#this fic is a caress to my soul | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ponderingmoonlight · 4 months

Text

Seeing JJK men shirtless for the first time

Pairings: (true form) Sukuna x fem! reader; Nanami x fem!reader; Choso x fem!reader; Gojo and Geto x fem!reader; Ino x fem!reader; Toji x fem!reader; Ijichi x fem!reader

Word Count: 6k (this is literally one third of my bachelor thesis lmao)

Warnings: Spice in Sukuna's, a little bit in Choso's and in Toji's part, true form Sukuna so slight spoilers regarding his appearance, I'm sorry but Choso's part is a lil shitty

Notes: You guys...This has to be my biggest fic yet and let me tell you, I poured my heart and soul into this piece. So please, if you find the time, leave me a like, a comment or a reblog. I appreciate it more than you could imagine 🤍

Sukuna

You don’t even know how you ended up here. To be exact, it still feels like a feverish dream to you. Only one second ago, you were on your way to find your friends, injured with your shoulder throbbing each passing second. But now…

Your eyes roam around the barely lit area, gleaming in that unpromising red light that runs shivers down your spine. There is absolutely no logical explanation for how you ended up here.

“Sure took you some time to finally wake up again.”

That dark voice hollering at you, the sarcastic undertone in it. It’s a man, without any doubt. And just by the sound of his masculine voice you can tell that he’s build like a wall.

Is it wise to move forward, to discover this place? Well, standing here like an idiot definitely won’t help to find a way out of here, right? And you definitely need to find out who that man is…

“Who are you?”

Your voice gets lost against the tall walls, echoes back at you over and over again. But no answer.

“Are you the reason for me being here?”

There is no doubt in the fact that his eyes are all over you. Like a hunter, he roams around you in silence while your tingling nerves almost cause you to lose your mind. Who is he? Where are you? What is all of this?

Your feet dash forward once again. Straight into the darkness, chasing after a dim beam of light that catches your interest immediately. Maybe this is your way out, maybe you’ll get to meet your friends again, maybe-

Suddenly your breath gets stuck in your throat, feet stopping immediately. That thing…

You swallow hard, eyes fixated on the most muscular male upper body you’ve seen in your entire life. No, this isn’t a thing. This is a grown man.

“Stop staring at me like that”, he growls with his now familiar voice.

This is him, the person who talked to you earlier. You want to confront him, want to ask him for a way out, but instead you stare him up and down. Those oh so muscular four arms decorated by hypnotizing tattoos, a chest so broad it takes you all your strength to outstand the urge to press your head against it. But what really catches you off guard is his mouth. No, not the mouth on his face. Your gaze gets caught by the parted lips that cover his stomach, teeth exposed to threatful that the thought of getting killed crosses your mind for a split second.

“Are you done now, stupid girl?”

Before you even realize what’s happening, you find yourself lying in his arms, his body pressed so tightly against yours that you fail to breathe. His half naked body, muscles touching your bare skin…

Oh god, this is so wrong. There is no doubt in the fact that this is Sukuna in his true form, the king of curses in his full glory. And you? You are nothing but a tiny human compared to him, an ant underneath his boot.

But why does it feel so good, then? Why do your knees give him, why does your body start to throb in places where it shouldn’t?

A whimper escapes your lips, body almost collapsing into itself when you can feel his mouth there.

Against your bare skin.

Caressing the sensitive flesh of your thighs.

“If you just break into my kingdom like that, then I can do whatever I want with you”, he whispers against your ear.

“P-please”, you groan, not even knowing yourself what exactly you’re begging for.

“(y/n)?”

You close your eyes, searching for the feeling of his tongue against your skin.

“(y/n)!”

No, don’t open your eyes, don’t get distracted.

“(Y/N)!”

When your eyes dart open again, you aren’t greeted by Sukuna’s stinging gaze. No, the innocent eyes that look at you filled with worry belong to someone else.

“Man, you really have me worrying out here for you. You just broke down and started whimpering”, Yuji explains while lifting you off the ground.

Was it…all a dream?

Nanami Kento

Your heart races, blood rushing through your ears like electricity. You told him right from the start that leaving on his own wasn’t a good idea, that the injuries of other jujutsu sorcerers make you believe this might be a special grade curse.

But Nanami Kento never listens when you worry about him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but it seems like there’s a gaping wound placed under my ribcage on my right side.”

You didn’t hesitate a single second, rushed after him with your little case like you always do. As Shoko’s co-worker, it’s your responsibility to look after injured jujutsu sorcerers. Even though you’ll never be as good as her, you will always make it your mission to help as fast as possible.

Especially him.

His signal grows stronger and stronger with every step you dash towards his location, mind racing back and forth. A gaping wound, what is that supposed to mean? Did he get hit by a gun, a curse? You don’t allow yourself to catch your breath, eyes focused on the little dot that comes closer.

“Are you alright, (y/n)? You really don’t need to rush to my side like that.”

A wave of relief washes over you when you see him leaning against the wall of a public toilet. But only until you catch a glimpse of the deep red tissues covering the sink and ground, his usual dark blue shirt discoloured in horrific crimson.

All colour drains from yourself while you lunge yourself at him, thick fear rushing through your veins.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner? You already lost a hell amount of blood”, you press out, inspecting the wound carefully.

This looks bad. Really really bad. If you don’t act right now, if you don’t start to use your technique immediately…

“Take off that shirt. Now”, you instruct him without waiting for his response while putting on gloves and showering your hands in sanitizer.

You fail to understand the meaning of your automatic words until he stands in front of you, bare chested.

Oh.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat all over again, eyes shamelessly discovering the way his muscular chest rises and falls steady.

“Did you just…”

Suddenly your mouth feels dry like the desert, mind unable to form a single sentence. Since you know Nanami Kento, you always know him as that well-dressed gentlemen in that suit that makes his butt look delicious and his shirt that leaves you pondering about the way he might look underneath when you’re supposed to work. There was never an opportunity to peek at more than his veiny forearm. And now this force of a man is standing right in front of your hungry eyes, showing you that reality is so much better than everything you could have imagined.

“Sorry, didn’t you tell me to take my shirt off?”

“I…”

When Shoko wasn’t around, you always pondered about the way he might look under his dark blue shirt. Do his tight muscles draw those valleys onto his belly you’ve seen on TV before? Does his biceps have that popping vein his forearms make you suspect?

You can’t help but allow your eyes to roam around his frame freely. That little scar decorating his chest. Is it from a fight? And that minor trail of untrimmed hair that lets your gaze wander to places…

“I don’t want to be rude but…I’m not feeling that well, (y/n). Would you mind treating me?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Blood rushes into your cheeks immediately, face heating up by the horrific thought that he caught you staring at his bare chest like an idiot. Fuck, he definitely thinks you’re nothing but a freak now. What if he’ll ignore you from now on? What if you won’t see him again after that? What a dumbass you are, didn’t you see countless men without a shirt on already-

“Hey, stop worrying. I’m more than flattered that I caught the attention of someone like you but…let’s do this when I’m feeling better.”

Your widened eyes fail to leave his oh so gorgeous face while your trembling hands go to work, mind too focused on what he just said.

“Let’s do what?”, you finally breathe out.

Is this…a smile forming on Kento Nanami’s lips? You feel like tripping all over again, heart pounding so roughly against your ribcage that you might pass out right by his side any given moment.

“I like the way you look at me, (y/n).”

What a simple reply. And yet, his words send you into another dimension.

“You…WHAT?”

Choso Kamo

Your body threatens to fail you, eyes in desperate search for Yuji. When Megumi finally gave in and told you he went out on his own, you almost lost your mind. Yuji, Sukuna’s vessel, on his own in Shibuya when everyone chases after him? Megumi definitely deserves another slap for that.

You sprint down the empty hallways of Shibuya’s train station, following the distant sound of battle. Please, let Yuji be alright. As his bigger sister, it was always your aim to protect him. When Yuji joined Jujutsu High, you did as well. When Yuji decided to fight in first row, you did too. There is no way you’ll allow your little brother to die, even though technically you aren’t related by blood. But even as your step brother, you can’t afford to lose him.

“Yuji?”

Nothing. Your body hollers back at you unanswered, mind slowly but surely starting to get into panic mode as the sound of cracking metal grows closer and closer.

And then you see it, the chaos that lays itself out in front of you dipped in neon purple lights. Blood is splattered across the area, the floor swimming in water that escapes the nearby toilet.

The toilet…You furrow your eyebrows. Is this… a wave of pink hair?

“Yuji?”

His eyes meet yours. The so determined gleam in them escapes instantly when fright replaces it.

“Get away from here right now, (y/n)!”, he screams at you just before a fist pushes him into a nearby wall violently.

Your brain threatens to fail you, body dashing into the toilet without thinking twice. Whoever this is will pay for hurting your brother so violently, for causing all this mess.

“Didn’t I tell you to walk away?”, Yuji questions with an irritated voice.

“And I told you more than once that I won’t leave you hanging!”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Are you two done?”

A male voice that makes you turn your head instantly. The second your eyes find him, your breath gets stuck in your throat. Oh, what a force of a man he is with strands of dark hair sticking to his wet face, his gorgeous eyes looking at you so unbothered. But what almost sweeps you off your feet is the way his robe allows you a single peek at his firm muscles that are lit by neon purple.

“Oh my”, you mumble to yourself.

Who on earth is this guy? Why is he fighting Yuji? But most importantly…Why does he have to look so steaming hot?

“Why are you not moving, (y/n)? Get out of here right now”, Yuji taunts urgently.

“What a waste”, you jeer at the man in front of you while taking a few steps towards him.

Choso can’t help but look at you bamboozled. How you move so confidently even though you don’t even know who he is, your eyes still fixated on…

His body? Are you looking at his abs?

“That a handsome guy like you acts like this.”

His eyes widen unintentionally, hands not daring to move. He should kill you right on the spot, should end your life just like that of Itadori Yuji. You’re partly responsible for the violent death of his brothers as well, given the fact that you’re also wearing that uniform. But his tight fists don’t dare to move a single inch, glued to his sides.

“Idiot, you don’t even know who you’re talking to. I will kill you just like Yuji Itadori, I will-“

“Will you, though?”

You come to a stand in front of him.

“W…What are you doing, (y/n)?”

Yuji’s voice shifts into the background. This definitely isn’t the first time you get close to a handsome man, but the others definitely weren’t that handsome. Just one look into his surprised eyes, the delicate marks on his face. And that force of a body. There is no doubt in the fact that this man trains a lot.

“I am distracting him, what else?”, you purr.

“I am not distracted.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Before he’s able to think about your words any further, you wrap your longing arms around his neck and hold him firmly against yourself.

“Because your eyes tell me something else.”

Now it’s Choso who fails to breathe. He never understood the simplicity of tender touch, the urge that drives humans almost crazy. What is so special about another hand placed against your skin, about lying in each other’s arms? He might have never understood if it wasn’t for you. You with your arm wrapped around his neck. You, with your free hand wandering down his chest, the wet fabric exposing his tight muscles without mercy.

In the split of a second, he begins to realize what touching each other seems to be about.

“Respect. Out of all the trained men I see on a daily basis, you have to be the most handsome one out of all. You work out a lot, don’t you?”

Your fingertips discover the valleys of his abs even further, force Choso to feel an uncomfortable tightness in his pants. Fuck, he doesn’t even know your name, has never seen you before. How is it even possible for you to have this power over him?

“None of your business, idiot”, he breathes out.

“What’s your name?”

Your voice does things to him his mind fails to understand, his sharp breath now hanging in the air between both of you. You are threatening, your glowy eyes showing more than urgently that you aren’t playing. But that slight smile on your face, the confidence dripping from every pore of your body…Who are you?

“Choso Kamo.”

“I’m (y/n)”, you reply while allowing your eyes to take one last glance at his tight abs.

Oh, you’ll definitely regret what you’re about to do. What if you won’t get to see him afterwards, the most handsome man you ever laid eyes on? There’s no other way, though.

“And I hope I’ll get the chance to be this close to you again.”

One innocent kiss pressed against his soft lips. One innocent kiss that sends him straight onto the ground, emerged into nothing but darkness. A pretty useful cursed technique, probably the reason why you get called femme fatale at Jujutsu High.

“What a shame, I really liked that guy”, you comment with Yuji coming to a stand right by your side.

“You didn’t have to touch his abs like that…”

“Oh I definitely did”, you reply instantly.

Your hands brush over his upper body one last time before you turn around and walk away.

Gojo Satoru & Geto Suguru

What a lovely day. Well, lovely apart from the stinging fact that you are forced to babysit the vessel of Tengen-sama when a bunch of bounty hunters chases after you. Your shaded eyes roam around the area without any break, too scared of the consequences that carelessness could have. In contrast to Gojo, you take this task very seriously. You, who is nothing but an average jujutsu sorcerer at jujutsu high, surpassed by her classmates a long time ago. Who, who only got the chance to go on this mission by coincidence.

Well, and then there’s him.

“(y/n), why are you not wearing a bikini? We’re at the beach, aren’t we?”

Gojo Satoru, the honoured one. Of course, they would choose him to escort the plasma vessel. It’s only logical for him to be here.

“We’re on a mission, Satoru”, you remind him urgently without even looking his way.

“Hey, are you alright? There’s no need to be so tense, (y/n). We have everything under control.”

And then there’s also him, Geto Suguru. The boy with the most charismatic smile you’ve even seen, so gentle and kind that it’s almost unbelievable he’s even talking to Satoru.

“I won’t be tense when she’s finally with Tengen-sama. This mission is very important to me”, you mumble with your eyes fixated on Riko and Misato walking in front of you, completely unbothered by the fact that both of them almost died more than once.

“Hey, stop looking so serious, (y/n)! I’m here to save you if it get’s heated”, Gojo purrs from behind, literally forcing you to roll your eyes behind your sunglasses.

“Why do you always have to tease her like this? (y/n) can help herself and you know that”, Geto remarks instantly, letting himself fall behind to mumble something you can’t understand into his best friend’s ear.

You worked your ass of for this opportunity, always stayed longer than anyone else on the training field, always learned until far past midnight while everyone else was sound asleep. There was never anything except getting a better jujutsu sorcerer in your life. God, you didn’t even have a single boyfriend in all those years.

Enough. You straighten your shoulders and force your eyes onto Rika again. For now, you have a job to do. There’s no time to think about something so wasteful as boys.

Your gaze roams around the beach before you allow the plasma vessel to get into the water with a wink. No one but a little family without cursed energy is located around you, so everything should be fine. Also, Gojo would have detected an enemy with his six eyes. Gojo…where on earth is he, though?

When you turn around in order to follow his and Geto’s muted voice, your breath gets stuck in your throat. You really don’t know what you expected when going to the beach with both Suguru and Satoru, but that? Both of them wear nothing but shorts and a shirt – an opened shirt. Your gaze hits their bare chests one after another, races back and forth while your mouth opens on its own. To be honest, you’ve never seen a real guy shirtless. Maybe here and there at the swimming pool when you were training or at the beach. But they weren’t like them. They weren’t this toned.

“Enjoying the view, (y/n)? Looks like a cat got ya tongue, huh?”, Satoru jeers at you.

“Not every girl looks at you, Satoru”, Suguru comments dryly.

“Hey, are you alright, (y/n)?”

You missed out.

Fuck, you definitely missed out.

How is this he first time you saw both of them shirtless? Geto with a firm body that doesn’t match his soft personality at all. Gojo, who isn’t only blessed with his immense powers but with a god-like body as well.

“I…Uh…”

You can’t find words. How are you supposed to say anything logical when your heart almost beats out of your chest? They were never more than comrades to you, never more than strong jujutsu sorcerers you look up to. But damn, at this very moment, you truly see them as man.

Suguru puts his hand on his hip which makes his muscles dance delicately, head tilted to the side in sheer confusion while he walks towards you. Lord have mercy, you really are doomed. How are you supposed to concentrate on this mission when now you’re aware of how they look underneath those strict uniforms?

“Are you feeling unwell? It’s totally fine if you go back to the ho-“

“No”, you interrupt Suguru immediately when he puts his hand on your shoulder.

His bare hand.

While he stands in front of you with his bare chest.

You never longed for men. No, your only interest has always been your training, to become greater, better, faster, stronger. But at this very moment, when both of their toned bodies stare right back at you, you suddenly feel a weakness you’ve never felt before, a hunger that was unknown until now.

“Can’t you see that (y/n) is busy staring at us right now, Suguru? Bet that’s your first time ever seeing something apart from training”, Satoru teases you.

Faster than your mind is able to follow, he stands in front of you, grabs your wrists and presses your palm against his naked chest. His heartbeat pulsates against your fingertips, forces a warmth between your legs you’ve never felt before. Those tiny hair that tickle against your oversensitive skin, the heat that radiates from his body, that makes you almost faint.

You stumble back a few steps only to get caught by Suguru, who presses you against his body firmly.

“Hey, are you not feeling well?”

“I…I…”, you stutter.

Oh god, you feel like dying and flying at the same time, lying like an idiot in Suguru’s arms while Satoru still grins at you.

“Want me to take off my pants as well, (y/n)?”

“SATORU!”

Ino Takuma

“Why do I have to train with this jerk again?”

Your eyes roll backwards while you let yourself fall onto a nearby bench theatrically. God, how much you hate that guy, the way he always acts so competent around Nanami makes your guts turn in pure disgust. Doesn’t he understand that you are better than him, that you are Nanami’s favorite student? Ino Takuma doesn’t stand a chance against you.

But why does Nanami insist on both of you training together, then?

“Because both of you need to work on your abilities and you complement each other perfectly.”

“That’s not true!”, you answer along with each other instantly.

No, you despise Ino with all your heart. There’s nothing you could learn from him. Him with that stupid grin, him with that dumb confident walk, him in that oversized black sweater.

“I will be back after my mission. It is your choice how you spend your time until then. Stay safe.”

Fuck, Nanami knows exactly what he did with those words. Of course, there’s no way around spending your time with that jerk now.

“Can you stop breathing so fucking loud?”, you jeer at him.

“Me? Nothing but hot air comes out of your mouth. Save your breath, idiot”, Ino bites back instantly.

“You know what? Let’s start right now. I can’t wait to beat your puny ass.”

You dash to the other side of the large room after bumping into his shoulder provocatively. There is no doubt in the fact that you will make Ino regret coming into your life like this. You are the one and only one who deserves a recommendation from Nanami and not him. Just one look into his oh so confident face makes your veins pulsate.

“What’s wrong? Are you scared, (y/n)?”

You let out your shaky breath, hands balling into tight fists. That fucker will regret every stupid comment he ever made when you’re done with him.

“If you were as good at staying dumb stuff as you were at fighting, you’d probably be a special grade by now.”

He dashes towards you with his mask covering his face. Just in time, you are able to dodge his merciless attack while holding onto your sword so tightly that your knuckles stand out white. Over and over, he tries to hit you, tries to distract you while you swing your swords without regard as well.

“I won’t lose this fight, (y/n)”, he presses out while pushing you backwards.

“I won’t either.”

Over and over, again and again, your body collapse against each other, his flying fist missing your face only by inches. You have to fight back harder, sweat sticks to your forehead while you squint your eyes in order to follow his rapid movements. How much you hate to even think about the stinging fact that Ino is a decent fighter, that both of you actually meet eye to eye.

You ball your fists even tighter, let your powers roam free in your pulsating veins. Still, you won’t allow him to win this. You will stump him into the ground, make Nanami proud, show him that you deserve his recommendation. This is your only way to become a grade 1 sorcerer, to surpass Ino.

With one well-placed dash of your bare hand, his sweater gets torn into pieces while you position yourself in front of him, so ready to give him that last hit he deserves, so ready to win this fight.

This fight…Your eyes follow the movement of your hand, watch how the black fabric hangs on for dear life, how it reveals something you’ve never seen before.

Your eyes widen in sheer surprise, blinking against the sudden sensation that hits you. Are those really Ino’s abs? So well-toned that you simply can’t look away, covered in a layer of glittering sweat and flexed to the brim.

“Oh my god”, you mutter to yourself.

