enough to be heard underneath the hypogeum, over the roars of the unsettled animals. If you had been outside, you would’ve witnessed the blue sky turning grey, shades of moody lavender and navy, storm clouds rolling across Rome from seemingly nowhere. 

Thunder rumbled,  threatening noise, something that made you and the man move closer to each other, like you both knew you were in danger. 

That you knew something bad was coming. 

“I don’t understand,” you said, eyes blurring. You weren’t sure why you were crying but Steve didn’t seem to question it. He merely swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. “You’re a stranger— we’ve never— we’ve never met.”

Despite your words, the gladiator moved closer, standing from his seat on the wooden table to lean his forehead against your own. Your eyes slipped closed, nose bumping his. He smelled like metal, like blood and dirt and sweat but underneath there was something like fire there, like molten iron, like lavender fields and fresh cotton. Like a daydream, like something you weren’t sure was real. 

His bottom lip touched your top one, only just, only barely. A whisper of a kiss, a small insight of something that could’ve been, of something that maybe once was. 

Thunder rolled again, louder than before, as if it was right above you both. Even over the din of the crowds above, you could hear the heavy patter of rain that was now flooding the colosseum, the stage soaked. Another warning, something you’d seen before in a dream just before it turned to a nightmare. 

“I was meant to find you,” Steve murmured. He had your face cradled in his hands, an overwhelmingly gentle touch despite the dried blood under his fingernails. His voice grew in urgency then, like he knew something was coming. Someone. “I was meant to come here. I can feel it. I understand now.”

“Someone once told me you’d come back,” you suddenly remembered, your voice eager, your eyes wide at the memory. “I don’t know— was it you? From before? From—”

From another life, you wanted to say. 

How ridiculous those words were, how silly, how stupid. But there wasn’t any other way to explain. Logic didn’t seem to exist when everything you felt from this touch of this stranger led you to believe that somehow, someway, you’d spend a lifetime together. 

Like you were supposed to spend this one with him too. And it didn’t seem long enough, decades wouldn’t make up for the time you’d lost searching for him, for this stranger who only came to you in your sleep. But he was very real now, solid flesh and bone underneath your own hands, brown eyes that seemed warmer than the Italian summer. 

You didn’t want to let him go. 

“In here, my King,” a voice interrupted. The door was open and the healer had returned, a cold look on his already stern face. The Emperor was behind him, ruby robes collecting dirt from the old floor. Four soldiers flanked him. “I have every reason to believe the Lady sold me lies, Your Highness.”  

It happened too quick. Too fast. 

The Emperor studied you, Steve’s hands still on your face as you stood too close, ready to kiss, ready to fulfil something neither of you were sure of. It felt catalytic. 

“Seize him,” was all the Emperor said, one lazy flick of his wrist sending all four guards at you both. 

There was too much movement in the tiny room, bottles of medicinal wares clattering to the ground and smashing at your feet. The table groaned as Steve was shoved into it, his own reactions too slow from his injuries. He grunted and reached for you too late, his hand slipping from your own, fingers barely touching, as he was shoved at from either side. 

One soldier shoved the butt of his sword into Steve’s wounded soldier, the other bringing his armoured knee into his bare stomach. The gladiator doubled over, a gasp leaving his chest before he fell to his knees on the stone floor. 

“Stop this!” You yelled, urging forward, trying your best to throw yourself into the mix of it all but someone’s arms - another soldier - caught your round the middle. “Unhand him! Your Highness - please - he hasn’t done any wrong, please—”

The Emperor just looked at you blankly before he picked at the jewels around your neck. He tutted, as if it were a shame, a waste. You could hear the shackles being placed back on the man, the low groan he gave as the metal was tightened around his sore wrists. 

“He won,” you whispered, your voice low and choked. You were ready to beg. “Please, he won. He doesn’t deserve this—”

“I don’t like anyone else playing with my toys,” the Emperor interrupted. He said it like he was discussing what to have for lunch. “And my dear cousin doesn’t like anyone playing with his.” He motioned to the guards once more. “Take her back to her seat, where you make sure she stays. This isn’t any place for a Lady,” he told you mournfully.

You didn’t get to see what happened to the gladiator as you were escorted out of the room. But you did hear his yells when the door slammed shut, the dull thuds of impact that you were sure were on his already bruised and broken body. You hadn’t even told him your name, or that you dreamt of him too. That during your worst night terrors, he was the one that saved you. 