This is definitely not the sight you expected. Of course you know how much he trains, that he has to be somehow fit. But that?

“Why you’re looking at me like that?”

“You look like fucking adonis”, you spit at him.

“Why do you have to look so damn good?”

“Huh?”

“This is not fair”, you continue, grabbing his arm and yanking him towards you.

“You don’t deserve to look like that.”

“Are you out of your mind, you idiot?”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

Like in slow motion, a sudden redness creeps up his face and discolors his cheeks red.

“Just shut the fuck up”, he continues.

Your eyes travel downwards his body again. What a great figure, what a body of steel. Why does it have to be Ino Takumo who looks this damn good? Why on earth does it have to be him? Your cheeks heat up like fire, a nauseous feeling threatening to eat you up alive. Is it even more disgust, more hatred than you already hold for him? No, this feels somehow different.

Is this…desire?

“I need to get out of here”, you announce before turning on your heel and aiming to walk away.

“No, there’s no way in hell I’ll let you leave like that you creep. Did you just check me out? I thought you’re disgusted of me.”

He grabs your arm and pulls you backwards before you’re able to stop him, his eyes gleaming at you.

There you stand, both of you with red faces, just looking at each other like plain idiots while you force yourself to keep your eyes focused on his face.

“You don’t deserve to be this hot”, you reply in a haste.

Why do his lips suddenly look this inviting? You actually never saw him up-close, always kept your save distance to your greatest enemy. Ino is a jerk, nothing but a trash talker, a pain in your ass since you first saw him. But on the other hand, he’s well-toned and strangely handsome with the way a coat of sweat decorates his forehead, his troubled eyes and those lips. Those lips you never payed attention to, those lips who did nothing but talking shit until this day. You can’t help but wonder how they feel pressed against yours, how his abs feel pressed against the palms of your hand. Out of instinct, your head moves forward, closes the gap between both of you step by step. How did you never notice his delicate smell and how hot he looks with that mask?

“Ino”, you breathe his name out like a prayer.

“(y/n)…”

“What’s going on here?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You stumble backwards immediately, heart dropping to the floor. There he stands like a knight in shining armour. None other than Nanami Kento.

“I didn’t know you were still busy, I’ll come ba-“

“This is a misunderstanding”, you desperately try to explain yourself.

And there it is. Even worse than seeing him standing in front of you with his arms crossed after catching you only inches away from your worst enemy.

A smile. A tiny fucking smile forming on Nanami’s lips.

“Is it, (y/n)?”

“I hate you”, Ino mumbles next to you.

“I hate you too.”

Toji Fushiguro

To say that you’re bored is an understatement. You feel like fucking dying with that little brat walking by your side. These last days were like a trip to hell and back.

“Let me say I’ll never babysit some stupid kid again”, you announce into the silence around you, earning a cheeky grin from Gojo.

“Totally agree with that.”

“Oh yeah?”, Riko replies challenging.

Just seconds before a blade pierces trough Gojo next to you with full force.

Just before his blood splatters across your face.

“Satoru”, you hear Geto breathe out far away.

“Get Riko away from here right now”, you instruct him out of instinct.

When you turn around, you get greeted by the hottest green eyes you’ve ever seen. The man who forces his blade straight into Gojo’s chest looks stunning with that maniac smile plastered on his gorgeous face.

“Now that’s a pleasant surprise. Apart from piercing through my friend, of course”, you comment dryly.

It’s clear that he’s older than you. Just one glance into his masculine face tells you that he’s no one to be messed with. Well, separately from the sword he pierced through the honoured one.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt ya, princess. But you and your little friends have something I need to kill”, his low seductive voice hollers back at you.

“(y/n), you shouldn’t stay here, y-“

“I got this Suguru. Get Riko to Tengen-sama as soon as possible”, you interrupt him immediately.

Your heart almost beats out of your chest by only a glimpse at the stranger standing in front of you. Finally, something exciting. Or rather, someone exciting.

“C’mon, we both know I can’t let that happen, princess.”

“Get out of here as well and use your reversed technique, Gojo”, you instruct the white-haired man again.

“I’m the honoured one, remember?”

“Well, I’m a woman”, you hiss through gritted teeth while walking past him.

“Seems like we have to fight, then.”

His smirk is intoxicating while he dashes towards you with neck-breaking speed. Over and over, you escape his blade just by inches while enjoying the wave of dopamine that rushes over you.

“You’re hot”, you jeer at him while dodging another attack.

“Ya know, we don’t have to fight here. Lemme finish this real quick and then we’ll have a talk under four eyes”, he replies with his enormous biceps rushing over your head.

“A talk, I’d rather see you naked.”

“Oh yeah? Don’t force yourself.”

A grin creeps up your face while you attack him with both of your swords, swinging through the air so effortlessly that he can’t help but stare at you. How are you so different from all the women he’s met before? So fearless, so forbidden hot. Maybe not his age, but given the gleam in your eyes mature.

What he’d do to run his fingers through your hair once, to watch your expression twitch underneath his merciless touch. You’d sure feel good pressed against his body with your bare back pressed against the mattress.

“Oh no, seems like I broke your shirt. What a shame”, you purr with your eyes locked onto his now exposed upper body.

Just as you expected, exactly how you imagined a man like him to look like. A body built from heaven itself, his abs so firm that you’re sure they’d feel like cement underneath your touch. What a force of a man.

What a shame he came here to sabotage your mission.

“Would have happened sooner or later anyway”, he replies while pinning you against a nearby tree, desire obviously clouding his dark eyes.

You can’t deny the fact that you are oh so tempted to enjoy this little sensation, a timeout from that shitty mission. Carefully, you allow your hands to discover the valleys his upper body has to offer, to feel his muscles tense underneath your merciless touch. There’s no shame in admitting that this was your favorite first glance of a male for a long time.

“You’re probably my favorite.”

The smirk on his face grows even wider while he traps you between his strong arms. What a shame, you think to yourself. You definitely have to tell Gojo to work out even harder after seeing a guy like him.

“But I can’t afford to play favorites when it comes to men. You’re in my way and if you sabotage my mission, I’m screwed, big guy. Let’s just stay here and let that girl live-“

Suddenly all air escapes your lungs, you fail to breathe when he pushes your body onto the ground with full force.

“Thought you were in control, huh? Too bad for ya, I don’t get distracted by a girl touching my abs. Even though I have to admit you’re a nice one. Now you stay here and let me finish your little friend before killing that vessel, okay?”

Your eyes widen in sheer horror as he simply walks away. Him, with his shirt hanging in shreds down his body, exposing his shamelessly toned back to your watery eyes.

He tricked you with the force of his muscles. And you actually fell for it.

Ijichi Kiyotaka

Your heart is racing in your chest, fingertips trembling by the nauseous wave of stress that washes over you. Again, something you didn’t calculate correctly. Again, some students got stuck underneath a curtain.

Your feet rush you to his room immediately. He’s probably the only one who’s able to fix the mess you’ve caused. After all, this is what he always does. Making sure no one gets hurt, having your back when things get messy.

For you, Ijichi is a blessing walking on earth. And he might be your only saviour right now.

With rapid steps, you dash into the building you know so well, the building he calls his come. Even if blindfolded, you’d always find your way to the man who seems so powerless in a world full of people who are ridiculously strong. Forced into the shadow, always looking out for everyone except himself.

“Ijichi, I need your help, I-“

You dashed into his flat like you always do, expected him sitting on the table while reading a book like he always does when you come around. But today, that doesn’t seem to be the chase. All of the sudden your mouth starts to feel dry, eyes fixated on nothing but his naked upper body.

His naked upper body.

“(y/n)! I…I didn’t expect you here today!”, he frantically mumbles while fighting for dear life with his white shirt.

“I never expected you to be so trained”, you breathe out, glance getting stuck on his surprisingly toned chest and six-pack.

“Don’t make fun of me, (y/n). I’m just an average guy”, he tries to laugh your words off.

“You look fantastic. Literally, you’re definitely able to keep up with Gojo. Are you training in secret?”, you insist.

“Don’t say something like that too loud, (y/n). If he hears you-“

“It’s nothing but the truth. You look absolutely…stunning.”

“Stunning” isn’t enough of a description for those butterflies violently racing through your stomach. It takes all your strength to stop your eyes from moving downwards again, to burn the picture of his toned abs inside your brain. How are you supposed to ever look into his face when knowing very well what an attractive man he is?

“Do you…mean it?”

His eyes meet yours, search for a spark of sarcasm in your glance. But there is no doubt in the fact that you mean it. Every single word you said about his lousy body, the praises.

A woman like you…Finding him attractive?

“Of course I do”, you mumble.

Oh.

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sonolynn · 3 months

Text

Thou Shalt Not Covet.

summary | Aemond loved her first, and it would be Aemond who loved her last.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Fem!Reader

tags | infidelity (cheating), cussing, alludes to smut, mentions of drinking, whores etc (normal Aegon things), typical Targcest, jealous and possive Aemond

w.c | 1.2 k

note(s) | This is my first Aemond fic! I haven't read the books, and have only seen the show so if Aemond is ooc then I'm sorry!

______________________________________________________________

She was his. By the way of his mind she belonged to him. His brother, first to everything and last to nothing, got everything Aemond wished he had. The iron throne, the crown, her. The marriage between her and Aegon was strictly political; there was no love, no affection between the two. If Aemond was honest with himself he liked that, liked how her affection could be saved and harboarded for him only.

Aegon had his spoils. He had bastards, he had whores, he had wine. He did not need her, nor did Aegon particularly want to have her. But Aemond did.

Because of Aegon’s particular disdain for his wife, the times that she was left alone and in the confines of her chambers were more than not. On these nights, Aemond would find himself climbing up the stairs, his hands shaking slightly, and his mind racing as the guards opened the door and let him enter his niece's chambers.

______________________________________________________________

“Uncle.” Her voice rang out over the fire in her chambers, and Aemond felt his heart rate pick up. She held a book in her lap, no doubt trying to wrap her mind around the philosophies written into the texts. Aemond felt himself shiver lightly, the sound of her voice seemingly always doing things to him.

He said her name softly, and he smiled to himself as he walked over to sit next to her. She smiled, her hand wrapping around his and her voice soft.

“How do you fare?” That is how all of their nights began. The light conversation of “how do you fare?” eventually led to her bed.

Aemond’s eyes caressed her skin, his hands worshiping her body as his voice sung praises of her victories over his mind, soul, and body. He would not ravish her like his brother did, no. He would worship and glorify her body before him as if she was a temple, he would exalt her pleasure to the highest of highs before he even thought of his. Aemond treated her like a goddess, and she was reminded of this every time her name fell from his lips and his seed spilled inside of her.

When he would finish he wouldn’t leave her to clean up on her own, or fall asleep. He would kiss her body softly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back as she came down from her high. He would hold her until she fell asleep in his arms, and in the morning he would wake, admire her body and her face that still shone in the glow of intimacy, before he would dress and leave.

______________________________________________________________

She liked the garden. She, truthfully, adored the garden. It was, she thought, the only place where she would be free from listening to the moans of Aegon’s whores and the drunken laughs that would escape his lips.

She found solace in the way the leaves swayed in the wind, the way the sun shone lightly through the cracks of the trees. But, what she truly waited for was Aemond. Once his duties were done he would come into the garden, and they would walk, and talk with one another for what felt like hours.

On this particular day, the two walked and talked about nothing in particular-just how both of them liked it. But, a pair of seething eyes followed the two as they walked. Angered and betrayed, Alicent turned and walked away.

______________________________________________________________

When Aemond entered his chambers later that night, he was met with the burning gaze of his mother. His face remained stoic, and he slowly started to take off his belt that held his sword.

“Mother. I did not expect you.” He spoke, his face illuminated by the fire as he sat in a chair, getting comfortable. His mother stood, standing in front of him as she glared down into her son's stoic expression.

“You do not hide it well.”

“I do not know what you speak of, mother.”

Alicent gave Aemond a look, seeing straight through his stoic expression and hardened gaze.

“You know what I speak of. You covet what is rightfully your brothers-”

“Rightfully?” At these words, Aemond stood, glaring down at his mother with a complexed expression. “She is not rightfully Aegon’s. She is not rightfully the crowns-”

“She is his by law,” Alicent got right into her son's face, her hand pushing against his chest as she spoke. “By the law of the seven kingdoms she is his! You cannot parade around the castle, promenading as if you are an enthralled teenage boy courting a noble girl! She is married-”

“You do not think I know what she is, mother? You do not think I see the ring she wears, or the name she bears now as a continuous tie to my brother?” The pain etched into the cracks of Aemond’s voice were subtle but not unnoticed. The way he spoke of his brother's wife with so much undignified and raw emotion made it clear to Alicent what he truly felt. Despite herself she sympathized with her son, trying to take his hands in hers as she spoke.

“I understand, Aemond, how you feel. But you cannot go about so shamelessly coveting your brother's wife-the queen!”

Aemond roughy pulled away from his mother, a sharp look hidden behind his amethyst eyes as he spoke.

"Do not speak to me as if my sorrows where your own!" Aemond seethed, pulling back a few paces as he glared at his mother, “Aegon is no husband! He may be my brother-my closest kin but he does not know how to properly care for her as I do. I know her mother, I know her wants, her desires, I know her more than Aegon has ever even tried to comprehend so damn all the gods and fuck Aegon because I would soon rather feed myself to Daemon’s dragon then let a man like Aegon sew his seed into her and ruin the beautiful women that the gods have given to me!”

The words coming out of her son’s mouth shocked Alicent. She never knew him to be so passionate about something-someone-so fiery as, gods be good, his brother’s wife.

“Aemond she was never yours-”

“She was,” his voice dropped and he stepped closer to his mother, breathing down as he glared, “The gods gave her to me, they made her for me! Her body was made to fit with mine, her soul was mine to know! Mother, it was all for me! But you? You are the one who gave her away to my brother. You are the one who took her from me.”

Wishing for no more of this, Aemond turned, feeling himself breaking a little as he went. He knew he would never be hers, that she would never truly be his.

______________________________________________________________

“You are troubled tonight.”

She knew him better than he knew himself. Aemond’s head rested on her lap, her hand gently stroking through his platinum white hair. He breathed out slowly, his thumb idly stroking her knee.

“I am thinking, sweet girl.”

“I know that you are thinking, I just wish to know what it is you are thinking about.”

At this he went silent. He knew no matter what lie he told her that she would always know the truth between the lies. So, instead, he sat up slowly and he gripped her cheek, kissing her softly. As if the words would be lost, and the meaning behind them burned. He made love to her like she was truly his, like she was his wife. As if..she wasn't even able to be coveted.

______________________________________________________________

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #sebastian sallow x you #aemond angst #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond fic #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond

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skyrigel · 4 months

Text

Tell me again [ AB ]

Pairing ~ Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Plot ~ after a long day at work, Anthony tells you how much he missed his wife <3

Warning: pregnant!reader, little teasing, shy!reader

Words : 0.8k

My other fic

Anthony bridgerton angst

" I thought you would be asleep..." Anthony murmured, words soft as melody spelled in the dark, hands crossed around his chest, his cuffs rolled up like usual after every tired night in his office, he smiled at you, a glint in his eyes.

" Why would I ? " I would wait for you at the worlds end, You turned to look at your husband, after a hard day, his eyes looked so tired and yet, they were sparkling, always when it was you.

" Oh my dearest wife." He moaned as he crossed the distance in two long strides, wrapping his hands around your waist all the while dropping to his knees,

"I missed you so much baby." He said, kissing your baby bump gently as he looked up with stars in his eyes.

" You didn't miss me Anthony ?! " You fake gasped, watching the slow chuckle make its way through the rings of his cartilage as he plucked the book you were holding.

" Oh you have no idea ! " He growled, taking both your hands in his and guiding them to his face, his eyes shutting as your fingers traced the face you adored so much, he hummed in response, kissing the soft skin of your wrist as watched you, one knuckle at a time, eyes never leaving yours.

" you think I haven't missed you ? " His asked, almost blazing, " you? " He said again, " There wasn't a moment when my soul didn't want to crawl and come to you, not a moment when i wanted to be anywhere but in your arms love." He squeezed your hand gently as you smiled, because you knew, knew how much he loved you.

" Have i told you how much I love your hands ? " He traced the lightening like green nerves that made it ways across your skin, he loved every bit of you, body, soul, mind and heart.

" You haven't," you replied, feeling your breath knocked out, heart punching against your ribs.

Anthony's lip quirked at your dazed eyes, he loved every and each version of you but he so much adored when you made your needs known, how much Anthony loved giving you what you wanted, you just have to say it for me, my sweet love, he had told you.

" This," Anthony said, his lips grazing at the slight raise of vein of your wrist, following it upto the crook of your arm, smiling in triumph as a strangled noise made it's way out of your throat.

" You like it ? " He tilted his head, brows raised in question, " mmm" you hummed softly but being the Viscount and smug bastard lord bridgerton was, he smirked.

" Say it in words my lady." He gazed up, you gave him one eye roll but opened your mouth anyway, " I do." You said ans Anthony resumed his venturing.

" And I have told you how much I love your collarbones ? " He hummed, planting open mouthed kisses all way to to dip of your neck, his breath lingered like a tattooed kiss, you dropped your head back on the couch as Anthony nipped at the raw skin of your neck.

You felt his smile the way his teeth tore into your flesh, his hand soothing your belly in circular patterns, the other cupping your breast and kneading it with all the time in the world, " You aren't telling me." He complaint, mouth fixed several inches away from yours as he looked deeply into yours eyes, your breath were uneven as you whined at the lack of lips on you, he understood and caressed your cheeks, leaning until a thread of wind was between you, you waited for touch to burn you, waited for his lips to crash into yours but alas!

" An..thony " you whimpered and he shaked his head, mouthing a small, No.

" You haven't " you whispered, closing the inches as his mouth pressed against yours in warm fuzzy music, like everything the poets talked about, Anthony smiled as pulled for a second away, his eyes peicring yours, mischief dangling through the corners and oh, how much you loved this man.

" I think I have..." He trailed, nose nuzzling at the dark reds and blues of your neck, he loved his little vicious games, loved to tease you, loved to drive you crazy.

" You have." You told him, " Tell me again."

That was all Anthony needed to you tell you again, and again and again, how much he loved you.

Rigel's note🪩: This has been in my drafts for so long<3

1K notes · View notes

6gumi · 1 year

Text

breathless.

synopsis ﹒jjk men giving you surprise kisses gone wrong (GONE SEXUAL!) that’s it. that’s the fic

pairings ﹒toji fushiguro, yuuta okkotsu, yuuji itadori, satoru gojo x f!reader

cw ﹒a little suggestive. not proofread (oops), makeout sessions kinda?, yuuji + yuuta aged up! slight vaginal fingering involved, dirty talk, petnames used ! (princess, baby, etc etc) you guys literally just make out n it goes wrong . . . do i need to say more ? <3

note ﹒sm thoughts sm thoughts sm thoughts !!! yuuji’s is the only fluff n innocent one LMFAO feel free 2 interact w me by sending an ask ! i’m still trying 2 finish up my requests so please be patient and know that only thirsts r open for now <3 — millie ! ♡

୨୧ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

toji always loved teasing you, especially during makeout sessions you both would have occasionally. he does a lot and i mean a lot of things to tease you during them too, it’s unfair! he loved it whenever you had your arms crossed infront of him, eyebrows furrowed while you lectured him for his laziness. he merely just chuckled at your attempts to tell him off for being such a lazy jerk, slowly closing the distance between both of you. you can’t blame him, can you? it’s not like you wanted him to stop either.. it’s crazy how your voice and that irritated look in your eyes left him feeling light-headed. before he knew it, toji you in his arms, holding you just a little too tight. “hey! let go of me, toji. ‘m not finished saying what i wanna say—“ and.. there he goes again. a deep groan left him as his lips traced each inch of your neck, his entire body clenched as he grabbed your wrist. toji’s other hand buried itself in your hair, caressing and pulling at it from the back, interlocking his lips with yours..

god.. your makeout sessions always begin this way, but honestly you didn’t really complain. toji ran his hand up your body, wrapping it around your neck as she squeezed it lightly.. careful not to hurt you too much. his lips on yours was the sweetest torture you had ever felt in your whole life, your heart pounding against your chest at a furious pace as he held you closer to him, not letting go of you anytime soon. “sorry, doll. what’d ya say earlier? too busy kissin’ these pretty lips of yours.” “oh great, and you weren’t even listening too?” the raven just shrugged, a smug expression painted on his face. “dunno, just wanted t’kiss your lips, you talk too much princess.. needed to shut you up.” gosh, you could’ve sworn you felt a vein popping out of your forehead out of frustration, is this guy for real? “mm.. can i continue kissing your lips?” was all he said, a low sigh leaving your lips before you waited for him to kiss you again. “oh no baby, not these lips. i mean the other ones.” oh yeah, expect yourself to be breathless after this.. kisses or not!