When you reached the imperial box once more, your skirts dirtied from the sand, your face tear stricken, you felt broken. Like you’d been snapped in half, like someone had found that wound Steve had stitched up and pulled it apart again the seams. Like someone had ripped something important from you, half of your heart, perhaps. 

You didn’t even notice that it had stopped raining. The skies were blue once more, the sun shining, the only evidence of the sudden storm were the drops of rain that had soaked into the pillow on your chair. 

Steve was gone and the thunder was too. 

[tightjeansjavi]

knead

A/N: so after rewatching Narcos all weekend and staring at the screen with big ole heart eyes for the infamous Javier Peña, I decided that he, like Joel, deserves nice things 🤍

~word count: 1.2k~

Summary: Javier Peña desperately needs a fucking break and to be kinder to himself <3

Pairing | Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of guns, cigarettes, implied death(s) due to an unsuccessful raid, established relationship, fluff, hurt and comfort, Javi is incredibly hard on himself, takes place during season 3 of Narcos, both Javi and the reader speak Spanish, reader has no physical descriptions, no age gap, +18 minors dni!

Lo entiendo, hermano. - I understand, brother.

No lo entiendes, hermano. Nadie lo entiende - You don’t understand, brother. No one does.

No tienes que esperarme despierta todas las noches, querida. Tu sueño es importante también, cariño. - You don’t have to wait up for me every night, querida. Your sleep is important too, baby.

Jav, yo quiero asegurarme de que has llegado bien a casa. - Jav, I always want to make sure you’re home safe

Javi, No tienes que disculparte por nada. Por favor, mi amor. - Javi, please don’t apologize for this. Please, my love.

Siempre tan bueno conmigo - Always good to me

Te quiero con todo lo que pueda ofrecerte, cariño - I love you with everything that I have to offer, cariño

Te quiero más a ti, Jav - I love you most, Jav.

When he comes home, he’s still in his olive green tac vest. His hair is strewn about in a sweaty mess across his face. He reeks of gunpowder, stale tobacco, and disappointment. It drips from his pores and lands in a puddle at his shoes, once shiny, now dull, scuffed and speckled in blood. A failed raid. Innocence lost, and disappointment. So much fucking dissapointment that swallows Javier Peña alive.

An anonymous tip leading to more fucking bloodshed. So much for things being done differently this time around.

A hero? Hardly.

Javier doesn’t feel like a hero. Not when all he’s done is failed over, and over again.

We’ll get them next time, Javier.

Will we?

Of course. You know the Cali Cartel like it’s the back of your hand, Peña. We’re this much closer to bringing them to justice.

Justice? He laughs. If there was any justice in this world, I would be in fucking jail right now.

Lo entiendo, hermano.

Javier laughs, voice rasped in bitterness. He swings his keys around on his pointer finger, jaw ticked, muscles aching beneath the sweat stained fabric of his shirt.

No lo entiendes, hermano. Nadie lo entiende. Javier responds coldly and unlocks his car door before climbing into the driver seat.

He thinks hard on his failure the entire drive home. He doesn’t listen to the radio. He sits in silence, puffing away on a stress cigarette even though he swore he was trying to quit.

In the lowlight from the hallway, Javier is able to make out your sleeping mass under the colorful patterned quilt on his couch. He swings the door shut softly behind him and quietly locks it.

His back and shoulders are tense, aching with each step he takes. Another jab and painful reminder of his failure tonight.

Despite Javier’s protests, you always wait for him to return home. He appreciates this more than you realize. It’s his one sense of comfort that he feels he’s undeserving of.

No tienes que esperarme despierta todas las noches, querida. Tu sueño es importante también, corazón.

Jav, yo quiero asegurarme de que has llegado bien a casa.

The worn couch cushions gradually press down from the weight of his body as he slowly sits down in the unoccupied space between your covered feet. He winces when he feels that annoying pinch in his lower back and brings his hands over his face, dragging them down over his alquine nose with a heavy sigh. He pulls out his gun, badge, cigarettes, and lighter. He tosses them onto the coffee table and leans back just as you begin to stir awake from the sound.

“Jav?” You murmur softly and subconsciously reach for him over the blanket.

“Its me, cariño.” He rasps. His hand reaches towards you in the dark, finding you soon after. He laces his fingers through yours.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, sitting up and facing him.