୨୧ 𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐓𝐀 𝐎𝐊𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐒𝐔

yuuta can’t help it! he couldn’t help but admire you the whole time you rambled about a weird first interaction you had with his companion toge inumaki and how hard it was to understand him! thank the lord you didn’t even notice just how intensely his eyes stared at you, as if they were digging daggers into your soul. this is probably a constant thing for him, i feel like yuuta likes giving you shy surprise kisses out of nowhere! and sometimes, he can’t even control his body and they just smooooch your lips, atleast.. that’s what he says! he can’t help but grin every single time he sees that flustered expression on your face after he catches you off guard with his surprise kisses, he’s just trying to have after all. though sometimes he’s aware that, these “small yet shy surprise kisses” will turn into much more than what they seem. and you wanna know what they turn into? heated makeout sessions of course!

yuuta’s large hands rest on the nape of your neck, the other on your waist as he pushes you down the mattress with his weight, trying his best not to crush you completely with his body as his kisses were slow.. slow and passionate yet you knew that was gonna change in a few minutes or so, and you were right! in the blink of an eye, yuuta wraps his two hands beneath your thighs, lifting you up slightly so your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling the both of you closer and into a more passionate yet lustful embrace and kiss. the special grade sorcerer pulled away, chuckling when you puckered your lips a tiiny bit to taste his sweet lips on yours again, yuuta gave your jaw a small peck. “may i?..” the raven muttered under his breath.. lifting your skirt and tugging at the hem of your panties. just know that.. if you nod and say yes, oh boy. be prepared to stay up all night! those surprise kisses were a trap to kiss you until you were breathless!

୨୧ 𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐉𝐈 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈

let’s see here.. to sum things up, yuuji loves giving you surprises kisses! and i mean loves it! he likes catching you off guard whenever he presses a kiss against you, your boyfriend gives you small little surprise kisses literally anywhere and everywhere, so much that you even have to tell him to tone down a bit because of how flustered you were! “but why, babe? i like kissing you..” he knew you liked it whenever he was affectionate so he would plant many many love kisses all over you nonstop! usually sometimes he even just gives you one when it’s unnecessary or so, kissing you on the cheek while you scroll on your phone.. kissing the nape of your neck from behind whenever you were in the kitchen, sneakily kissing your inner thigh from beneath the bedsheets, you name it! yuuji yawned as he wrapped an arm around your waist, scooting you even closer against him. “babe, can i kiss you?” no answer, you were too focused on that stupid movie you wanted to watch, he didn’t think you’d get this invested. the male gently put a hand on your thigh, surprise-kissing the blade of your shoulder with much desire and love.

anndd.. here you both go again.. on the couch as the room was filled with sharp heavy panting and lewd noises. yuuji’s hands grabbed onto your waist and moved you back and forth on his gap, feeling a bulge press against you as your cunt pulsed around nothing.. you prayed he didn’t feel anything. you always wondered how he’s so sweet and delicate with your kisses as if you were some kind of gentle flower you needed to protect, his touches were so soft.. so gentle and yet a little hesitant.. not wanting to hurt you in anyway. his mouth moved towards your jaw and then your hands. “you should kiss me more babe, i like how soft your lips feel on mine.” “i already allow you to give me surprises kisses in private and public, what more do you need, hm?” “.. another kiss, maybe? or maybe.. more kisses? more than the amount i give you in one day?” ahh.. you know you can’t say no to him, you knew just how much he wanted to kiss you breathless.

୨୧ 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

surprise kisses with him are a must (atleast 2 him!) he loves sneaking small little pecks on your cheek and lips, though.. his surprise kisses are rather bold and lead to more intimate moments between the both of you. heated and long messy makeout sessions to more.. bolder ones, though you aren’t complaining really, he isn’t either.. in-fact he loves the faces you make whenever he plunges his tongue inside your mouth with no warning at all, grabbing at your ass.. your waist, you name it! scolding him about his “surprise” kisses won’t help either, he just knows how to rile you up in no time! the special grade groaned into the kiss as he pulled you onto his lap, grabbing your hips and squeezing at it with his hands. satoru sighs lowly, struggling against the heat and lust that was now flowing through his body like hot lava, he wanted more and he craved more.. he didn’t even care that it was supposed to be a “small” surprise kiss, he wanted you and he wanted you now. you sure do have that effect on him.

“you’re such a cute little angel for me, mhm? stay still for me a bit, yeah?” oh you knew what he was gonna do. you hear him spit on the top of his fingers for a second, body jolting as you felt his fingers rubbing your clit. “i’m sorry. i can’t get enough of you. look at this, you’re so wet already, angel. all this for me? all because of the kissing, hm?” he rubbed the slit of your pussy with two fingers at a harsher pace.. feeling your wetness on his fingers. “c’mon, keep kissing me pretty. don’t let these fingers distract you, yeah?” was all he said before the sweetness of his lips returned on your own, his kisses were sloppy and messy but yet he didn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon.. his digits curling in your cunt, forcing a muffled moan from your lips. adding another finger in, he could feel how tight his pants felt.. getting all hard just from fingering you and kissing you alone was crazy enough, he wasn’t playing around.. he wanted more.. and he’ll get more. satoru will do this over and over again until you’re absolutely breathless.

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chxrryhansen · 7 months

Text

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘

Pairing; Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings; smut, dark themes, non con, breeding kink, oral- both receiving, degrading, size difference, unbalanced power dynamic, huge daddy kink, choking- to the point reader can’t breathe, dumbification, dacryphillia, spanking, steve is very dark in this, no aftercare!! i think thats it? Minors please DNI!!!!!

Summary; Steve Rogers, your boyfriend, the man everybody loved, his soul soft, standing against all evils. Until he got a taste of that sweet power. He became hungry. Now, you have no choice but to obey his rules. Can you bring him back to the light? Or is it too late? (it’s definitely too late)

here we have my first ever full fic! firstly i would like to give a huge thankyou to @dbnightingale24 for giving me the confidence and tips to write this! and another big thankyou to @evansbby and @hansensgirl for inspiring me in the first place for begin writing💘it’s around 3k words and i really put my all into this so please don’t forget to comment and reblog, i would love to hear all of your feedback!🫶🏻 much love, cherry.

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

Steve Rogers, the man everyone respected, the man everyone believed in, looked up too. The man you used to cherish, his sweet boyish nature drawing you in from the moment you met. His pearly blues that used to soften as they fell on you, his gentle touch as he caressed your hair, the tender, loving kisses he used to leave all over your body.

Until Fury resigned that was.

Steve was officially the new director of shield, to which nobody opposed, i mean, who would right? He was Captain America, the man out of time. He was perfcet for the role. Strong willed, commanding yet understanding, he had respect for those beneath him and most of all he was compassionate, something that was hard to find in a good leader. This didn't last for long, of course.

Steve shortly became power hungry, his morals became more sick and twisted as his methods became more sadistic. He was violent, cruel…volatile. There was no bringing back Steve Rogers. The problem was he dragged everybody else down with him, nobody dared to stand up to Steve, too frightened of the consequences.

Tony couldn't talk Steve down, he tried for a while, attempted to reach out to him, guide him back to the light...but nothing worked. Tony couldn't do it, nor could you, not even his best friend of over a decade could sway his newfound mindset. You all figured it was best to keep your heads down from now on and follow Steves orders, no matter how out of line they seemed.

Not that you had a choice anyway.

Bucky was short to follow in his footsteps as his second in command. Both cruel and unforgiving. Your friendship with Bucky was practically non-exhistant, you no longer had movie nights together, giggling with big buckets of popcorn.

A simple nod of his head as he passed you down the hall was about as much as you would get. Steve wouldn't allow it now anyway.

Steve's display of affection changed alongside him, the love he made was no longer passionate, or gentle. In fact, he didn’t make love at all anymore… what he made was simply rough, hard, fucking.

The marks he left behind were no longer loving hickeys while he whispered in your ear, moaning sweet nothings as he gently thrusted his hips into your own. His eyes, gleaming with nothing but pure devotion.

They were bruises... bruises from how hard his hips slammed into your ass from behind, his grip tight on your hair, pulling and tugging as your skin became flustered at the impact of his thrusts. You missed the man he was. You often thought about that life while his cock was busy destroying your cunt. He didn’t care about your pleasure anymore, you were nothing but a hole for him to fuck.

From a distance you could hear Steves heavy boots storming down the coridoor. The sound was instantly unsettling. Your body recognising the noise as a trigger for an oncoming threat, sending you into alert mode.

You stood from your office chair on shaky legs, your posture rigid as he turned the corner to enter. His 6'4, stoic figure coming into view, casting a shadow that filled the room. His broad shoulders spread wide, his presence making your tummy tighten with unease.

He said nothing as he stared down at you, your fingers tugging at your short pink skirt- which he had chosen out for you this morning, the same way he customised your figure every morning. Claiming your dumb, baby brain was incapable of choosing an outfit that proved elegance and professionalism. In reality it was the complete opposite.

He liked to dress you in short skirts, ones that left little to the imagination, your asscheeks peeking out most days and revealing blouses, your tits practically spilling out of your shirts. You were highly sought after by the males at the compound before he came and scooped you up a few years ago.

They knew you were his, i mean he was your boyfriend for several years, you were what the female agents used to coo at, naming you as "couple goals". Where Steve went, you went, and vice versa. You were always seen smiling and giggling together, tag teaming on missons and holding hands as you explored the compound.

But, as steves power grew so did his insecurity. His possesive nature grew strong, wanting, no, needing to show other men you belonged to him, and only him. And you always would, whether you liked it or not.

"Get on your knees."

"Wh-What?"

"Get on your knees. You know i don't like to repeat myself." he growls while pushing your office door closed with one arm from behind, not daring to take his eyes of you.

You gulped as he stepped forward, caging you inbetween his thick biceps as you lean against your desk. One thing he was always good at was making you feel small. Even before all of this. Of course it wasn't anywhere near as threatening as it was now. He used to joke about how tiny you were compared to him, how he could pick you up with one hand, it was cute how big and protective he was of you.

Now, he used it to his advantage. He knew you feared him. He knew that you knew, you would never be able to run from him. He would overpower you every damn time with his brute strength.

There was no running from Steve Rogers. His thick beard scraped against your sensitive skin sending shivers down your spine as he groaned into your neck, your scent driving him wild.

He whispered darkly in your ear "Final chance. Get on your knees. Now, or you won't like what'll happen if you refuse me again."

You inhaled sharply, goosebumps spreading across your body in pure fear, or ecstacy. It was hard to tell these days. Steve had conditioned you so well to his own liking that even your body reacted to him in ways you would never fully understand. Or so he says.

Slowly you inched down towards the floor with your knees bent. The cold, rough flooring instantly proving to be uncomfortable as you figited. But Steve didn't care about that, why would he? His thick hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look up at him through hooded eyelids.

His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, he then pushes further, massaging your tongue as saliva begins to pool in your mouth. Removing his thumb slowly, he tugged on your bottom lip with pinched fingers. Before you even realised what was happening he shoves two fingers down your throat.

You sputter and gag around his thick digits, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the hard floor. Your eyes squeezed shut in pain as tears began rolling down your flustered cheeks.

His other hand is quick to grip your hair, tugging harshly. "You fuckin' look at me while daddy gags you with his fingers. Actin' like you don't get off on this shit. You love it. Say 'thankyou daddy'." he mocks with a high pitched tone.

Desperately trying to get the words out, you mumble around his fingers, seeming incoherent. He laughs darkly at your poor attempt, shoving his fingers deeper down your throat, gagging you one last time before pulling out.

"You gonna' be a good whore n' suck my dick? Huh? You fuckin' slut." His hand reaches down, pulling your shirt to the side, making your tits spill out. You hear him let out a loud groan, his pants tightening at the sight of your bare chest. He pinches your hard nipple roughly, rolling it roughly inbetween his index finger and thumb as you cry out, tears continuing to stream down your cheeks.

He shushes your cries gently as he begins to massage the same spot he previously assaulted making you keen with pleasure.

He had a thing for associating pain with pleasure, confusing your silly little brain into thinking the hurt he put you through was a good thing since pleasure soon followed. That he was rewarding you.

"Unzip me. Cmon' you dumb baby, take daddys fat cock out."

Listening to your own heartbeat in your ears, your head pounding with adrenaline, your fingers itch towards his pants. Which was apparently too slow for his liking as his grip on your hair tightens, making you sqeeze your eyes shut briefly before opening them, not wanting to anger him further.

You hurridly unzip his pants, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his cock. It's angry head pointing towards you as he grips the base with his other hand, slowing pumping his shaft over your face.

He pushes his bulbous tip into your closed lips, smearing his hot precum all over them. When you refuse to open your mouth he growls, pinching your nostrils closed. Feeling the air begin to leave your lungs, you gasp for breath and he's quick to shove his dick down your throat.

Gagging at the intrusion you cry harder, your lips stretching to fit around his thick length. his hips thrusting into your face as he fucks your throat harshly.

"That's it, you whore. Take daddys dick all the way down your throat. You fuckin' remember this the next time you try to refuse me."

His hand which was previously tugging at your hair moves towards your throat, holding you in a tight grip.

"Fuck... i can feel my fuckin' cock in that tiny throat of yours. Love it when you cry f' me, just makes me want to fuck you even harder, sweet girl." he grunts loudly over the sound of your gagging. Steve swiftly pulls his dick out as you keel over, coughing and sputtering, your throat sore from his brutal assault.

Before you even have a chance to gain your breath, his thick hands grip your shoulders, pulling you upright, bending you over your desk. Your legs shaking as he positions you so your ass is sticking out.

Lowering himself to the ground, he grips the flesh of your ass, squeezing roughly as he lifts up your skirt, briskly pulling your panties to the side. He shoves his nose into your pussy, groaning in delight at your sweet scent.

"Fuck i could live inbetween these slutty legs, your cunt's always ready for daddy, huh? Trained you so well." Your sticky juices smeared across your legs, dripping with desire, his facial hair bristling against your thighs making you squirm.

He mercilessly pushes his tongue as deep as it can go into your hole. You whimper as he laps up your wetness, his tongue prodding at your insides. Your arousal soaking his beard while your pussy clenched around his tongue. He pulls away for a moment, “God, how do you taste so fuckin’ good.” he groans.

Reaching back to grip his hair in your small fists, you go to push his face back into your cunt, completely overwhelmed with pleasure. His hand grips your wrist tightly, pining your arm to the desk, a sure reminder of who's in charge, seeming as you had forgotten your place. “Stay fuckin’ still or i’ll stop. Don’t you ever pull that shit again.”

You moan lewdly as he moves to latch onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Groaning into your pussy as he fists his cock.

Your eyes begin to roll back as your orgasm itches closer. Steve, realising this, pulls away once again. Your juices stringing from your clit to his lips as you cry out, your orgasm beginning to fade.

"Stop with the fuckin' whining. Daddy's gonna' fuck you now. Tell daddy how much you want his cock...Cmon. No need to act all innocent now." he pressures at your hesitation.

"P-Please daddy wan' you to fuck me."

"You can do better than that." Steve husks, giving your ass a harsh smack from behind, knowing your skin will blister from his force.

Your lips quiver as you cry, "Please! N-Need your cock inside me so badly, wan' you to destroy me for anybody else. Wanna' feel you in my cervix daddy, Jus' wanna make you feel good. Love how full you make me feel. Please...I-I'll die if you don't fuck me. Pretty pretty ple-."

and before you can finish your sentence your cut off by your own scream, his cock dissapearing inbetween your folds as he bottoms out with a singular thrust. Your legs become slack as your body spasms at the intrustion, his hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as you squirm, instinctively trying to escape his hold.

"F-Fuck, Y-Your so big daddy. It hurts so bad, p-pull out!"

"Shut up." he groans as his thick hand covers your mouth from behind. “Gonna fuckin’ dog fuck you til you can’t think of anything but this fat fuckin’ cock you dirty little slut, you hear me?” he practically growls as he begins to fuck you.

The sound of clapping skin begins to fill the room, agents around the compound sure to hear the way his dick bruitalises your cunt.

"Such a filthy girl i have, always so desperate for daddy to fuck you, even when you try and deny it, i know this sweet pussy would never lie to me." He coos in your ear as you sob, your face wet with tears and saliva.

"My messy whore, see what happens when you don't listen to me? You see what a mess you become? Fuck. You look so pretty like this, this is how you should always be, filled to the brim with my fat dick.”

Steve had always loved fucking you braindead, watching as your eyes glaze over and your tongue begins to hang out of your mouth, drooling all over yourself. It made him feel powerful, like you were dependent on him. Which you were in a sense, always so needy and desperate for him to fuck you.

The impact of his animalistic thrusts turn your skin raw as he speeds up. His arm wrapping around your waist, pressing you close to him as he spreads his legs further apart, hitting a new angle inside your pussy. You let out a loud wanton moan as his balls slap against your clit.

“F-Fuck yes! H-Harder daddy.”

“Yeah? You like that? I know you do, it’s okay. Is my little girls brain goin’ fuzzy? Huh? Poor girl.” Steve mocked, amusement clear in his tone. "M' gonna' cum. Daddy please can i cum?" you whine, the knot in your stomach tightening, a warning that your orgasm was near.

"Yeah baby? You gonna' cum for me you dirty whore? Go ahead, cum all over my dick. Can feel you clenching around me, grippin' me like a fuckin' vice."

Your cream coats his length as you let out a muffled cry, biting your lip harshly as you cum.

"T-Thankyou daddy. Feels s-so good..." you babble, your thick cream creating a ring around the base of his cock. Your weight giving out once again as Steve holds you, smirking as he watches you come undone, giving you no escape from his relentless thrusts.

His thick shaft pummeling your insides as you scream with ecstacy, your pussy throbbing as he fucks you through your high.

"F-Fuck look at that... love watching your cream leak around my cock, taking this dick so good for me. Gonna' cum inside you...yeah? You want daddy to fill you up?" he groans as his own orgasm nears, talking himself through it.

"God, this cunt treats me like a fuckin' king. It's coming baby, daddys gonna cum, Oh fuck fuckkk." his hips twitch and his balls throb as his load begins to fill you, shooting out thick ropes of hot cum into your pussy. Moaning at the sensation of his warmth inside you.

“Take my fuckin’ cum. That’s it, good girl. Love watchin’ your pussy swallow my hot fuckin load, bet you love it too, hm? You slut.” he pants, exhausted from the brutal fucking he just gave you.

He snaps out of it almost instantly, pulling out without warning and tucking his softening cock back into his pants.

Giving your ass a harsh smack, he steps back. You turn to look at him, your eyes glazed over. He stares at the ground with no emotion as he combs his locks with his fingers, making himself seem presentable.

Hope fills you, your heart races as you lick your lips in anticipation, wondering if he will stay to comfort you and hold you the way he used to many months ago.

But he doesn't. You get nothing but a short glance as he turns to exit your office, slamming the door shut on his way out. You slump down against the floor, a complete mess.

Your soft cries turn to sobs, breathing rapidly, your hands gripping your hair as you raise your knees to your chest. It was almost as if he had you in a trance when he was burried inside your cunt, as soon as he was done it was like the fog in your brain had cleared.

People told you there was no bringing the old Steve back, that your sweet, caring boyfriend was gone. Replaced by a monster.

You didn't want to believe them... but maybe you should've.