“No. I’m not okay.” He admits.

“What happened?”

He looks over at you through the darkness and shrugs his shoulders. “What didn’t happen.” He clarifies. His thumb skates across the back of your hand gently.

“Do you want to talk about it?..”

“No. I just..I’m tired, querida. I’m tired of failing all the fucking time.” He sounds exhausted. You know just how much his job truly weighs on him.

“Javier, my love, you are not failing all the time. You aren’t. No one thinks that you are a failure, Jav.”

He makes a snuffling sound through his nose that comes across more like a scoff. His movements cease when he feels your freehand grasp his jaw and pull him in close. Even in the dark, your eyes are soft, gentle, and laced with concern.

“Everyone tells me that I’m a hero, cariño. I’m not a hero. I’ve never been a hero.”

“Javi, you don’t have to be a hero. People mean well with their words. I know they do, but you have to try and not let it get to you this much. Okay? Javier, you have one of the toughest jobs out there. No one but yourself is going to understand how you feel. Whatever happened tonight, does not make you a terrible person, or a failure. You’re doing everything you can to take down the Cali Cartel.” You reassure him.

“I feel like I have to be the hero. Javier Peña, the dashing DEA agent that took down Pablo Escobar.” He laughed. “Cariño, I was told that this time things would be different, but they were wrong. Everytime I try to ensure that innocent lives won’t be lost, someone gets caught in a crossfire. A civilian. A child. An unsuspecting bystander. It weighs on me. It fucking weighs on me more than I’m willing to admit.” He said in an exasperated tone.

You saw the tears begin to brew along his waterline before he even realized he was crying. You detected the strain in his voice, and sprung into action. Your hand dropped from his face only to then pull him into a hug with your hand gently cradling the back of his head and your fingers slipping through his hair, nails scratching his scalp gently in hopes to soothe him.

His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap so he could be closer to you. His warm palms slid under the thin fabric of your shirt along your lower back and he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry.” He sniffled. “I don’t want you to see me like this, cariño.”

“Javi, No tienes que disculparte por nada. Por favor, mi amor.”

“You’re so good to me.” He kisses the exposed skin on your neck, the tips of his mustache tickles you as you hug him tightly, rubbing your hands up and down his back and shoulders in a soothing motion.

“And you’re good to me, Javier. Siempre tan bueno conmigo.”

He nuzzles you affectionately, wishing he could crawl inside of you and live there forever. “Cariño, can you do something for me?” He asks softly, dragging his lips across your skin once more.

“Anything, Jav.”

“My back and shoulders are fucking killing me. Can you—” you cut him off before he even has a chance to finish his sentence.

“Of course I can.”

He breathes a sigh of relief through his nose “Gracias, cariño”

He slowly drops his arms from around your waist so he can remove his shirt. He undos each button with meticulous precision and slowly slides the fabric down from his forearms. He lays his shirt along the side of the couch while you slide into the space behind him, with your thighs wrapping around his torso. He leans back into your touch, lashes fluttering shut when your hands work their way up from his lower back, kneading the tender strained muscles there.

You work your way upwards and pay close attention to the areas where he’s feeling the most pain. He murmurs praises in both Spanish and English under his breath when you slowly and delicately work through a particular nasty knot between his shoulder blades.

Your gentle, yet firm touch sends the DEA agent into a state of bliss, and he’s putty in your hands in no time.

Your chin comes to rest along the crook of his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss along his jawline. He hums and tilts his head to the side, finding your lips in a gentle kiss. A thank you. An I love you, and an I appreciate you can be tasted through the kiss. He rests his hands along your thighs that are wrapped around him, gently kneading the soft flesh with his strong, yet gentle hands.

“Te quiero con todo lo que pueda ofrecerte, cariño”

You smile against his lips, kissing him deeper while your fingers gently brush through the wispy tendrils of hair along his forehead.

“Te quiero yo más, Jav.”

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤍

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[oliveoomph]

Lily Newmark

[fabritual12]

Hand block print Linen fabric

Olive Green Geometric pattern , Linen Fabric by the yard - for pillow , table cover , wide curtains etc.

Shop link: https://etsy.me/37qI5ze

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[haosweater]

perhaps i loved you.

content: idol! jeonghan x gn! reader, angst, fluff, past life au, coffee shop au, royalty au (just read, you’ll get it), unrequited love.

summary: a unique cafe down fifth avenue opens a whole new door of surprises for jeonghan.

word count: 1.4k

note: based this off the short exert i wrote at the end lol. totally not inspired by real life events haha… also i’m writing this at almost two in the morning please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes.

it was cloudy. the sun peeked through the smallest crevices it could find as the wind gently brushed against jeonghan’s skin.

he shivered, pulling his green cardigan on tighter. he reached up, grabbing his white bucket hat to make sure it didn’t fly away. god knew the wind was ruthless these past few days. jeonghan felt like the world seemed to be against him.

he hummed along to his music, walking down the street in solace. the cherry blossoms bloomed magnificently, its pink petals falling to spread its beauty. he looked up, admiring the trees with a gentle smile.

there weren’t a lot of people out this time of the day and jeonghan liked that. he liked the comfort of not being recognised, being able to go about his day peacefully. the solitude was exactly what he needed.

inhaling a deep breath, he turned and continued down the street. the shops down this road were vintage. unique little thrift stores, record stores, quaint coffee shops that sold overpriced coffee— wait.

jeonghan paused, staring into the shop. olive green bookshelves lined the beige walls of the shop. behind, there was a counter with coffee machines and cake displays. at the very front of the store, there was a table. it had two chairs with a typewriter sitting on it.

a cafe? no, bookstore? or was it a vintage thrift store? confused, jeonghan looked up at the sign.

‘caffeinated literature’.

‘how peculiar,‘ jeonghan thought. glancing around, he peeked into the cafe again, noticing no one was inside. he wondered if it was closed, a slight pang of disappointment filling his chest.

however, the ‘open’ sign on the door proved him wrong. his eyes moved down, and noticed the poster on the door, prompting him to move closer and read it.

enjoy a cup of coffee,

and let me write you poetry.

welcome to caffeinated literature.

it didn’t take jeonghan another second to push the glass door open, the soft chime of the bell ringing in the air. “hello?” he called out softly.

there was a muffled crash followed by a yelp, shocking him. “hello! just give me a moment! please, take a seat!”

jeonghan sat down apprehensively, fluffing the cushion beside him. the interior was cozy, minimalistic and welcoming. swinging his feet, he continued to observe his surroundings, not realising you had emerged from behind the counter.

“hello, so sorry about that! what can i get for you today?” you panted, handing him the menu.

jeonghan looked at you in awe. your voice sounded like sweet, smooth honey that dripped slowly into a cup of warm tea. there was a sense of familiarity to you, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“uh, sorry,” he mumbles, snapping out of his thoughts. “i’ll just get an iced cappuccino and a poem, please.”

you grin. “great choice. i’ll be right back with your coffee, so just take a seat in tbe front,” you gesture to the table with the typewriter. he nods, getting up as you disappear behind the counter.

jeonghan feels light-headed from staring at you. something about you was so enchanting, so magical and so familiar. he sighed, annoyed that he was unable to figure out what it was.

the aroma of his coffee drifted in the air as you brought it over. he thanked you as you sat across him, smiling as he sipped on it slowly.

“oh, wow, this is really good,” he remarked, licking his lips. “thank you.”

“it’s no problem,” you say, smiling. “now, for the poem,” you gently slot the paper into the typewriter. turning around, you turn the speaker on, calm jazz music filling the cafe.

“i know this sounds rather far-fetched, but i usually hold people’s hands to get a better feel of their aura before i write their poem. do you mind if i do that with you?”

jeonghan shakes his head almost instantly. “no, not at all,” he says, extending his hands.

you smile, nodding in acknowledgement as you take his hands into yours, slowly shutting your eyes.

jeonghan shivered, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the cafe anymore.

he was now clad in formal wear, standing at the entrance to a balcony. you stood at the edge, back facing him. the moon was bright and the stars shone in the sky.

“i didn’t expect you to come,” your voice wavered. jeonghan couldn’t speak– he could not control what he did.

“i’m here now, aren’t i?” he chuckles, swirling the glass of wine in his hand. “what bothers you, my dear, on the night we are to celebrate?”

when you turn around, tears rolling down your cheeks, he freezes. you stare at him, sniffing softly. even when you’re crying, you look breath-taking to him.

averting your gaze, you sigh. “i can’t lie to you anymore, han,” you whisper. “tonight i watched you get married to the love of your life, confessing your love to each other in front of the whole kingdom,” you look up at him again.