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gghostwriter · 23 days

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Knots of Yearning

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer lies by omission or in which Spencer acts like he doesn’t know how to tie a tie just to get you to do it for him Trope: Yearning/Angst; think season 1 Spencer Reid w.c: 1.3k a/n: when i thought of this idea, i was thinking it would be some cute light hearted fluff but when i started writing it, it became angst, filled with pining and tension so I dunno what happened but i finished writing it and thought it would be a waste not to post my rambly written fic. I might write a part 2 for this just to close it out to a happy ending. Let me know if that would interest you. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗

Two halves of a whole, the perfect pairing and yin & yang. Those were just some monikers that Spencer Reid had heard describing his partnership with you that started during the academy. He, being a genius in all things academic and psychological but severely lacking in the physical and combat department. You, on the other hand, filled those gaps—acing all physicals and being well known for being a shy but killer shot. Not to say you were lacking in the other categories, no, you came only second during written exams.

So it came as a no surprise when graduation came and you both were cherry picked to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Spencer being chosen by SSA Jason Gideon and you being selected by Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner.

The two geniuses of the BAU and the apprentices were added to the roster of nicknames.

Ever since then, he had traded in his standard issued trainee uniform to a button down and a matching tie—a tie that he badly struggles with or so Spencer made you believe. He didn’t mean to lie at first—didn’t mean it to go this far but by the time he felt the need to tell the truth, it had been too late. Each moment you’ve spent close to his space, invading it really, had become the highlight of his days and fuel for his nights.

He often wondered if you catalogued his reaction just like how he did yours. Did you notice his staccato breathing just like how he noticed your subtle inhalation of his perfume? What about the reddening of his cheeks and neck in contrast to your trembling fingers? Or how about his eyes that convey his utter devotion as yours focus on any exposed skin in between his tie and collar?

It seemed like a dance between him and you, to see how the other reacts and to figure out who would cave under the mounting attraction that had been building since the first ‘hello.’

With his choice of tie for the day hanging loosely on his neck, you would shyly smile and as if spellbound, he would shuffle to your orbit in silent plea for help that he needed.

Each glide of your finger made his encompassing thoughts about the mundane stutter into a halt. How his mind would then bombard itself with questions as to how the universe created such perfection. Each loop of your hand became vivid imagery of his own nimble fingers caressing your palm and all its engraved lines as if they contain the maps to all hidden mysteries of the world. And each tug to secure the knot transformed into a loud beating of his chest, encased within it’s cavity, with chants of waxing prose on how your very being, mind, body, and soul, call to his in a way that even his expansive vernacular could never explain.

But no matter how much he wished for time to slow down for these intimate moments to last, it never did comply. So here he stayed, lying by omission—yearning for you to notice him, memorize him, and end his pining for the woman who seemed too unattainable for his clumsy, stuttering self.

———

You accepted the lie well. Maybe too well.

The first time a blue striped flimsy piece of accessory hung around his neck, a sudden burst of courage took over, bringing you to a stop in front of his lithe, towering body and hands reaching up to whisper caresses on the silk to mold it into a secure neck tie that centered itself on his reddening neck—the color matching the one that bloomed on your cheeks as you realized what you’ve done.

Your mind had rationalized someone as smart as he knew how to fix a tie but your body had moved on it’s own, having have spotted a once in a lifetime chance to invade his well protected space—the same way he had invaded your mind in every waking and sleeping moment.

That same chance turned into a routine. A blessing that you had come to look forward to, your steps having a bounce in them as you enter the bull pen and spotting a different pattern tie hanging undone on his neck every work day.

You knew, with no backing evidence that Spencer has to be doing it on purpose but didn’t want to spiral much into thought as to why he would leave that intimate action up to you.

Did he take note of every reaction you had to his presence the same way you did? The slight rocking on your heels as he inhaled your carefully chosen perfume? The biting of your lip as you felt his honey dripping eyes on your face? If he felt the same, you wondered why nothing has been done and if you had another burst of courage, would you have acted upon the tension?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Maybe that was why you settled for accepting his poorly crafted lie of not knowing how to tie a necktie.

It wasn’t really a lie if the other party knew the truth, right? Or was it a double lie now that silence has stacked between you and him?

If you were being slightly honest with yourself, Spencer Reid had always fascinated you. Among the sea of gym built muscles during the academy, his gazelle stature has stuck out like a sore thumb and that intrigued you. How was it that a male, younger than any of his peers, that looked like he could grace a runway was in an institution that reeked sweat and masculinity? That very same question answered when you found yourself seated beside him in a profiler career talk. His intellect, that was why and although it seemed to alienate the others, not once did you feel inferior beside him. Rather, it pulled you in more. His quiet, unsure demeanor was the next to capture your attention. It was an invisible coat that he wore everywhere he went, sewn from years of bullying and ostracizing—similar to your experiences of having skipped a grade. Here was a comrade you thought and so, you silently orbited around his gravitational pull until he took notice and uttered the words ‘hello, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid’ in a low, trembling voice.

You didn’t know when that same fascination turned into adoration. There was never a specific moment in time that you could pinpoint when it all changed. It just happened, one day you woke up and the past truth had transformed into a half truth—and the whole truth now being, you falling and yearning for a man who had a bright future in reading people’s actions but seemed too oblivious to the call of your aching heart.

———

Morgan and Elle shared an exasperated look as they noted the two youngest members of the team silently flirting in the middle of the bullpen, yet again. They didn’t get how obtuse the two smartest people in the room were with their feelings for one another.

“You think we should give them a push?” He whispered to his female partner.

Elle scrunched her face. “At this point, we might just have to confess for the other.”

And in that moment, another moniker was added to the roster. The dense lovers of the BAU, a nickname that the remaining members use only behind both the duo’s back as they become bystanders to what could be a match made in heaven. If only one would admit to the other.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader

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kykyonthemoon · 1 month

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Comforting

When he comforts a reader who is so stressed and upset that she bursts into tears.

── .✦ Character x Female Reader (MC)

Included parts in order: Sylus, Caleb

This is the second part of the same prompt, for the two said characters, after my first one - "Soothing" for Rafayel, Xavier and Zayne.

── .✦ Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, comfort, long-distance relationship (Caleb's)

── .✦ Word count: 1k3

── .✦ Requested by Lightbook Aki

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - closed for the time being.

Sylus

"Let's go." Sylus tossed you the key to one of the two motorcycles parking in front of the flat. You were puzzled:

“To where?”

“Anywhere you want. Just ride.”

After he finished speaking, he started his motorcycle. Its scream seemed like both an invitation and an urging to you.

You put on the helmet. Even though you constantly mentioned that you wished to ride about the city with him at night, Sylus's arrival at your door so late at night seemed odd. Particularly since you were in such a bad mood. And was it Luke and Kieran that you had just seen earlier nearby?

The motorbike that Sylus chose for you was a bit smaller than his, and matched your physique well. You did not object anymore. And so your night out began.

A cool night wind blew. You kept on riding, not knowing where you were heading. Sylus rode safely away from you while keeping you in sight. He would sometimes approach you, as if to remind you that he had always been by your side on this journey.

Away from the noise of the city, you chose to stop on a hill on the outskirts. Sylus pulled up behind you when you got off the motorcycle and removed your helmet.

Nobody uttered a thing. Sylus waited close, watching you go around, your feet stepping on the dirt and rocks below in discomfort. After a while, when he realized he had no way of keeping you like that, Sylus approached you and gently seized your elbow, drawing you back to look at him.

"If the ride wasn't so enjoyable, we can go further."

"No... I just..." You halted because you were unsure if you should tell him or not. Was it appropriate to share such private emotions given that the two of you had just recently met?

"How do you know that I need a change of scenery? Was it Mephisto again?"

Sylus grinned. His index finger curled, and he swiped it over your nose. "Your thoughts are all reflected on your face like that. You haven't left your flat in days. Even without Mephisto, I suspect that something is wrong with you. Say it out. I am here to listen to you."

You took a brief glance at Sylus. The wind blew, ruffling the curls of hair on his forehead. You paused for a moment before telling him about how you ended up ending someone's life before they turned completely into a Wanderer on the last mission. That tormented you to no end.

When you finished the story, Sylus said: "You did what needed to be done. It wasn't your fault." He gently inclined his chin towards the gracefully illuminated city of Linkon on the horizon and continued, "This place is calm, thanks to you. You did very well."

That alone was enough to make you cry. You attempted to fight back your burning tears, but just as you were going to wipe them away and turn everywhere, Sylus grasped your hand tightly. His other hand caressed your cheek in a tender gesture, but did not wipe away your tears. He told you:

"Just let it all out."

And so you wept. You failed to recall the last time you ever sobbed like this. You had always believed that you were capable and powerful enough to battle Wanderers and defend others. But, in the end, you sought someone to tell you that you did the right thing by eliminating a soul's suffering, or that you did not have to bear it all on your own.

Sylus, resting on his motorcycle, softly raised your hand. His lips almost brushed it as he muttered, "Sometimes we have no option. Sometimes we have to deal with worse things than Wanderers. You just need to choose what is most important to you and do your best to protect it..."

Sylus halted and softly stroked your hand. His crimson eyes fixed on you, giving you an odd sense of reliability.

"Just like what I'm doing right now, protecting the most important person who is right in front of me."

Caleb

With a pleasant box of ice cream in hand, you sat on the porch of a closed business. It was dark, yet you refused to go home. You had been strolling the streets of Linkon all evening.

You did not have dinner yet. Both eyes were swollen. Your hair was a disaster. Everyone knew you had a rough day based on your look, and it was best for them to stay away from you. You searched for the phone in your coat pocket. A name displayed on the screen; it was Caleb's account.

But you sighed and put your phone away. These insignificant concerns were not worth his attention. You could manage it entirely on your own. You hoped that the next day, despite your current situation, you would return to your cheerful, active self.

Opening the ice cream box, you began eating little spoonfuls. If Caleb was here, would it not be great? You would tell you about how you were bullied at work, unfairly accused, and how people turned their backs on you without knowing the whole story. But in the end, nothing was important anymore. Everything you could do to salvage the situation had been done. What you needed at that moment was a little consolation from someone, but that person was a long way from here.

You had learnt to handle challenges on your own when Caleb enrolled at the Academy in Skyhaven. You had always proven that you were mature and responsible enough not to disturb him. When you started this long-distance relationship, you knew he could not always come racing to you when you needed him, and there would be moments when you were entirely alone like this.

The ice cream box was about half-empty. The lightly inhabited street became even quieter. Perhaps you should go home. Still, tears went on falling. As the world faded away in weeping, you noticed that person's silhouette growing more and more apparent. Then a large hand rested on your head.

"You're all grown up, yet you're sobbing while eating ice cream here. Aren't you worried that others will laugh at you, pip-squeak?"

That voice belonged to Caleb. You rubbed your eyes. He instantly squatted in front of you, his mouth beaming and his hand aiding you in wiping away the tears.

"Caleb?"

He replied, "I'm here. Tell me. Who bullied my pipsqueak?"

You sniffled. Seeing him like that was a genuinely unexpected blessing. Of course, your spirit was also much lifted. You said:

"Who would dare to bully me? I just... wanted to eat ice cream. But how did you find me?"

"I received a call from Tara. She updated me on what occurred at work and then mentioned she could no longer contact you. She was concerned about something happening to you and asked me to reach out to you."

"Then… why did you come here instead of giving me a call?"

Caleb lightly squeezed your cheek. "If I called, you'd act as if nothing happened, right? You always go here for a box of ice cream when you're feeling low. That habit has not changed."

You had to confess that Caleb knew you too well. When you were depressed and didn't want to do anything else, he went out and bought you a box of ice cream from this store. He also said that as long as you had it, you would become happier. Since then, the ice cream here had served as your spiritual comfort whenever you started to feel down.

Caleb closed the ice cream box and held it in his free hand. He stood up and extended another hand towards you, saying:

"Let's go home."

You felt instantly at ease. When Caleb helped you up, you grabbed his hand and leaped into his arms, hugging him by the neck hard. Perhaps as long as you had him, it did not matter anymore if the entire world turned against you.

Banner photos from Ghibli and screenshots by LittleBunnyCC

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imxnotxhere · 10 months

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Azriel Fic Recs

** Updated 03/07/2024 **

A collection of amazing fics I think everyone should read. Also an appreciation for the writers that carry this fandom on their back.

One Shots:

@azrielhours

soft spot - smut, fluff - "Azriel is very particular about his lovers; typically hard-hearted women chosen so they don’t develop an emotional attachment. Reader is one of these lovers, except she’s the sweetest and cheeriest on his roster. This causes Az to begin breaking his rules about intimacy, especially when she unwittingly ends up at his home for work one evening and spends the night."

take care - fluff - "There Was only One Bed trope, reader and Az stay at an Inn overnight, they take care of each other."

i want you to rest - fluff - 10/10 comfort fic - "Reader has a nightmare while on a mission w the boys. Azriel comes to the rescue, brings her to his room to comfort her. She doesn’t want to sleep so he stays with her through the night."

lessons on relief - smut - "Azriel is the last of the boys to lose his virginity"

tight enough - fluff - "Reader needs help tightening her corset and no one's around to help but Azriel."

captured - fluff - "The camera has been invented and Azriel takes up a hobby of capturing reader, proving how pretty she can be."

@tadpolesonalgae

unchained - smut

stockholm syndrome - smut, dark!az - please check the warnings before reading!

birthday girl - fluff

dreamy - smut

@azsazz

the caress of murder and moonlight - smut, rhys x azriel x reader - "Rhysand and Azriel are having a secret meeting out in the woods. Upon hearing your scream, the race to save you, and you thank them in the only way you know how."

after hours - smut, modern au, office au - "You and Az work in the same office and you've been crushing on each other for quite some time. Late at the office one night, he decides to do something about it."

body and soul - vamp!az au, smut - recommend checking the other parts

dirty work - smut

leisurely - fluff

@azrielbrainrot

i'll be here - fluff - "You feel a little out of place at a celebration in the House of Wind and a certain Shadowsinger comes to the rescue."

such a perfect place to start - fluff - "Something happens that has you questioning the nature of your relationship with the shadowsinger."

maybe we could be the start of something - fluff, modern au, band au - Your friends invite you to a bar and you could never imagine who you'd meet there."

darling i'd wait for you even if you didn't ask me to - fluff, modern au, band au - "You have a really bad day and Azriel is there to help you through it."

you take me higher - smut - "What happens when you run into Azriel at a bar after a long mission?"

loose lips and big feelings - fluff - "Azriel gets a little drunk and you take care of him."

the right time - fluff - "Azriel wakes up with a massive hangover and the girl of his dreams sitting in his kitchen."

when prayers fall on deaf ears - angst - "For the first time in his life, Azriel is not ready to accept death."

all over my skin - smut - "You find yourself in an empty room between the High Lord and the Shadowsinger."

sweet somethings - fluff - "You help Azriel put on a necklace and almost get lost in his eyes."

@serpentandlily

no going back- angst - "Azriel has been your mate, your husband, your love for centuries. But a certain Archeron sister has him questioning your relationship after all this time. You soon find out that there are simply things that can not be unsaid or undone. And sometimes, there are things you can’t come back from."

the shadowsinger's secret - "After years spent trying to befriend the shadowsinger to no avail, you are finally ready to give up after accidentally overhearing him speak poorly of you. But when a gossip session exposes a life-changing secret, you realize you can’t let go of Azriel just yet."

birds of a feather - angst - "Azriel had been your closest friend, made from the very same things as you—birds of a feather, as they say. But you were not the girl he chose to fall in love with. So all you could do was love your mate in the shadows until the day you died."

we should stick together - angst - "Azriel deals with the aftermath of losing his mate."

@illyrianbitch

death and his reaper - angst - "After suffering a devastating injury in battle, Azriel finds himself on the brink of life and death where he meets you, The Mother's reaper."

winner - "You and Azriel are both sore losers. But when you cheat in a game of cards, winning takes on a whole new meaning."

@fever-fluff

take my hand - angst, fluff - "Azriel really wants to hold your hand, but he's afraid that he'll hold it too tight."

@florencemtrash

he feels safe with you - "Azriel's sleeping habits begin to worry you, but after a conversation with Cassian, you realize you've misinterpreted the entire situation."

@utterlyazriel

let me keep you company - "You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect."

@prythianpages

i've been waiting for you - "Azriel finally meets the one he's been longing for. His mate."

be safe - fluff - "You are on your way to Day Court when Azriel stops you. After the two of you fall victim to Cassian's and Mor's teasing, Azriel realizes why he can't just let you go."

@leafsandstarlight

forced revelations - fluff - "While on a mission with Azriel, reader is tricked by a creature into revealing that her feelings for the Shadowsinger go beyond mere friendship."

bad idea, right? - smut - "You stopped sleeping together months ago, but when Azriel invites you back to his place after seeing you at Rita's you just know you're going to fall right back into his bed."

@writingcroissant

just a little crush - fluff - "Everyone secretly longs for Azriel, but Azriel only longs for her."

hands - smut - "Azriel has really nice hands. And he knows how to use them, too."

@safetypinxtales

lonely with you - angst, fluff - "it seems like everyone's found their mates, except you. On a sleepless night you turn to your friend, in hopes that being alone, together, will feel slightly less lonely."

@acourtofmenandthirst

love you in the dark - angst (really heavy on the angst)

@milswrites

somewhere only we know - angst - "Azriel comes to visit you for the first time in a while."

sweetened dreams - smut - "Having access to the people of Velaris' dreams was a gift you did not take for granted. Having access to your mate's heated dreams? Absolutely delicious."

@azrielscrown

innocence - smut, fluff

@gothicbabydollz

azriel x archeron!sister!reader - smut

@honeybeefae

desperate times - smut - "While tending to Elain's garden you come across a mysterious flower with an even more mysterious pollen. As the effects of it start to hit you, you have to fend for yourself to get the edge off...or do you?"

@writingsbychlo

be yours - fluff - "you ask azriel how it's possible he's still single."

@lalacliffthorne

idiot - smut - "a fight gets out of hand, and suddenly, everything´s turned upside down"

Series:

@azsazz

cupid's chokehold - fluff, angst - this is such an interesting concept - "You are a Cupid, a nearly extinct creature of Prythian. When you get caught trying to shoot Elain with your arrow, well, it's a little hard to explain what you're trying to do."

@illyrianbitch

an education in malice - smut - "With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin."

@azrielbrainrot

moonlit shadows - "When tasked to find the once famed Temple of the Moon Goddess, Azriel only expected to find old, forgotten ruins if anything at all. He could have never imagined that not only would he find a temple but also someone who would change his life forever."

@pellucid-constellations

i laugh like me again, she laughs like you - angst - "Azriel would give anything to hold you one more time."

of oblivious minds - fluff - "You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore."

@utterlyazriel

how long have i searched for you? an eternity my love - fluff - "azriel finds his mate in the most inopportune time and he convinces himself you haven't sought him out for good reason. he couldn't be more wrong."

@tadpolesonalgae

i can't bring myself to hate you - angst, smut (only one chapter for now at least) - this fic is my roman empire, literally obsessed with this. prepare for the pain and to kind of want to hit azriel over the head

eat you up - smut, dark!az - please check the warnings at the beginning! if you're ever in a mood for dark!az this is the perfect remedy (stockholm syndrome is a sort of epilogue? for this)

teeth and talons - smut, demon!az - "you’re accused of witchcraft and sacrificed to the shadow creatures, only to be saved by their ruler who’s suspiciously in sudden need of a bride…"

@leafsandstarlight

inadvertently yours - "As Eris Vanserra’s most trusted spy, you‘ve found yourself spending a surprising amount of time with the Night Court’s Spymaster. When your rendezvous with Azriel is discovered by High Lord Beron, the only way to protect the alliance is to pretend that you and Azriel are madly in love."

annual visit - fluff, smut - human reader, modern(?) au - "Each year on Halloween, Azriel visits the mortal lands with his friends to partake in the human debauchery that occurs. When he meets reader at a local bar, he can't take his eyes off her no matter how hard he tries."

@acourtofwhatthefuck

bluebird - fluff, angst

studious part 2 - smut

@lalacliffthorne

bat boys roommates - fluff, modern roommates au

Drabbles:

@gothicbabydollz

az spitting in your mouth - smut

@princess-tulip-writes

az pleasuring his mate with truthteller - smut

@fieldofdaisiies

azriel... - fluff, smut

azriel's hands - fluff, smut

@grandlinedreams

drabble - fluff, suggestive

#azriel x reader #azriel smut #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel fic rec #azriel #acotar

2K notes · View notes

sqtorux · 3 months

Note

omlllll i loved your kinky smau, if you still do fics can i request one that happens after sukuna says he’s gonna show us shibari? the idea of that from the smau just has be biting my fist oml, i absolutely love your smaus 😫😫😫

summary: after knowing your desire to be tied up, sukuna teaches you the art of shibari — a practice he loved since centuries ago.

desc: fem!reader, true form sukuna, cocky!sukuna smh, oral (both), p in v, dacryphilia if u squint, petnames, 1.3k words... somebody needs a lobotomy. spin off from this smau.

a/n: yes i do write written fics too!! just havent got much reqs for them. been wilding lately with nsfw content so thankyou for giving me the opportunity to write a full blown smut lmao.

you always knew you were bonded with sukuna in more ways than one. many centuries past could not keep the both of your souls apart. heck even the red string of fate theory seemed viable when it comes to him and you.

although as of the moment, the strings of the rope holding you together were very much physical and materialising. you kneel before your king with your hands tied behind your back firmly, staring at him through glossy eyes.

“p-please” your lips quiver, feeling the throbbing between your thighs yet you were unable to do anything since you were bound in place. sukuna only smirks at your distress.

“i told you i’ll show you how this works didn't i?” his gruff voice makes your cunt react, so ready for him.

he looms over you, gently caressing your face down to your neck and stopping abruptly on your exposed chest to admire you. you whimper when you felt his touch, so starved and desperate for him but he's not giving you anything yet.

his hand trails down your hips in feather light touches and hovers on your inner thighs sending goosebumps all over your body. you bust yourself up so that his hands land on your aching pussy but no, sukuna pulls his hand away swiftly.

“tsk so desperate f'me. aren't you such a lil slut” he looks at you in distaste making you gasp. “n-no ‘m a good girl” you sob pathetically.

“is that so? then be patient. good girls will do what they are told hmm?” he whispers against your ear, even the slightest warmth from him drove you insane but you said yourself that you were a good girl, so you could only nod at his words.

he smirks in approval and moves to drag down the soft fabric of his kimono. your mouth flies open at the sight– not one but two gigantic cocks springing out in front of your very eyes. your pussy clenches at nothing just by the thought of them being rammed inside you mercilessly.

you let out an involuntary whine which sukuna did not fail to notice. “lets quench your thirsty lil throat first how bout that?” his hand holds the back of your head steadily to put you in the perfect position to suck him off. one of him at least.

you waste no time to lick the precum that was oozing from his shaft. you felt powerful when you hear him grunt despite being unable to move any part of your body. you gave him another lick and he hisses in annoyance.

“open wide” you obey as he shoves his whole length into your throat mercilessly. his black painted fingers ran through your hair, fisting a handful of them and bobbing your head against his erection. tears well up in your eyes but you do your best to graze his length with your tongue taking care not to use your teeth.

“taking me s’well” sukuna practically growls as he stares down at you, brows furrowing in pleasure and fascination with how his dick moves in and out of your mouth.

a pool of drool runs from your mouth all the way to your jaw and the end of your chin, sukuna marvels at the lovely sight. the ropes securely tying your wrists together were now burning hot against your skin, aching to be freed so that your hands can roam somewhere, anywhere.

your stomach tightens as you feel your own pussy leaking, making you whine. the vibrations made all four of sukuna's eyes roll back in pleasure “m’close” his hand bobs your head harsher, his thrust becoming faster and deeper making you gag.

sukuna shudders, shooting his load into your mouth filthily “good girls swallow” and you do just that, savoring every drop of the sweet, salty and bitter warm liquid that went down your throat.

dating someone with super powers, or in his words a cursed technique, was fascinating because before you could even catch a breath, the ropes holding your wrists in place were slashed off magically and precisely.

your hands instinctively make their way to your throbbing wet pussy but sukuna's faster than you. he always is. “did i tell you you could touch yourself?”

you could only whine as your pussy screams in need for something to clench on. sukuna spreads you on your back and brings out another set of ropes to tie each of your wrists together with your thighs. his skillful hands work through the ropes, handling the knots with ease.

he was mockingly slow with his actions on purpose, ignoring your whiny pleas. “kuna..” your voice was small, so meek it made both his cocks twich. even the one you had just finished sucking off merely a few seconds ago.

he admires his craft — you, spawled open lewdly in front of him, exposed for him to see. painfully slowly he rubs on your sticky pussy, your back arching up for more contact.

sukuna chuckles at how desperate you were and decides to indulge you this time since you've been so good to him. he shoves his fingers into your entrance as you let out a yelp, squirming against his hand for more friction.

your thighs want to close themselves but the ropes prevent them from doing so. one thing about sukuna, he has more features than your normal person — two cocks, four eyes, and a mouth that could appear on any part of his body; and he knows just how to use each and every one of them to his advantage.

a slimy warm tongue licks your clit as his fingers demolish your g-spot dragging out screams of pleasure from your pretty little mouth. you writhe, unable to move as the ropes drag against your skin, your stomach forming knots upon knots.

“s’kuna!!!” you exclaimed as you chase your high mewling out incoherent sentences accompanying pants and gasps with every lick and thrust of his fingers.

“mhm come f’me little one” at his reassuring tone, the knots in your stomach become undone with your own cum dripping out from your pussy. sukuna's mouth on his hand licks you clean as you gasp for air.

oh but he wasn't done with you. not even halfway.

he fists his untouched cock coating all of his length in his precum, pointing it at your entrance. before you could even register anything else, he shoves it inside you and starts thrusting in and out.

“this is what you wanted isn't it?” sukuna growls as your cunt sucks him in, clenching hard on his length. “s’ fkin tight-” he rams into you, his pace never faltering and only increasing more and more and more.

you want to dig your nails into his back, wrap your legs around him, pull him closer but alas, the straps of jute prevent you to act on your desires. the only thing you could do was continue to let your hole get abused, forcing out small exhales of ah ah ah!s from your lungs.

“k-kuna m'close!!” you wail, tears falling from your eyes down to the side of your cheeks. your lips part and your mouth forms a pretty o. sukuna loves your fucked out cockdrunk face and makes a mental note to frame it the next chance he gets.

“nghh p-please…” you moan out, you're pretty sure the ropes on your wrist tied to your thighs would leave marks with how much you strained your skin against them but that's the least of your concerns right now.

“yeah?? then come f’me. come f’your king” his voice was raspy, his own oragasm drawing near.

a few more frantic trusts and white hot pleasure runs through your veins, blurring your vision as you feel him dumping his load inside you, mixing with the slimy ones of your own. it leaks from your hole, too much to be stuffed, overpouring onto the sheets.

you pant in exhaustion but sukuna was far from worn out. if anything he wonders how more fucked up you will be when he stuffs both his cocks into all your holes at the same time.

maybe he'll even try taking things further with the ropes and elevate you to fuck you mid-air. since you're so good to him, you'll take it, right?

694 notes · View notes

sansaorgana · 2 months

Text

— BEDROOM HYMNS

PAIRING — Ser Gwayne Hightower x fem!Reader // Queen Alicent Hightower x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — Your sister-in-law wishes for you to become one of her ladies-in-waiting but you become so much more. Things complicate when your husband comes to visit.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The title is from Florence + The Machine song. Alicent is a lesbian in this fic but she's also very conflicted about it. Reader is 100% bisexual. I wanted to write this fic for some time now because I have a crush on Alicent ever since Season One so yeah... Here we go... 😩😈

WARNINGS — cheating, homosexuality seen as something *wrong* (by Alicent), mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut – tiiiiny bit in the beginning)

WORD COUNT — 6,240

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

BEDROOM HYMNS

You moved away from between her trembling legs after a cry of pleasure muffled by her own hand that she had covered her mouth with. Alicent’s juices were dripping down your chin when you smirked at her and looked up to meet her big brown eyes. Those soft big brown eyes that you adored more than anything. You had always adored them. So full of sadness and softness and you had never wanted anything but to make her feel better.

“Have I pleased you?” You asked while peppering her soft inner thighs with your kisses although you knew the answer already. Her husband had no idea how to please her.

The Queen only nodded and looked away. Poor Alicent – she always felt bad and guilty after the peak had already been reached. The sudden realisation of her sin was soul-crushing but the tension and desire had been too great to ignore them. She deserved the relief and you did not see anything bad about it.

“How many times do we have to do this?” You sighed and lied next to her in her bed. Your fingertips caressed her sides and your lips attached themselves to the crook of her neck, smelling all the scented oils in her hair. She was The Queen of the Realm and she was pampered like no other Lady. “There is no shame in this.”

“There is a sin,” Alicent turned her head around to finally meet your gaze. She raised her hand to nervously play with the seven-pointed star pendant on her sweaty chest.

“Why?” You bit on your lip and caressed her auburn locks out of her face.

“It is betrayal,” she frowned as if she was getting frustrated with your lack of understanding.

“It would have been if you lied with a man,” you explained and kissed her cheek before laying on your back and staring at the ceiling.

“I should find your vague idea of morality perplexing,” Alicent pointed out and you couldn’t help but chuckle at her confession.

“But you do not and thank Gods for that,” you rolled your eyes with a smirk.

A silence occurred as Alicent kept playing nervously with the pendant between her fingers and you were staring at the ceiling and counting all the cracks.

“What kind of husband is my brother?” She asked suddenly and you turned your head around to look at her again.

“A good one,” you admitted, feeling nearly guilty for that because you knew why she was asking – her husband was not good. Not to her and not to her children.

“Why are you doing this then?” Alicent asked.

It was obvious why her brother was on her mind now. He would arrive at King's Landing any day now. You couldn’t wait to see Gwayne again after a few months of being apart and you only wished he had taken your son with him but he could not. Robyn was the eldest son and he was supposed to stay in Oldtown. He had just become a squire and leaving his knight for a few long weeks would not be advised, therefore you had to go on missing your boy. Day after day as if he was a burning hole in your chest. Mothers would always miss their sons, you assumed.

“To kill the time,” you shrugged your arms, not wanting to reveal how much Alicent meant to you and for how long. “And to help you. You are my friend and I love you,” you confessed.

Alicent always loved Princess Rhaenyra more. Your father was a Master of Coin in King Viserys’ Small Council and you were growing up together – three girls running around happily. Or rather – two girls following the Princess like two overjoyed puppies. Rhaenyra was the centre of everything for you and not only because she was the Princess but also because she meant everything to Alicent. No matter how much effort you were putting into making Alicent like you more, you were destined to fail for she always was choosing Rhaenyra over you.

It made you grow bitter towards The Princess but never towards Alicent. You were blaming yourself – you had to become more and try harder perhaps and maybe then you’d earn more than just leftover crumbs of her love and friendship.

You couldn’t understand your feelings back then – why was the attraction so strong, what was making you feel so attached to the young Hightower Lady. You were the same age and yet everything she said was like a command to you. Wherever she went, you followed. Even when you felt like a burden because she so clearly would rather be left alone with Rhaenyra. But Rhaenyra never minded your presence because to her you were only a pawn on the board, an ornament, an addition of no importance. So, you often witnessed the two girls laughing together, whispering, exchanging small gestures of affection. You were only watching. Observing as your heart ached.

During The Heir's Tournament you met Ser Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s older brother. He was young then, eager to show off his abilities and make his family proud. Perhaps he did not have his sister’s big brown eyes but he had the auburn hair you loved so much about her and he had her softness about him. You were enamoured with him in no time and when he approached the royal box to greet his sister – he caught your eye and you caught his and for that moment when your eyes met, you felt butterflies all over your body.

Ser Gwayne Hightower received your favour on that day and the sparkles of joy in your eyes while you were throwing the wreath at him were very obvious to your father and to his as well. You could not know that then but they exchanged meaningful looks for a short moment.

Even though Gwayne lost the duel with Prince Daemon Targaryen, he did not lose your affection. In fact, witnessing him nearly winning and losing only because Prince Daemon chose to play dirty – it only solidified your feelings. Ser Gwayne was a righteous man, a chivalrous knight and a brave one, too. It took lots of courage to face Prince Daemon Targaryen himself.

Gwayne was carried away with his face covered in blood and dirt while his mind was filled with thoughts of you – of losing your favour and your interest. However, you hurried to his side right after the tournament ended to make sure he was fine. And at the sight of you – he truly was fine again.

You were only ten and five but you knew already that Ser Gwayne was the only man you could see yourself being married off to. Thankfully, your father saw that, too. Two years later you were sent to Oldtown and for the whole time in between you were exchanging letters. When Alicent was married off to King Viserys shortly after his wife’s death, you still felt bitter but not as much as you could because you mostly felt excited about your own upcoming wedding.

However, the sadness and anxiety on Alicent’s face on her wedding day were a sight you would never forget.

Years and years of the happy marriage had passed and you were still in touch with your sister-in-law because of the letters you were exchanging and her son that you and Gwayne were raising in Oldtown – Prince Daeron Targaryen. But other than that, you had your own life now to live, your own duties, your own offspring and Alicent was simply not occupying your mind as much as in your adolescent years.

You were aware of King Viserys’ health getting worse and worse as Alicent was ruling the Kingdom in his name. The burden of responsibility was heavy and her marriage was getting more and more difficult. You couldn’t say the same of your own union – you loved Gwayne and he loved you. Just like every married couple you had your misunderstandings and disagreements but you were grateful for him every day of your life and you knew well that he felt the same towards you.

It was after breakfast on one of those days that seemed to be pretty typical in the morning and then they turned out to be life-changing for a person. Without a warning and without an ominous feeling deep in one’s gut, they just happened and changed lives.

A letter came to you from Queen Alicent and you expected nothing of great importance in it so you put it below the pile of letters you had to respond to this morning. You sat by your desk and dipped the feather in the black ink as you started to perform one of your duties as Lady Hightower, helping your husband to run Oldtown in his father’s name.

Letter after letter, until finally you were left with the last one. You opened it with a small yawn, which turned into a frown after reading Alicent’s plea and request.

“What is it?” Gwayne entered your chambers this very moment but his smile dropped at the sight of your face.

You folded the letter suddenly as if it was a secret or something dirty but it only increased your husband’s curiosity as he approached the table and raised an eyebrow at you.

“What is it?” He repeated the question and you pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to find the right words.

“It is from your sister,” you replied and looked up to meet his confused gaze. He knew about your friendship and for you to react this way at one of Alicent’s letters was simply unusual.

“Is he dead?” Was all Gwayne asked.

“No, Gods, no,” you shook your head and took a deep breath in. “Not yet,” you added.

“What is it then?” Gwayne lifted your chin up gently to make sure your eyes would still be on his. You swallowed a lump in your throat and finally decided to tell him what his sister had requested.

“Queen Alicent wishes for me to become one of her ladies-in-waiting,” you revealed and Gwayne’s confusion only grew. “She feels lonely in King’s Landing, she needs a friend by her side. Somebody she can trust.”

“It is out of the question,” Gwayne took the folded paper from your hands and read the letter himself, still standing above you as you nervously fidgeted with your fingers.

Your own feelings were chaotic at that moment. Something in your heart wanted to run to King’s Landing at this very moment because Alicent needed you and because you wanted to make her life easier and make her happy. You had always wanted nothing but her happiness.

But you had your own duties in Oldtown and you had your husband here and your children. You could not just leave like that, could you? Especially when Oldtown was so far away from King’s Landing.

“It is out of the question,” Gwayne said again and threw the letter on your desk. “Reply to her that your Lord Husband does not agree.”

“She is your sister,” you looked up at him, pleadingly.

“Yes and I have nothing but love for her in my heart but her request is selfish,” he clenched his jaw as he looked you up and down, visibly surprised that you were not agreeing with him on this. “Why does she want to take you away from me? You are my wife.”

“Your wife – not your property,” you reminded him.

“That is debatable,” Gwayne huffed and looked away but before you could scold him, he continued with more. “Living in a different city, different castle, so far away from me… Will you still be my wife?” He turned his head around in an attempt to try to read your emotions.

“I will forever be your wife,” you stood up and took his hand into yours before placing it on your chest where your heart was. “But she needs me, Gwayne. She’s all alone there with no one by her side.”

“Father is with her,” Gwayne interrupted you. “He always favoured Alicent.”

“You do know that being favoured by him is a burden, not a prize,” you reminded. “Please, let me go. For some time at least. Until The King dies. It should not be for long and I’ll take the girls with me,” you tried to convince him as your fingers caressed his hand on your chest. “Please,” you whispered, looking up deep into his eyes.

After a long moment of silence and hesitation, your husband nodded his head reluctantly.

A few months later, you found yourself standing in the courtyard of The Red Keep, awaiting your husband’s arrival. He had a business to deal with in The Crownlands and he wanted to spend a few days with his family, too. You were caressing the creases on your dress with your hands and your teenage daughter Margaery was fixing her younger sister’s hairdo. Little Wyllow had been missing her father the most and she couldn’t wait for his arrival. In fact, she had made you and Margaery wait there since early morning and at this point you were exhausted already but you didn’t complain since you couldn’t wait to see Gwayne again either.

Even though it also felt a little weird and awkward since your mind was being flooded with memories of his sister’s body tangled with yours underneath her royal silk sheets. Her plump lips parted and soft moans escaping them, her beautiful big brown eyes hazy and filled with tears of shame and pleasure…

You were trying to shake those thoughts and images off of your head when you were interrupted by the sound of the horses approaching the gate.

“Father!” Wyllow nearly ran straight under the horse if she was not stopped by Margaery.

Your older daughter gave you a scolding look and she was right to do so because it was your duty to watch over your children, meanwhile you were distracted by the memories of dirty acts instead.

When you watched Gwayne jumping off of the horse, your heart clenched in your chest at the sight of him and you suddenly realised why Alicent was so filled with shame and guilt because now you felt them, too.

His handsome face, his eyes sparkling at the sight of you, his auburn hair reflecting in the sun… He truly was the man you loved. You just couldn’t help the fact you loved his sister, too.

“Father!” Wyllow finally was free to run into his arms and he crouched down to hug her and kiss her forehead.

“I am so happy to see you, little bird,” Gwayne cupped his daughter’s cheeks and she giggled.

He straightened himself but Wyllow clinged to his left hand so he used his right one to caress Margaery’s face lovingly.

“You’re growing fast, my love,” he pointed out.

“I am trying my best, Lord Father,” Margaery nodded her head with a smile and then she took a step back to get out of the way and let him greet you.

“Lord Husband,” you gave him a nervous and soft smile. Gwayne tilted his head a little and your heart skipped a beat. He was a very observant man but there was nothing that would give you away, right? What could it be?

“Lady Wife,” he smiled at you and took two steps ahead to be able to kiss the palm of your hand. Whatever he had noticed, he pretended it was nothing. At least for now.

“You must be exhausted,” you pointed out. “The chambers have been already prepared for you and I’m going to tell the maids to fix you a bath.”

“Does it mean we are not sharing the same chambers during my stay here?” Gwayne raised an eyebrow at you.

Margaery cleared her throat and she took Wyllow by her free hand.

“Shall we go inside now? Let our Lady Mother greet Lord Father properly,” she dragged her protesting sister behind her.

“She is becoming a fine Lady,” you chuckled awkwardly. “I can’t help feeling that the air and water in King’s Landing are making her grow up faster. Perhaps she is spending too much time with women older than her,” you explained, clasping your hands in front of yourself as if you had no idea what to do with them. “Come with me, I am sure you want to greet your father and sister, too.”

“I do,” Gwayne followed you inside while some of the men he had taken with him were taking care of his luggage with the help of The Red Keep’s servants. “You still haven’t answered my question about the chambers,” he pointed out when you were in the staircase together.