“and now, i will confess my love to you, in front of the moon and stars.”

jeonghan is in shock. he doesn’t know how to comprehend this situation. it is all too fast, too quick– was this his past life?

“i have loved you ever since we were kids, han. my heart has held onto you tightly, refusing to let go. i’ve seen the best and the worst of you. i’ve seen all your flaws and imperfections and yet still i love you. i have been your friend, but never once did i love you like one. i loved you more than that. i would sacrifice the moon and the stars just to gaze at your beauty. i would burn the kingdom down if you wanted me to. my heart aches and yearns for your touch, your love, your heart and i know i will never get it, but i had to tell you.”

by the time you’re done, you’re panting, out of breath. jeonghan wants to rush forward and hold you, but his body stops him. there is no control.

“b-but y/n, i’m a prince and you’re a—”

“knight, i know,” you sob. “i prayed to the gods every day that my heart would let go of you because i knew i could never be yours, nor you, mine.”

jeonghan simply stood there, heart aching at the sight of you. “i am sorry, y/n. i am sorry i cannot love you the way you want me to,” he whispers, taking a step forward.

“it’s okay, han,” you say softly, tears staining your once rosy cheeks. wiping them away, you look at him with a sad smile. “it was never meant to be anyways.”

with a loud gasp, jeonghan finds himself back in cafe. he’s panting, eyes darting around vigorously before landing on you.

you were crying.

and so was he.

“sorry,” you let out an awkward laugh, wiping your tears away. “i don’t know why i’m crying,” you whisper, trying to stop yourself from crying, but the tears keep coming.

“it’s okay,” jeonghan stutters, quickly wiping his own tears. he wants to comfort you more, but he couldn’t find the words to. he felt like he didn’t deserve to.

sniffing, your fingers suddenly start to gly across the typewriter, the clicks ringing in the air. jeonghan observes you intensely, watching you throw draft after draft away. you were clearly frustrated.

finally, after his ice had melted, his coffee finished, you were done.

“sorry,” you say, removing the paper. “i had a hard time finding the right words,” you confessed as he smiled.

he looked down, reading the poem as you fidgeted with your fingers. his eyes drift across each word, heart clenching as he reached the last line.

“this is beautiful,” he says breathlessly. “thank you. i love it.”

you return the smile. “thank you for coming. i hope to see you again.”

jeonghan’s heart flutters at your words momentarily. “thank you for the coffee and poem. and who knows? perhaps i will see you again,” he chuckles before waving goodbye, pushing the glass door open as the bell chimed.

the breeze was stronger now, and jeonghan had to grab onto his hat again. with a loud sigh, he began to walk down the street, thoughts flooding his mind. it was racing, restless and utterly confused.

as he reached the end, he stopped at a traffic light, waiting for it to turn green. pulling out the piece of paper, he reread what you had written, tears forming in the corner of his eyes once again.

‘who are you,

stranger?

you look rather familiar.

perhaps i have loved you.

in another life.’

[chrollohearttags]

make it back to you • detective eren + P.I. reader

content warning: nsfw under the cut :), gun violence, cop/police things, soft, intimate sex, eren being so hopelessly in love :(, P.I. reader, (he and reader are engaged), pet names (baby, sweetheart, my angel) him being vulnerable/affectionate for once (and so vocal) marking, crying, overstimulation, breeding, pregnancy mention

📝: he is on my mind so heavily today and I wasn’t much up for writing anything today but I could not stop picturing this.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

thinking about him just finishing up a very dangerous undercover mission. Spending days..even months taking on a new persona and lifestyle, all for the sake of taking down a high profile criminal. The operation finally comes to a head and they arrest their suspect. It was risky, downright reckless and there were times where he felt as if he may not have made it out of some of those situations alive but he’s thankful to have overcome this hurdle. Surrounded by his subordinates and superiors alike, getting pats on the back after successfully taking down some deadly drug dealer who was seconds from putting a bullet in his head if he hadn’t made the shot the first; subduing them long enough to get them restrained. His nerves are rattled…hell, he can’t help it. No matter how many times he does this. That fear of being snuffed out implanted fresh in his brain..a reminder to never let his guard down and stay vigilant. Not only for his own life..but the one waiting back home. the one he cherishes more than anything else in this wretched world. The one he fights so hard every single day to protect. Despite the fact you are two sides of the same coin: brave crusaders of justice, sworn under oath to stop those wishing to do harm. Even so..he wants nothing more than to see you. His beloved, precious pain in the ass (y/n). Who was probably investigating your own cases but right now, he was being selfish!..

selfishly whisking you away from your office back to your shared high rise condo, where’s he had you holed for the past four hours. Making love to you underneath the rhythmic pitter-patter of falling rain against the windows. Crisp white linen covering his waist as he hovers over your body..hips rutting into the cushion of your thighs with deep yet delicate strokes..