“My darling,” you turned around abruptly, making him stop his walk. “Your chambers are close to mine, please do not get cross with me. Those past few months I have learnt to love my solitude,” you explained and Gwayne tilted his head again but he only nodded.

“Let it be then,” he only said.

With each one of your husband’s kisses and each one of his touches, each one of your reached peaks and cries of pleasure, you felt more and more purified of sin as if his body was washing away Alicent’s smell off of you. After months of not laying together, you were lost in each other for hours with caring very little about getting any sleep. You were watching the sun rise behind the window when you were too exhausted to go on as you were laying on Gwayne’s chest, drawing circles there with your fingers and his hand was playing with your hair, gently massaging your scalp.

“Have you been faithful to me?” You asked casually and you could feel his muscles tensing under you.

You had no right to ask that – but he did not know of it.

“I have,” he answered. “Of course I have.”

“And if I say that the whores count, too?” You looked up playfully.

“I have been faithful to my Lady Wife,” Gwayne shook his head and you spotted a slight irritation on his face. He did not like it when his honour was being questioned – he was a knight, after all. “Why do you ask? Have you not been faithful to me?”

A shiver went down your spine at his chilling accusation.

“How can you ask me that?” You gasped.

“You have accused me first.”

“Because you are a man,” you reminded him.

“I am. And I know what men are like,” Gwayne nodded his head. “They must all be following you around – a beautiful Lady far away from her husband is like an invitation,” he finally cracked a smile, revealing that he was only jesting.

“I do not want any man but you,” you assured him as the tension left your body because you did not have to lie about it.

“That is good to know, my love,” Gwayne kissed the top of your head. “You had me worried with your cold greeting and not letting me into your chambers.”

“Are you not in my chambers now, Lord Husband?” You teased him and placed a kiss on his chest where his heart was. “And if my greeting was cold, then I owe you an apology. I spend too much time around your sister and her husband and I keep forgetting that some marriages are happy. That mine is…” You wanted to look up to meet his gaze but you couldn’t as something inside of you was stopping you.

“That is a shame,” Gwayne only said.

“It is, darling, but you are here now to remind me.”

You were sitting in the same chambers as Alicent, embroidering side by side and even though you were using no words, you found each other’s company comforting. Your arms were brushing as you both were focused on creating beautiful patterns on the same piece of fabric to make the work faster. It was supposed to be a beautiful green blanket with embroidered little dragons.

Princess Helaena was sitting nearby and embroidering spiders on her own piece of fabric. Her cousin, Lady Margaery Hightower was sitting next to her and teaching her younger sister the craft. It was peaceful, cosy and quiet – you loved those moments the most because it was nearly as if Alicent was your own Lady Wife and you were just enjoying the time spent together with your family, far away from all those loud and obnoxious men surrounding you everywhere. These chambers were your escape and your own queendom.

When the doors opened, everyone except for Helaena looked up with a slight irritation since the man entering this sanctuary was nothing but an intruder. Even if the man was Ser Gwayne Hightower, who was loved by every person inside the chambers.

He cleared his throat when you gave him a soft smile, your arm still brushing Alicent’s and you were sitting in a way that made sure you were facing each other. You had never thought about it before but it was quite intimate indeed. Your husband’s tilted head made you realise that he had just observed something and after a short while you understood what it was as you moved away slightly.

“Brother,” Alicent greeted him.

“Lord Husband,” you nodded at him.

“Forgive me for interrupting. I would like to take Margaery for a walk around the gardens,” he extended his hand towards his older daughter as Wyllow looked up at him with pleading eyes. “It must be Margaery alone this time but I promise you, little bird, I am going to take you for a walk later, too. Perhaps we’ll walk to the bay and watch the ships,” he assured her and she sighed with relief.

“You can finish without my help now, I believe,” Margaery handed the fabric to her younger sister. “Do try, at least. If you face any challenges, Lady Mother or Helaena shall help you.”

Helaena looked up when her name was mentioned and she gave Wyllow a soft smile that encouraged her little cousin to keep going. When Margaery stood up and left the sofa, Wyllow moved closer to Helaena and The Princess did not seem to mind.

“Can you help me with the ladybug?” She asked and Helaena’s face lit up at that.

“Lord Father,” Margaery took Gwayne by his arm and bowed her head at you and Alicent before walking out of the chambers with her father.

“I am wondering what is the matter my Lord Husband wishes to discuss with Margaery,” you hummed to yourself.

“She is ten and five now,” Queen Alicent pointed out. “What is the only possible matter that fathers wish to discuss with their daughters at that age?”

You furrowed your brows at her words because she was right and you did not like the sound of that. It was a shame that she was right, too, and not only for your own daughter but for every woman in this Realm.

You saw Gwayne again before dinner, on your way to the dining hall. He was walking down the stairs and you rushed to him to walk by his side. He offered you his arm and you took it.

“I have a question for you, Lord Husband,” you started, nearly aggressively and he raised his eyebrows at that fierceness.

“What is it, my love?”

“Are you planning to marry our sweet Margaery off so quickly? I do not wish for her to get wed too soon,” you told him, hoping he would understand your point of view because sadly, in the end, the decision was his to make for women had always been properties of men – once her father’s, then her husband’s.

Sometimes you wished you had become a septa.

“Not soon, no. But she is ten and five. That was the age you were in when we met,” Gwayne reminded you with a smile.

“Yes, indeed, my darling, but it was us both meeting and falling in love. That is different, you must admit,” you pursed your lips.

“I must, indeed. Do not worry, I am not willing to force anything upon our sweet daughter. I have only told her to start looking around for suitable matches… soon,” your husband explained. “I am sure King’s Landing is full of important young men.”

“I do not wish for her to get married here. This place is rotten and so are its people,” you sighed. “My greatest wish is for Margaery to marry a man from The Reach.”

“We all have wishes, my darling wife,” Gwayne’s answer was nearly mocking but he spotted your annoyance so he looked around to make sure you were not being seen before pulling you by your waist and pushing you against the wall to steal a kiss from your lips. “Gods, I missed this,” he whispered and you felt your cheeks heating up.

“Gwayne!” You scolded him playfully. “I missed this, too,” you added and caressed his cheek with your fingers.

But his smile dropped and eyes became serious all of the sudden. You stayed like that in a short moment of silence before he dropped the question that turned your guts inside out:

“What is the nature of your relationship with my sister?”

You were taken aback by his question and you moved your hand away from his face before taking a deep breath in, trying to steady your heartbeat.

“Alicent is my best friend,” you looked deep into his eyes, surprised by your own courage to lie like this…

But was it a lie? She was your friend, after all.

“There is intimacy between you two that I can only wish for between us these days,” Gwayne whispered and you bit on your lower lip.

“She is my main companion for weeks now,” you tried to explain.

“Are you still planning to come back home after The King dies?” Gwayne lowered his voice even more since talking about the monarch’s death could be seen as treason.

“Y-yes, of course,” you nodded nervously.

“Why the tremble of your voice?” Gwayne raised an eyebrow.

“What are you accusing me of?” You suddenly clenched your fists, trying to take another route of getting out of this awkward situation. “Your implications are indecent. You have been accusing me of obscenities ever since you arrived here. You wound me deeply, Lord Husband,” you straightened yourself.

“You have accused me first,” Gwayne reminded you.

“Without any reproach thrown at you. I have asked out of simple curiosity,” you informed him.

“You are right, do forgive me,” he reached for your hand to place a delicate kiss upon the palm of it. You sighed, feeling extremely guilty.

“You are forgiven,” you whispered, nearly inaudibly, because it felt wrong to be the one saying those words.

In fact, at that very moment, you promised yourself to fix everything. You promised yourself to invite Gwayne to your chambers again for the night and let his touch to purify you like on the previous night. And you would go to The Sept and you would pray the sin away, you would beg for forgiveness, you would be a better wife, perhaps you would beg Alicent to let you go back to Oldtown with your husband.

Yes, that was the plan.

In the early morning you couldn’t tell that you were well-rested. Your muscles were sore after the previous two nights and your head was hazy but you still got dressed up quickly when the sun was rising and creeping inside your chambers to shine upon Gwayne’s auburn hair. You leaned in to kiss his forehead and you left him sleeping to visit The Sept and be able to go back to The Red Keep before breakfast.

You had never been a devout but you were not a savage either. You believed in Gods and now more than ever you needed redemption.

You expected to be alone there at such an early hour but no – of course not. Queen Alicent was already there, kneeling by the stone table and lighting the candles. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in. She was your greatest temptation and it was a cruel joke that the Gods had played on you to put her there at this time when you visited The Sept to pray her very own self away from your life.

Alicent looked up, surprised to see you. Her soft features were as sad as usual but at the sight of you she seemed to be a bit happier – relieved, in a way. Your heart clenched inside your chest. How could you ever want to leave her? You couldn’t. She was too dependent on you. Her happiness was and so was her sanity. Leaving her would be equal to killing her.

“I have not expected you in The Sept at such an early hour,” she commented as you kneeled next to her.

“I have not expected myself here either,” you smirked. “I came here to ask for forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness? Aren’t you always the one telling me that what we do is no sin?” Alicent furrowed her brows.

“I have lied to my husband. That is a sin,” you confessed and Alicent did not say anything to this. “I… I will have to go back to Oldtown, I think… I can’t… I can’t go on like this,” you looked down and Alicent remained silent but you didn’t have to look at her to know her big brown eyes were filled with tears. “I miss my son and I miss Oldtown… King’s Landing is corrupt and I do not wish for my daughters to grow up here. I… I miss Gwayne, too. I love him, I love him, I love him…”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Sudden, harsh question made you look up to meet her teary gaze.

“I’ve been loving him ever since I saw him during the tournament. You were there, sitting by my side,” you reminded her.

“You love him because he is my brother but your life has always revolved around me,” Alicent pointed out and you felt your cheeks heating up.

“You… You knew?” You only asked.

“I was blind to choose Rhaenyra because she was never for me to reach. She was The Princess and you were equal to me, so devoted. Blindly, very often. I took you for a fool and only after losing you, I realised. When you were sent to Oldtown, I suddenly understood that my only friend had left my side,” Alicent explained. “My only friend and the only person who has ever… Who has ever loved me – except for my mother.”

“Gwayne loves you, too,” you pointed out.

“Does he? He took you away from me,” Alicent’s jaw clenched and your eyes widened. She was not being rational but you knew why – she was scared of losing you again. In fact, she was determined to make you stay by her side.

“You will not let me leave, will you?” You whispered.

Alicent opened her mouth to say something but then her face softened and she stood up rapidly to walk away.

“I am sorry… I do not wish to… Act like this… I do not recognise myself,” she admitted with her voice full of shame. She raised her hands up to her mouth as she nervously bit on the soft skin around her fingernails.

You didn’t answer because you were too lost in your own thoughts. Was she right again? About you loving Gwayne only because he was her brother? You had never thought about it before. It would mean your whole marriage was a lie, an illusion – or rather a delusion.

“When I’m with him, I don’t imagine you,” you stood up as well when the realisation hit you. “But when I’m with you, he doesn’t exist to me. It’s as if there were two of me.”

“I do not understand,” Alicent shook her head. “To me, there is only you,” she confessed and laid her eyes on you.

You didn’t know what to answer. You swallowed a lump in your throat instead.

“I am flawed, poisoned…” Alicent continued. “I can only feel this way towards other women. I felt this way towards Rhaenyra until a certain moment and then… Then my whole life was about you. I have spent hours inside this Sept, trying to pray this away,” Alicent’s silent tears streamed down her cheeks.

“I do not have such a conflict. I can love both men and women,” you told her. “I can love you and I can love Gwayne…”

“I do not wish to share you!” Alicent interrupted you and then she hid her face in her hand as she sobbed.

“Women are not their own property. I am not the one to decide if I can be shared,” you answered diplomatically.

You felt sorry for her but you also felt sorry for Gwayne that he was being betrayed behind his back by his own wife and sister – two women he loved the most except for his daughters. He would die for you both, he would kill to protect you or to defend your honours – even though none of you had an honour anymore. He was the real victim here.

But one more look at Alicent’s sad eyes was enough to break you again. You approached her to cup her face and kiss her softly. She protested in the beginning since you were inside The Sept but you didn’t give a fuck about it anymore – you would go to Seven Hells anyway.

“I shall not leave you,” you promised her.

When you came back to your chambers, Gwayne was dressing up in front of the mirror. He raised an eyebrow at you entering the room.

“Where have you been?” He asked.

“In The Sept to pray,” you answered truthfully.

“Has my sister turned you into a devout like her already?” He chuckled.

“She has a great influence on me,” you nodded and walked up to him to kiss his cheek.

“You even smell like her,” he said and your heart skipped a beat.

“I am fond of her scented oils and she allows me to use them,” you answered.

“It feels weird when I’m fucking you, I have to admit,” Gwayne chuckled awkwardly and so did you.

“You shall fuck me more then,” you pointed out quietly.

“Even more, Lady Wife?” He shook his head with another chuckle.

“Until her scent is gone,” you explained and looked out of the window.

Gwayne did not say anything to this but his smile disappeared. From the corner of your eye you saw his reflection in the mirror and you realised that he had finally understood what was going on behind his back.

After a while, which felt like forever, he cleared his throat:

“It is a putrid place indeed.”

“You must take me far away from here,” you turned around to grab his arm and your heart broke when you felt him flinch a little. “You must save my soul and take me home,” you pleaded despite the promise you had given to Alicent earlier but that promise had not been given sober. You had been intoxicated with her.

“You must come back home yourself, my love,” Gwayne smiled sadly at you and caressed your hair gently, “for I do not wish to force anything upon you. You are always kind enough to remind me that you are not my property, aren't you? And I agree,” he nodded, “this decision is for you to make.”

And you didn’t know what to say or do because there was no decision that felt right and no decision that didn’t feel wrong either. Gwayne was your duty and your sacrifice and Alicent was a self-indulgent sin but you loved them both so much that you cursed the whole Hightower bloodline for existing because your life would be so much easier without them.

You knew what Gwayne was expecting of you – he expected you to choose your duty because – just like his sister – he was all about honour and decency. But you didn’t want your husband to feel as if you were choosing him only because of your marriage vows – you wanted him to know that you cared for him, too, even though he wouldn’t believe you now.

But there was only one choice for you anyway, wasn’t it? You couldn’t just stay with Alicent and pretend that it was the right thing to do. You couldn’t abandon your family and your duties for her and she had to understand it.

You looked deep into Gwayne’s eyes and your own filled with tears at the sight of all the pain and sadness in his. You dropped your hand down from his arm to intertwine your fingers with his.

“I do not think of myself as flawed or poisoned for feeling the way I feel,” you explained to him. “But I do not wish for my nature to spoil our union. If anybody can save me, it would be you,” you whispered. A plea. A desperate cry for help. “I am a mother, I am a wife, I am Lady Hightower and my home is in Oldtown.”

Your heart, however, would forever be divided; torn and bleeding. The deep, burning hole was forever to stay there for one reason or another.

MASTERLIST

#gwayne hightower x reader #alicent hightower x reader #lilysfiction

451 notes · View notes

astraystayyh · 11 months

Text

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess : i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter i. to forget

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader.

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a car accident. mention of blood and physical wounds. depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. reader has she/her pronouns.

word count : 14.8k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me.

a.n: she's here, she's yours, i hope you'll enjoy reading one of the most challenging things I've ever wrote :') your feedback is highly appreciated <3

special thanks to @forlix for going through this journey with me, i love you thank you, seriously, you mean the world to me. and to @dorisnumber1fan for listening to my initial rants about this fic, and all the ones i ever write. i love you and appreciate you so much, more than i could explain <3

quotes series masterlist. next chapter.

Day 1.

You're floating in a dark void, save for the specks of light swirling around you. A peculiar serenity fills your being, a tranquility unlike any you’ve ever known. It’s as though your body isn’t your own; but rather an otherworldly vessel, calmly traversing the cosmos, dancing in constellations with the stars that encircle you.

A sudden electrifying warmth surges from your hand, traveling down the contours of your knuckles, melting into the lines of your palm. It pulsates within your being as if you’re holding the Earth's very core between your fingers. You stir from your ethereal orbit, longing to break apart from the celestial lights, to reunite with your body once again.

The warmth intensifies, causing your fingers to involuntarily clench. A deluge of radiance enfolds you, drawing you into a luminous hole. You squint your eyes, drinking in the light- your first breath.

Your eyes flutter open in a daze, your throat parched, rasping like sandpaper against your vocal cords. White encompasses you yet again, from the high ceilings to the pristine bed you’re lying on. It takes you a few blinks to grasp your new environment- an unfamiliar hospital room. You wearily close your eyes, hoping for the stillness to return, aching for the peace you felt within your bones mere moments ago.

But to no avail; only the tingling sensation remains.

You tilt your head, eyebrows shooting upwards as you notice a hand clasping yours. A figure lies their forehead beside your body, black disheveled locks tickling your palm.

The warmth, you understand where it comes from now.

You attempt to slip your hand out of theirs, prompting the man to awaken with a jolt, surprise dancing across his features as his gaze meets yours. Dark circles adorn his face- testimonies to days of fatigue imprinted upon every feature of his. Yet, all of it dissipates as he gazes at you, lips slightly parted, bunny teeth peeking out. His face transforms into a radiant smile, stirring a mysterious longing within your soul- it brushes against your fingertips before slipping beyond your reach.

"You're awake," he whispers in awe, and your tiredness renders you mute. You point to your throat, hoping that he'll understand what you need. "Water? Is- Is that what you want?" he asks, a touch too eager, fingers running through his hair in sheer disbelief. You nod and he rises swiftly, pouring you a glass of water and bringing it to your lips.

You sip diligently as his hand caresses the crown of your hair, the warmth now traveling to the top of your head. You feel lightheaded as if the blood in your veins has thickened, the very life in you slowed to a faint whisper. Yet, a timid relief emerges as your thirst is finally quenched.

"I'll- I'll go call the doctor," he tells you, his beaming smile unwavering. It’s too bright, everything around you is, and you feel a throbbing headache growing at your temple’s base.

It's a mere minute before the man returns, a doctor and two nurses on his trail. You float within a haze as the nurse shines a beam of light in your eyes. The response of your pupils seems to please her.

"Do you remember what happened?" the doctor inquires and you frown. You've been racking your brain for an explanation as to why you're here, but to no avail. You shake your head.

"What's your name," he proceeds, lips growing into a thin line.

"Y/n, Y/l/n," you respond, your voice sounding foreign to your ears, as though it hasn’t left the confines of your throat for ages. You miss the darkness; you want to sleep again.

"What date are we?"

Your eyebrows knit together as you try to think of an answer. "The 20th or maybe the 21st September."

"What year?"

"2022."

An eerie silence falls upon the room, a stillness resembling the one of your dreams; but it isn’t comforting, on the contrary, it fills your being with an unsettling dread, one that trickles inside you with each second spent in silence. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. You close your eyes to avoid the sorry ones of the nurse.

"We need to run you an MRI scan," the doctor finally speaks up, tone somber. "It appears you're suffering from retrograde amnesia. But we have to make sure."

It takes time for the words to permeate your consciousness, for the syllables to settle in and start to make sense. Amnesia.

What have you forgotten?

“What…” you chuckle warily, fingers reaching up to soothe your throbbing forehead. “What year is it?”

"It's the 24th of September 2023. You were in a severe car accident two days ago, a drunk truck driver rammed into your car on your way home. You have a fractured rib and extensive leg injury, but no broken bones thankfully. We'll get you to the scan shortly, okay?" he speaks easily as if announcing that you've missed the rain while asleep. As if it’s not a year’s worth of memories you’ve seemingly forgotten, erased in the span of a blink, akin to footprints on sand washed away by the waves. Nothing of importance.

"So, you don't... remember me?" a soft voice quivers, barely above a whisper, and your eyes meet those of the man who’s been at your side, temporarily forgotten in the conversation.

His question is laced with a grave fear, evident in his dilated pupils and trembling hands. A lump blooms in your throat, its thorns pricking at your voice. You aren’t sure you want to answer that question.

"I- I don't."

"Oh."