“R-rennnn…okay, baby..okay. Please..”

tapping faintly against his abs because it’s all the strength you could muster. He’s driven out at least two orgasms from your now fragile body. Working towards an inevitable third with no plans to halt anytime soon..his pace is wavering, rhythm constantly fluctuating; rough and short, soft and long…anything to stay inside of you. To be one..despite the fact he’s already filled your womb twice as well. Even sloshing and fucking his own cum out of you. Sweat bearing down his forehand and slicking those thin strands of hair skin. Jade colored eyes glosses over in a small sheath of tears and burning red from the immense pleasure. He knows he should quit..he knows he’s probably beaten your poor little cunt to a pulp at this point but he can’t bring himself to pull out or pull away. Not when the opportunity to ever make love to you again seemed so far away. When some nights, he lied in the cold, desolate room of a bando, surrounded by addicts and sex workers..wondering if you were okay. If you missed him..or if you’d still love him. If you found forgive him for up and leaving right after he finally found the courage to propose after three years of dating because revealing his mission would’ve put you both in immense danger. Your professions didn’t allow for the traditional love story and still, you two made it work. Flaws and all..

“ ‘M sorry…so fucking—ahh! Sorry, baby…can’t leave you now. Please don’t make me..you feel so good..”

“No, keep making love to me, ‘Ren. Please don’t stop..oh my God..”

so as you lie there…arms coiling his back as those sharp nails clawed his olive, tan skin, you’d beg him for more. That flesh, marked by your ferocious scratching and the two dragon tattoos he acquired while trying to fit the part of this hardened thug. His freshly formed mustache and beard rubbing against your lips as they met in sloppy, passionate pecks. Tongue kissing so intensely, you thought you’d climax from it alone. Your long legs finding home around his waist; hooking around to ensure he never let go. He’d even utter a slight chuckle when you’d ask why he was fucking you like this. The answer was truly simple and very apparent:

“I can’t live without you, sweetheart. It took me nearly dying to realize that shit. I don’t want to lose you..”

finding himself amid a long winded tangent..spouting off both affirmations and his heartfelt confessions into your ear whilst pounding your pussy like a man unhinged. No matter how uncontrollably your body shook. The imprints of that fat cock beginning to reach the very bottom of your belly with just a very slight bulge. He was buried to the hilt, slamming into you in hopes that you’d just keep begging for more. The way that heat so casually wrapped around him and refused to let go..like a hug.

“Squeezing me so tight—I love you, (y/n). You’re my everything. Please…stay here with me. Forever. I want us to grow old together..I want you to have my baby—“ the words eliciting another twitch from your spasming hole..even evoking tiny splashes of squirt and another sharp gasp heaving from your chest. He couldn’t help but to smile at your reaction. Brushing the side of your face, Eren burrowed himself further to kiss the top of your head. “Yeah? You wanna have my baby? Get your pretty ass pregnant?…swear you’d look so fucking good..full of me like that..” almost primal and feral in his lovemaking at this point. Huffing and sucking his teeth as that pace became more sporadic. Everything he said, you lingered on it…your lips quivering and brushing against his whilst nodding your head, submitting and consenting to him wholeheartedly.

“Yes! Give it to me!…fuck!” At the same time, those orgasms ripped through both of your bodies like paper through a shredder..tearing about your systems and bringing you the ultimate, insurmountable pleasure. Your womb filled to the brim and a vice grip on his cock. A milky sheath all over that pale member…dumbed out expressions glossed over both of your faces as well as strained tears falling from your eyes. “S-so..good.” “Here, look at me..” just then, he’d cup your chin into the cusp of his fingers and kiss you with the passion of a man who had just returned from the brutal woes of war and truthfully he had but it was all worth it the end.

“I told you, my angel..I always told you, I’d make it back to you.”