You’ve never known that a human could crumble in silence, in an imperceptible gasp, so small you almost did not hear it. A crestfallen expression materializes on his face in the span of a heartbeat, features coming together in the rawest expression of anguish you’ve ever seen. You bite your lip.

"Who- Who are you?" you implore, urgency inflecting your tone, hoping that he's no one of importance. Someone who helped you when you got into a car accident. Someone minor who you wouldn't fault your brain for forgetting.

"I was... I-I am your boyfriend. Minho," he utters his name like a broken plea, eyes slightly widening to gauge your reaction. As though those two syllables hold within them a myriad of memories, ones you simply cannot forget.

You don't remember.

The doctor was right in his diagnosis. The scan showed unusual activity within your brain, characteristic of post-traumatic amnesia. You listened numbly as he cited the precautions you should take to heal your physical wounds- to rest, not carry anything heavy, ice your lungs, and go on walks. But you did not care for the state of your body, you’ve bruised it before and it has healed in its own time. It will do it again; it is a familiar path you’ve already undergone. But what about your memory? Your mind that robbed you of a year of your life? How do you get it back?

“There is no guarantee you’d remember. There is also no treatment for amnesia. We advise that you focus on healing first. Do not strain your mind,” your doctor smiled, before leaving the room. His silver wedding band shined mockingly underneath your eye. He doesn’t know what it’s like to forget the lover awaiting you at home.

Minho dutifully sat by your side, nodding along to the doctor’s words. He signed your discharge papers and settled your bills before you could protest, and he was now pushing your wheelchair through the hospital's corridors. You didn’t know what to say to him- how do you talk to a stranger who uttered your name with love dripping between its letters?

In the hospital’s parking lot, Minho pauses, squatting before you. His eyes are puffy, red veins contrasting against the pristine whites, betraying the tears he must have shed when he excused himself to the toilet.

You suddenly want to beg for a reprieve; it is too much pain for one day, too much for one soul to bear. But it is only six p.m. and Minho's gaze holds you captive, a new emotion dancing in his brown irises- grief. He's looking at you as though you're a phantom, gone when you are still very much breathing.

“We've been together for eleven months, and we moved in together two months ago,” he licks his lips nervously. “You have a two-month medical leave, and I- I don’t want to leave you alone, while you recover. So, you can think of us as… as roommates.” The word felt heavy on his tongue, a fresh wave of tears brimming in his waterline. He swiftly blinks them away.

Your parents are in a faraway city, so is your best friend. You were the one who decided to move somewhere so far, to flee from the skeletons threatening to spill out of your closet. You don't want to burden anyone. You just want to rest.

You nod in agreement and Minho attempts to smile. It is a useless effort; one he quickly gives up. There was nothing to be joyous about.

Minho takes your hand, gently helping you to your feet. He opens the door to his car, and you settle into the passenger seat. It smells pleasant, an apple-scented diffuser dangling from the rearview mirror. Yet, as Minho closes the door, the scent suddenly suffocates you. Your lungs ignite, consuming your oxygen to douse their rising flames. You can no longer breathe inside, panic rippling in your heart violently, pushing at your ribs, begging for an escape. You open the door, collapsing to your knees as a violent coughing fit overtakes you. You blindly clutch at Minho’s arm and he tumbles to the ground with you.

The ugly sob that had been trapped within your throat finally escapes, and passersby pay you no mind. It must be usual to hear gut-wrenching cries in a hospital parking lot. But Minho seems to care, as his hands soothingly rub your back, undergoing a steadfast path from the nape of your neck down the base of your spine. He’s not panicking and his touch appears to instinctively know how to speak to your sadness, how to soothe your sorrow with unheard words.

You imagine it's not his first time comforting you, and the thought only forces another sob from the depths of your soul, as Minho pulls you up once again. He sits your shaky figure on the wheelchair, closing the car doors.

“We can walk,” he tells you gently, and despite the quietness of his voice, it manages to break through your raging storm. A singular sun ray parting the gloomy clouds.

“It’s okay, I’ll... I’ll suck it up”

"You've been through a terrible car accident, and I won't let you sit here and panic, especially when your wounds are still fresh and your mind is trying to protect you."

His tone is resolute, eyes blazing with determination as he looks at you. You can only nod in response. So, Minho pushes your wheelchair to his house. He doesn’t huff, nor complain about the autumn sun scorching his skin, the effort to push you for the entirety of the road, and then inside his building. He only smiles when his eyes meet yours in the elevator mirror.

He’s tentative as he opens the door to his apartment, hand tightly gripping the keys before turning them, as if preparing himself for a bigger heartbreak, one that lies within what was once his sanctuary- yours too, you suppose.

Minho pushes you inside, pausing near the entrance as your eyes drink in the interior. He seems to await something, perhaps for you to remember the place you’ve called home for the past months. A few seconds pass, and he clears his throat, holding your arm to guide you forward. He avoids your gaze as you both venture in.

“This is the kitchen,” he points to a small kitchenette, where a flower bouquet seems to have wilted, much like the man near you- his emotions now diluted, eyes dimmed as they glaze over the walls. You spot your favorite mug on the racks, one that resembles a fairy mushroom. The sight of it makes your heart clench in your chest. So, this is your home, after all.

You leave the kitchen and walk down a narrow hallway when you stumble on your feet. “Easy, honey,” Minho cautions, and your hold on his forearm falters. He blinks at you before gazing up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” you reply in a small voice.

Minho leads you to the living room, cream-colored sofas with a navy blanket on top, multiple fuzzy pillows scattered all around. A tulip field painting graces the accent blue wall- your favorite flower, two matching slippers rest by the couch, racks of your novels adjacent to his collection of cookbooks, you assume.

It is all the more evident to you that you’ve both lived here, lives intertwining so seamlessly into one another. The place radiates comfort and warmth, but it refuses to penetrate your being, as if you’re harboring a shield of oblivion, ricocheting off any touch of remembrance. You’re an intruder, standing in stark contrast to the inviting coziness that envelops you.

“I like that wall,” you say in an attempt to lighten the stuffy atmosphere.

“We painted it together,” Minho smiles sadly, and your remorse seems to liquify, blending in with the blood running through your veins.

From the corner of your eyes, you spot three furry masses bolting towards you, small paws clawing at your feet. You feel another dent add to your heart, so much you are sure it would blow away at the tiniest gust of wind. Just how much have you forgotten?

“We… We had cats?” you ask breathlessly, eyes widening as you take in the two orange felines, and the gray, much smaller one.

“These are mine, but you also adopted them, in a way,” he explains, crouching down to pet his cats, scratching the sensitive spot behind their ears. He is tender with them and they appear at ease in his presence. You realize you’ve felt the same since you’ve woken up.

“Hey, my babies,” he coos softly. “Mom- I mean y/n- is tired so let’s give her some space, okay?” he quickly corrects, before gently pushing the cats away from your feet.

Minho shows you the bathroom before leading you to the bedroom- it's a bit untidy, worn clothes thrown on the ground, some of your accessories tossed on top of the vanity. As if the room was also frozen in time, awaiting your return to resume its familiar course.

“You'll sleep here and I'll just take the couch,” Minho interrupts your thoughts as he gently sits you atop the bed.

"But-"

"I’ll make you dinner so you can take your medication, okay?” he ignores your objections, adjusting two pillows behind your back to help you sit up straight, just like the doctor cautioned. His necklace, adorned with your initial, brushes against your cheek. “Try to sleep meanwhile. You need to rest.”

“Minho this is too much-"

“It’s not. If you need anything just call me over, I’ll leave the door open,” he says, tucking you in beneath the blanket.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you finally admit, voice slightly raised so he’d finally listen.

“Y/n, I love you.” He speaks so suddenly, fists balled on either side of your body. “And this is what I do for the person I love. I… I don’t know how to not care for you, don’t take that away from me, please. Please,” he repeats, voice faltering under the weight of his plea.

"Okay," you concede.

You can't quite remember that first night, the morphine injected into your veins made you ebb and flow out of consciousness, only recollecting small fragments of the hours flowing by.

But you remember the dull pain settling into your bones, one you knew would accompany you for the following weeks. You remember the thoughts swirling in your mind like a tempest- your near brush with death, how she almost trapped you into her icy hold; the year of memories gone with the wind, as if they were never yours to begin with; and the stranger whose home you are in now, the very one who took care of you throughout the night.

And you can't perfectly recall it, but you swear Minho stayed by your side until the early hours of the morning, warm hand pressed to your forehead to check your temperature, cold tears falling on your arm as he laid his head next to your sleeping body.

Day 2.

You miss being asleep the second you wake up in.

Every fiber of your being aches, as though pain has latched itself into every muscle, its grip unrelenting now that the morphine's comforting veil has lifted. You drag a hand tiredly across your face, tears of frustration welling like dewdrops in your eyes. It's only 10 a.m. Far too early for one's spirit to crumble.

A bright post-it note on the bedside table catches your weary gaze. "I went to drop your medical leave at your work. I've made you breakfast it's in the kitchen. Don't forget to drink your medicine, I'll be home soon"

What home was Minho referring to, exactly? Because this one wasn’t yours, and neither was the one back in your hometown. Were you destined to be a passerby in temporary places, always lingering near the door, ready to put your shoes back on and leave at any moment?

10:03. Still too early.

You find solace in having two months off of your work. You couldn’t bear being somewhere where everybody knew you for months, while your memories of them span but mere weeks. The expectations they would have, the pressure to conform, to mirror the footsteps of your past self was an unbearable burden. What if she was better than you? Made better choices, spoke more eloquently? What if you couldn't live up to the image they had conjured? What if you couldn't face the repercussions of your past actions?

10:07. You need to shower.

You slowly ease yourself off the bed, careful not to put pressure on your injured leg, avoiding even the slightest exhalation. You pretend as if nothing’s happening as you pick up a pair of pajamas that you recognize from the closet – a familiar relic from the life you’ve always known.

It's a charade, you’re aware of it. You're but treading on fragile ice, your pain threatening to shatter the frozen façade beneath your feet, plunging you into the frigid truth at any given moment.

You walk into the shower, attempting to rinse the day's tiredness away. But moving your limbs is a strenuous task, and you can't reach over your head to wash your hair. You let out a dry chuckle as the water runs over your back, splattering across the white tiles.

Your heart swells in your chest, an uncomfortable weight pressing against your fractured ribs. Still, it beats, and you cling with all your might to this one silver lining.

Minho has made you pancakes, not the most nutritious meal but the only one you can stomach on your sick days. He's also brewed you tea, a singular sugar cube resting at the bottom of your cup, just the way you like it. Your grip on your fork tightens, knuckles paling. You wish he had put three sugar cubes, or that he made you anything but pancakes, something to reassure you that he didn’t know you so intimately. That your mind hasn’t stolen a love where every detail of you was known.

The door opens, keys clinking on a solid surface. The sound of it tugs at your heart ever so faintly, a distant bell ringing somewhere far- it quiets down before you even realize it is there.

“Good morning,” Minho greets, the corners of his mouth curving upward although his eyes remain downcast, redness tinging its outlines. You look down at your cup, unable to hold his wounded stare.

“Good morning. Thank you for the breakfast and for going to my work. I really appreciate it,” you say.

“It's nothing. Your coworkers wish you a speedy recovery.”

“Mm,” you murmur. “That's nice of them."

“Here,” he slides a phone across the table. “I bought you a new one since your phone’s screen was smashed in the car accident, but I took it to a repair shop. Maybe they’d manage to fix it.”

You go to protest when he shakes his head, silencing you. “Don’t say It’s too much.”

A surprised giggle escapes your lips at his accurate prediction, momentarily halting Minho in his tracks. You swallow the sound down as Minho clears his throat, dissipating your laughter into thin air. “I put my phone number there. Also, the ones of your family that I have. Always call me if you need anything, okay?” he pauses, locking your eyes with his. “Anything.”

“It's okay, I really don't want to bother you. You might be busy."

“I’ll still answer,” he quickly responds. “I’ll always answer you.”

There is a certain sincerity that coats Minho's words, one that softens the edges of his letters, making them easier to permeate your being, to sink into the seas of your soul.

“Minho,” you call out gently.

“Yes, hon- " He inhales deeply, eyes looking anywhere but at you. “Yes, Yn?”

“Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course.”

The ensuing hours blur into a hazy dance, in which you’re only awakened by Minho’s warm hand on your shoulder, as he brings you lunch, then dinner to your room, paired with the medicine you need to take. He doesn’t talk to you, only carrying out the tray outside when he deems you asleep- as if tiptoeing near your existence, afraid he’d slip into you again, knowing you won’t be there to catch him.

It's nearly midnight when you leave your room to use the bathroom. You pause near the door when you spot Minho petting his cats. You don’t even know their names, you haven’t dared to ask, still foolishly holding on to the hopes that this is but a horrible nightmare, one clawing at your tender skin even after you rose.

“You’re sad, aren’t you?” he coos softly, and the cats respond with plaintive mewls as if understanding his words. “Mm. I’m really sad too,” his voice is barely above a whisper, as though it’s a confession he isn’t ready to speak out loud. The pain in your ribs intensifies.

“But it’s okay, she’ll remember us. We are her family, she can’t forget us forever, right?” your breathing hitches. “Right,” he adds softly, as if to reassure himself; to inflate hope in a heart deserted by you.

Day 3.

Minho threw away the wilted flowers, leaving the vase bare at the center of the kitchen table.

You almost wish he hadn't- those lifeless blooms were the sole reflection of your faded spirit within this home. Now everything in the house seemed alive, grand windows ushering in daylight to cascade upon the living space, causing the ivory walls to glisten. Everything, except for you and Minho, two ghosts skirting along the existence of one another.

There is, was, love imprinted in this house. You could sense it though you couldn’t feel it anymore. By the two cat mugs that connect through their tails, your products intermingling with Minho's in the bathroom sink, the notes you found hung on the fridge- some with his handwriting, most with yours, reminding Minho how much you loved him.

Where did all that love go? Did it dissipate into thin air, gone as if it had never existed? Has it turned into something else, lurking beneath the surface of your skin, waiting for you to remember?

You can’t find the answers, and as Minho finishes up his breakfast, you find yourself longing to ask him about the past year. Who you were and what you’ve lived. But you know it’ll feel like salt on a wound, akin to bringing a mirror before his face, reminding him of all that's been lost.

So instead, you offer to wash the dishes. He refuses, not that you expected anything else given his attentiveness to you.

“It’s only two plates and two cups, I can do it,” you insist, but he just stares blankly at you, before motioning to your ribs, and your swollen ankle. “It’ll be quick, please. I-I want to do it.”

“Fine,” he concedes, gaze softening. “But if you feel pain you'll stop.”

“Okay,” you smile tentatively, eager for the sense of normalcy that this mundane act would bring. You haven't forgotten how to wash a cup, at least.

Five minutes pass, and you suddenly freeze, plates drying in your hands. You have no idea where the dishes go.

This was your home, yet you can't even remember which cupboard holds the plates.

Silent tears flow down your cheeks and you wipe them away angrily. You clutch the plate in your hands so tightly you’re surprised it hasn’t shattered. You selfishly wish it did- you were tired of being the sole broken entity in this house.

A small whimper escapes your lips, startling Minho who was mindlessly scrolling through his phone. He rushes to your side, brows furrowed, concern woven into his face.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?” he questions; eyes raking through your figure anxiously.

You shake your head as your tears double over. You can feel your heart constricting in your chest, longing for comfort, for a missing piece that was snatched from you, the void it left behind pulsating achingly within your being.

“I-I don’t know where the dishes go, and yesterday I tried to w-wash my hair and I c-couldn’t do it,” you admit through hiccups, plate still in your hands. Minho gently takes it from your tight hold, and your pinky brushes against his palm. He flexes his hand at the touch.

“It’s okay, it’s my fault. I should've shown you,” his voice is gentle, reminding you of how one soothes a child during a tantrum. You're embarrassing yourself but you can't find it in you to care.

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t p-put them back in their place,” you choke out, head turned down, tears ricocheting off sage tiles. You’ve always wanted a green kitchen. You’ve gotten it and you can’t remember.

“It’s okay, I’ll put them back. Shh, yn, please don’t cry.” He’s slightly panicking, hands tightly fisted near his body as if he’s afraid they’d act on their own accord, reaching out to touch you the way they’ve done the past few months. He sighs softly before taking a cautious step toward you.

“I’ll wash your hair for you,” he offers, smiling tenderly at you, knuckles brushing ever so gently against your cheeks. “Hm? You can sit in front of the sink and I’ll wash it.”

“You’d do it?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

There is a softness that emanates from every atom of Minho, flowing from his fingertips, molding everything he touches. You were sure of it as he stood beside you, pouring shampoo over your hair with you sitting on a stool, head tilted back to the sink, your favorite song playing in the background. As he dried your hair with a warm towel, and then settled behind you on the bed, gently lathering your hair with your familiar serum, brushing your strands with care, avoiding any tugs that might pain you.

Everything Minho does is not to hurt you.

You went to sleep with the ghost of his fingers lingering on your scalp, his warm breath still caressing the back of your neck. You found slumber came much easier to you that night. You account it to your hair finally being clean.

Day 4.

“Yn?” Minho calls out gently, his head peering through the bedroom door. “Should we go on a walk? Just around the block, the doctor said it’d be good.”

“Sure,” you nod, glancing at the bedside clock. 9:43 p.m. it reads.

“Dress warmly, it’s cold outside,” he advises softly before leaving.

A few minutes later, you're clad in a gray university hoodie that drapes slightly past your thighs and a pair of matching sweatpants. Minho halts in his tracks upon seeing you, his eyes racking furiously over your figure. He shakes his head, swallowing a growing lump of despair.

“Wait here,” he whispers, vanishing into his room, leaving you fidgeting in place. An orange cat sidles up to your feet and you slowly bend down to scratch its ears. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” you smile sadly and he purrs in response, as if forgiving you for forgetting.

You wished you could forgive yourself too, one day.

Minho comes back, a red scarf in his hands. He steps forward until only a few inches are separating your bodies. With attentive care, he wraps the scarf around your neck, securing it in place. His brows furrow as he loops the fabric through and you release a small, shaky exhale.

There is a fog dissipating before your eyes, a misty veil lifted off your irises. In the four days you've known Minho, you always willed yourself to not look at him for too long, afraid of the pain you'd discern brewing over his figure, the shadows cast across his face.

But now, he stands so near that you cannot help but look at him. Wispy black bangs fall on top of his forehead, framing his rich honey eyes. His long eyelashes flutter with each blink, pupils dilated like a constellation-laden night sky. The smooth bridge of his high nose, dotted with the smallest mole; a well-defined cupid's bow outlining rosy, plump lips. He’s beautiful, even in his sadness; with sunken cheekbones and darkened eye circles, the hunch of his back, and the shake in his hands as he gently frees your hair from underneath the scarf.

Was it wrong of you to find beauty in his pain?

His gaze softens when it finally meets yours, his hand still holding your scarf tightly, as if it's a lifeline tethering him to you, one with which he verifies your existence, suddenly so elusive now that it no longer entwines with his.

It must be strange, surely, to grieve the loss of someone who’s still alive, breathing in the room next to yours.

Minho smiles at you, his fingers hovering above your head, as though he wished to smooth down your hair. He retracts his hand back, burying it deep inside the pocket of his black sweatpants, physically trapping it, stopping it from reaching it out to you once again.

You’ve noticed his reticence to touch you, even when he wakes you in the morning to drink your medicine. His hand never fully rests upon your shoulder, it is only his fingertips that delicately graze your skin. It's as though he’s convinced you're but a figment of his imagination, and he fears that once he touches you, his hand will pass right through your body, shattering the illusion he foolishly held onto.

You blink and Minho’s already three steps away, grabbing his keys and opening the door.

Despite cautioning you against the cold, Minho doesn't say no when you ask for ice cream, paying for it before you can reach the counter. It's an unfamiliar brand, one that he advised you to try, and you don't regret following his choice. It’s a sweet mixture of vanilla and caramelized almonds, coated in rich milk chocolate- you can't stop the happy smile that graces your lips upon tasting it.

You glance at Minho to find an unprecedented softness coloring his expression, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. It isn't a smile directed at you, but rather an uncontrollable display of his feelings, splashing across his face like paint on a canvas.

You expect him to swallow this mark of affection down, to conceal it with a placid expression, but he doesn't. He only tilts his chin forward, gesturing to the ice cream.

"Do you like it?"

You hum in agreement, a grin stretching wider on your lips. "I do."

"You did too, back then, when I showed it to you," he says, almost casually, as if referring to a childhood memory that turned out to be more important to him than to you.

"You have good taste," you reply, scrunching your nose playfully at him. The smile slips away from his face, his voice somber when he speaks again. "I really do, don't I?"

Walking with Minho isn't as awkward as you had imagined it might be. He shows you the neighborhood- the nearby playground, the hidden flower shop tucked away in a corner and you make a mental note to visit it later. You point at closed shops inquiring about them- he answers each of your questions diligently.

Your accident is never brought up, and you both tiptoe around the topic, skirting the edge of a dark forest where the light no longer seeps through and dark vines cover the sun.

You both refuse to venture into the unknown.

"Just down the road, there is a bookstore. They have really great deals and I bought most-" Shouts erupt from somewhere nearby, loud slurred voices of two men under the influence. Your hand instinctively wraps around Minho's forearm, while his hand moves in front of your body, acting as a shield.

You freeze, letting out a shaky breath. "I- I hate yelling."

"I know," he responds simply, lowering his hand.

He knows you- it is a comforting thought, to realize that you exist beyond the confines of your own mind.

Day 5.

Minho’s staring blankly at his phone, your conversation shining dimly before his eyes. You’ve just sent him a text reassuring him that you indeed took your medicine since he wasn’t home today with you- his three days off work passing by in the blink of an eye.

In his mind, the past week felt like a mirage, a nightmare woven with intricate threads of his deepest fears- losing you, never getting to see the glimmer in your eyes again, and then looking at it and realizing it is no longer directed at him.

He exhales softly, tucking his phone into the pocket of his navy trousers. The salty breeze from the nearby lake grazes his senses, and he closes his eyes, yearning for a fleeting respite.

He purposely avoids watching the sun's descent into the water, which paints the sky in hues of yellow and orange. He no longer finds the sunset unfolding before him captivating, or any other scenery, for that matter, even those he once deemed beautiful. The world, in his eyes, has become lackluster and devoid of vibrancy, overshadowed by a profound sadness he never fathomed would reside in his heart.

He still doesn’t know how he managed to remain strong until now, tending to you, holding your gaze, and breathing near you when you don’t even remember him.

You’ve survived, he reminds himself, you were lucky enough to be able to draw these breaths. The thought of any other outcome sends uncomfortable shivers down his spine. You’re alive and you’ll be home, he clings to this truth as he starts making his way back to his apartment.

For how long will this knowledge offer him solace? How long will it push him to face a new day? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he wants to.

It is much deeper into the night, the sound of the TV playing softly in the background. Minho has given up on slumber since the day of your accident. He was used to the feel of your fingers playing with his hair, your goodnight kisses planted on his forehead, then his on yours.

He doesn't know how to sleep without burying his head in your neck, your chest, your stomach, wherever he saw fit that day. And he was used to your warmth- the warmth of your body as he pressed it tightly to his, the warmth of your love as you whispered goodnight to him. And the living room feels immensely cold in your absence.

He fixates his gaze on the ceiling, resolute in his effort to avoid scanning the room. Since every corner he dares to inspect serves as a poignant reminder of the life you both once shared, a life whose echoes still reverberate in the air around him. The sound of your laughter, the memory of your annoyed whines when he teased you a bit too fervently. Vivid recollections unfold before his eyes- your tender kisses exchanged under the fridge's light, warm hugs by the front door after a particularly long day, none of you willing to let go first.

He remembers your delighted giggles the first time you entered the house. It was still unfurnished, save for a floatable mattress and two empty cups of ramen beside it. But you were happy, immensely so, and your joy seemed to fill every room, painting it with shades of your love. Now the house feels empty- you're here and yet you aren't, and he is still on the sidewalk where he received that fateful call from your hospital.

The moonlight filters through the window, and Minho looks at the light without truly seeing it. It's as if darkness surrounds him entirely- a bottomless sky where the stars of your affection have fizzled out, so suddenly, leaving him alone to wander blind. He can't help but feel guilty- had he not given you a love worth remembering?

Minho sighs loudly once again, trying to coax the reluctant breaths to escape his body. He pulls himself to his feet to check on you, knowing that you had to sleep upright for the first few days so your ribs would heal properly, which is why he often found himself readjusting your body at night.

He peeks through the door, the light from the hallway casting an ethereal glow on your body. He frowns when he notices you fidgeting in your sleep, eyebrows knitted together. A soft gasp escapes your lips and Minho hurries to your side. He's witnessed your nightmares before and he knows that this one must be particularly terrifying to elicit such startled sounds from you.

“Y/n,” Minho coaxes gently, but you don’t respond. He presses his palm to your shoulder, shaking you slightly. “Y/n, wake up.” You writhe in your place, fear evident in your features, and Minho grabs both your shoulders, growing more urgent in his attempts to wake you. “Y/n, come on wake up!” he speaks louder, and you startle awake, pushing his arms away.

“I’m... Where am I?” you ask frantically, hand running through your hair. A sharp pain seems to surge through your ribs as you clutch your chest, slightly doubling over.

“Take it easy, Y/n. Deep breaths,” he wills gently and you raise your head, meeting his eyes. Recognition shines in them, but not love, not anymore. He never knew affection could alter someone’s gaze this much.

“Minho… I- I remember,” you gasp, tears trailing down your face at an alarming rate. He freezes in place, tongue thickening in his mouth, unable to move it.

“What... what do you remember?” he asks carefully, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“The accident. I remember driving and I… I was going in my lane, I- I didn’t… I wasn’t driving fast, but a truck came out of nowhere and its lights blinded me, and then… it rammed into the passenger seat side of the car and-" Your hands shake as you bring them to your face. “The blood, there was so much blood coming out of me, that’s- that’s the last thing I remember, it was in my hands and my arms and-" You’re wiping frantically at your skin as if erasing remnants of the red liquid only you can see. “I bled so much but I was… I- I don’t-"

“Can I hold your hands?” Minho cuts you off, needing the panic to dissipate from your being.

“Please,” you stutter, and he promptly grabs your hands in his warm ones, intertwining your fingers together, rubbing his thumb soothingly across your palm.

“You are safe now. You are alive and you are breathing and you are safe.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I drove safely, why… why was I hit?” you ask in a small, broken voice, overwhelmed by the unjust reality of the world. Minho swallows his own tears, throwing them down the pits of his pain. The one thing he wished you’d never remember was your accident, the sight of your unconscious body for those three days nearly driving him insane.

“He was drunk. And he’s in jail now. It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t have prevented it."

You remain silent, gaze lost on the wall. “Hm? It wasn’t your fault, right?" he presses, squeezing your hand lightly.

“Yeah.” You sigh, unconvinced. Minho reluctantly drops your hand to pour you a glass of water, and you diligently drink it, before curling around yourself in a ball.

“No, you can’t sit like this,” he gently reprimands and you pout.

"My heart hurts. The pressure helps."

“I know it does,” he smiles in understanding, “but we have to make sure your ribs won’t hurt more, alright?” he explains as he pulls you upright, tucking pillows beneath your arms. He grabs a hoodie from the closet and rolls it into a ball, placing it gently on your chest.

“Here, you can hug this instead.” You giggle quietly at the makeshift plushie, but your laughter suddenly morphs into fresh tears, catching him off-guard.

“I’m so tired, Minho. And I’m so frustrated and mad and sad. Is it possible to f-feel all these things at once?" You hiccup, burying your face into his hoodie, soaking it in tears.

“It is,” he hums gently, “Do you think it’d help if you talked to a therapist?” He feels you tense up beneath the comforter. “Only if you want to, on your own terms.”

“I’ll think about it,” you whisper.

“Of course,” he says. “Try to sleep again, mm?”

“I don’t think I can,” you chuckle quietly, wiping your tears away with the sleeves of your cardigan. “Do you have work tomorrow?” you ask.

“I do.”

“What do you work as?”

“Computer programming. I’m also a dance teacher on the side,” he adds quietly, feeling a bit vulnerable at revealing this bit about himself again.

“How do you manage both?” you ask in awe and he shrugs.

“My IT job leaves me a lot of free time. And I’ve always loved dance, so it doesn’t really feel like a job, you know?”

“Mm, you must work very hard at it. That’s why your body’s so toned,” you say almost absentmindedly, as Minho lets out a surprised chuckle at your words.

“You think my body is toned?”

“I mean- I didn’t ogle you I just… you know, you wear these fitted shirts it’s hard not to notice your muscles and-"

"You are sick and yet you’re staring at my body?” he tsks. “I feel used.”

“Hey,” you hit him with the hoodie he gave you. “Forget I said anything,” you pout.

“It’s okay, I work very hard for these, thank you very much,” he flexes slightly, and genuine laughter bubbles up from you both. This might be the one thing he misses the most.

You both quiet down, silence filling the room once again, but it isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable, almost as if you're the same person he's always known.

“What’s your favorite color?” you suddenly ask.

“Purple.”

“Did my favorite color change over this past year?”

“No,” he chuckles, “it’s still that obnoxious orange.”

“It’s not obnoxious, it’s peculiar.”

“it’s weird and it hurts my poor eyes,” he whines, covering his face as if wounded by the mere thought of it.

“Hey, what if it can hear us and now you just hurt its feelings?”

“Colors have feelings now?” he asks, amused.

“Everything has feelings,” you nod matter-of-factly.

“Okay then think of the feelings of this bed we are both squishing with our weights.”

“Don’t say that. Now I’m sad for it,” you pat the comforter gently, a slight pout tugging at your lips.

“I think you should sleep,” he smiles and you fake a gasp. “Is my convo boring you?”

“Yes. Now sleep, Yn,” he brings the comforter up your body, sliding away from the bed. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“Can you… can you sleep here too? I saw the inflatable mattress in the storage room. If that’s not… too much to ask for.”

"Of course not. I'll be back."

"Thank you, Minho" you smile, lower lip slightly quivering. "Thank you for not being mad at me."

Just how many cracks can one heart bear before breaking beyond repair? Minho thinks he's close to finding out.

Day 6.

The lights of your dreams have returned, but they are no longer comforting, nor warm, they glare harshly, searing your eyes as they announce your impending doom. Each second draws out in slow-motion and you find yourself counting the breaths you inhale, fearing they may be your last. One in, one out, one in, one out. The moment you dreaded unfolds- the truck collides with your car, flipping it upside down.

However, this time, flames rage within. You know that your car wasn't burned, but they feel terrifyingly tangible as they latch onto your skin. The heat becomes unbearable, you are no longer sure that this is just a mere dream. You try to scream but smokey air fills your lungs instead, robbing you of your ability to speak.

You need to wake up. You need someone to rouse you from this nightmare. Minho. You try to utter his name, but it escapes your lips in a strangled whisper. The lights won.

A cool hand clasps your own, yanking you from the fiery dream, dissolving it like sugar in a hot cup of tea. You startle awake to find Minho hovering over you, brows knitted in concern, his hand tenderly cradling yours.

“Are you okay? Another bad dream?” he inquires and you sigh in response, nodding as your head falls back onto the pillow.

He brushes your hair back, some damp strands still clinging to your sweaty forehead. "You screamed my name. Was I in your nightmare?” he ventures carefully, afraid he was one of the sources of your fear.

“No, I… I thought of you, in my dream,” you reassure, although your words seem to have the opposing effect, making Minho pause in his tracks. You’ve noticed his habit of freezing around you as if needing time to process what you just said. You wonder if you’ve ever came to learn the meaning behind each of his silences, what his blinks convey in ways his tongue fails to.

“You are heating up,” he clears his throat, pressing his hand against your forehead. “Do you wanna shower? I’ll make you tea meanwhile.”

“Okay, yeah. I’d like that,” you nod, glancing at your phone- 3.47 a.m.

Twenty minutes later, you find Minho sitting on the inflatable bed, legs crossed, two steaming mugs of tea before him. He appears drowsy, eyes shutting and reopening as if fending off slumber. It’s almost an endearing sight- the way his bangs fall before his eyes, obstructing his vision, the sleeves of his pullover dangling over his hands, hiding them from your view. He brought the mattress without you asking him to. The attention brings a smile to your face.

“Hi,” you greet softly and Minho looks up, a tender smile on his face. “Hey. Here is your tea.”

“Thank you,” you beam at him, settling on the edge of your bed, legs crisscrossed to mirror his. “I’m sorry that I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t really asleep, just resting my eyes.”

“Isn't that what sleep is?” you snort and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“I was still conscious, you know. I can’t really sleep these days.”

“Is the couch uncomfortable?” you ask, worried, fidgeting with your lower lip.

“It’s not the couch,” he says as his eyes lock on yours, a stare so intense it forces you to look down at your cup. ‘it’s you’, you read in his gaze. You have no answer for that.

“What's your favorite food?” you suddenly wonder.

“Pudding.”

“But that’s dessert?”

“I really like the one you used to make me.”

“I cooked for you? and you liked it?” you giggle. “I’m not really good at it, usually.”

“I taught you some basic skills,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows proudly at you.

“Too bad your effort is now wasted.”

“It’s not a waste if it was done with love,” he pauses, licking his lips. “And I remember it.”

A bittersweet fog shrouds the air- he remembers that memory, but you don’t. Perhaps you will never bridge that gap, no matter how much you want to. The room in your heart may remain forever locked, the gateway to that chamber brimming with your stolen memories. Maybe you're condemned to merely stand before the closed door, straining to hear the echoes of the love that resonates behind, forever just out of reach.

You don’t fall asleep again that night. And as Minho’s quiet snores fill the room, you rummage your mind in search of a pudding recipe, hoping to retrieve the memory he spoke of so tenderly, shaky hands holding his mug tightly. Silent tears trail down your cheeks and you try your best to stifle the sound of your cries.

You want to make pudding. You want to make him pudding so badly.

Day 7.

It’s been a week since you woke up anew. Seven days adrift in a vast sea where waves of your memories lap at the shores of your mind, unable to breach the walls guarding your recollections of the past year.

Minho took you to the hospital for your weekly check-up. He sat by your side as the doctor reassured you that your ribs were healing relatively well, but you still needed time to recover, time for your body to mend, time for your memories to return. You loathed the waiting, the wasted days slipping through your fingers. You wanted a now.

But you kept all these thoughts to yourself, thanking the doctor as he exited the room.

Minho rented a bicycle to drive you around since the thought of being in a car made your anxiety spike. He installed a little seat for you, in that bright, obnoxious orange color you love very dearly. The sight of it nearly brought tears to your eyes this morning.

Minho idly pedaled around, choosing a scenic route, one he knew by heart from the looks of it. You closed your eyes, savoring the last sun rays of the year. Autumn was fading, winter clawing its way into the seasons slowly. You weren’t sure you could handle both the cold and the grief.

Miho took time off work for your doctor's appointment, and you both spent the day around one another, side by side on the couch, a new book in your hands, and an anime playing on the TV for Minho.

You could see him casting occasional, nervous glances in your direction, as you flipped the pages of the book. You didn’t understand why at first.

But then you did.

You only brought it up at night, when it was past 2 a.m. and you knew that Minho wasn’t sleeping either, the screen of his phone illuminating his face. He left the inflatable mattress in the room, no longer waiting for a nightmare to occur. You weren’t complaining. You desperately needed company.

“Minho,” you call out gently.

“Mm?”

“How did we meet?”

You can hear Minho suck in a deep breath at your question, before placing his phone down, the only light source in the room fizzling out. It made talking easier that way, when only your voices were heard, carried around, as if emitting from two entities that weren’t you both.

“We met… near your old apartment block. I was going to the kimbap place near yours, you remember that one, right?”

You hum in response.

“And I saw you crying, crouching near an injured cat. Some car had run over her leg, and she couldn’t walk anymore. And you didn’t know what to do, so I helped you. You insisted on coming with me to the vet where I take my cats. So, we caught a cab. And you were so worried, you didn’t stop crying, so the cab driver thought I did something to you,” he chuckles faintly.

“Then, the vet put a cast on her leg and reassured us that she’d be okay. And I told him I’d take her home and bring her for check-ups. But you were so worried, you begged me to send you updates about the cat. So, you gave me your number. And we talked.”

“What happened to the cat?”

“I took her to a rescue store I trusted since I couldn’t take her in. and we still visited her from time to time. And then, she found a good family.”

“And what happened to us?” you inquire softly, hoping that if your voice was quiet enough then your question wouldn't hurt Minho as much.

“We kept in touch," he said. "And it was… easy to talk to you, I felt as if I had known you for my entire life. When you found out I had three cats, we Facetimed a lot so you’d see them, but then we just kept on calling, every day, for nearly two weeks. Being with you felt natural, you know? I didn’t overthink it. I never did."

“And then three weeks later you came over to see Soonie, Dori, and Doongie. We ended up watching three movies in a row, and you were so tired you slept on my couch.”

“That’s embarrassing,” you chuckle.

"Yes," he laughs and you reach over to swat his shoulder playfully. "But it was also cute, and endearing. Then you came over a lot, and we just cooked together. Well, I cooked and you watched.”

“Right, that sounds more like me," you instantly agree.

“We hung outside too, whenever one of us had free time. We had a lot of common hobbies and interests so we never ran out of things to talk about. We made time for each other too.”

“How did we start dating?”

“You made the first move.”

“I did?” you shoot up from your place, hissing when the abrupt movement causes a twinge of pain in your ribs.

“Take it easy,” he giggles, as he illuminates your face with his flashlight. “You did.”

“Did you put a spell on me? I swore I’d never make a first move again after I was rejected in third grade. That was my most sacred oath."

“Well… you were ranting about this book. The one you were reading today,” he adds, and your excitement fizzles out, as the pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place. “You were sad because you had no one to talk to about it. So, I bought the book and read it. I gave you my copy, complete with highlighted passages and notes. And when I did… you kissed me, without warning,” his voice is softer now, as he fiddles with the tip of his blushing ears. "You said it was the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for you.”

“It was. It is,” you whisper, heart caught in your throat. “I saw the photograph of us both lodged between the pages of the book. Did we take it that day?”

“Yes, we weren’t dating, not yet. Because I told you I wanted to take you out on a proper date. But you wanted us to take a picture holding the book… So you’d remember.”

“So I'd remember,” you repeat, voice quivering. What good was it for in the end?

“I looked so happy in the photograph,” you whisper, tears welling up your eyes. “I looked so happy with you,” your voice breaks as you utter that last part. "Did I love you, Minho?"

"You did," he nods softly, blinking away his own tears.

“And did you love me?”

“I did. I still do, very much.”

“Thank you, for loving me. It sounds like I’ve lived a happy year with you.”

Minho's pain is akin to a polite guest; it lingers by the corner, speaking in whispers, hardly ever raising its voice. You'd never really notice it, unless you strain your ears, as you're doing now. Only then would you discern the tremors of his quiet sobs- broken, stifled, determined not to make themselves known, only escaping his lips when he thinks you've fallen asleep.

Day 8.

Whenever an overwhelming emotion ran freely along the corridors of your soul, you'd often find yourself curled in a fetal position, knees drawn to your chest, like a fragile leaf.

Your teacher once explained that it reminds us of safer times in the wombs of our mothers, when the cruelty of life hasn’t yet reached us.

It is the way you’re resting now, upon the cold, hardwood floor, dozens of books surrounding you. You decided to go through each book in Minho’s library, the need to satiate your curiosity overtaking you. You didn’t know what you were looking for, exactly. Other photographs, surely, in the hopes that one of them would spark up your memory, ignite the flame of remembrance.

What you didn’t expect was to find Minho talking to you through books. Within the pages, amid the words, scribbled in small, dainty handwriting, threads of his thoughts all relating to you. Quotes he thought you’d appreciate, highlighted segments that reminded him of you. And dedications, so many dedicated lines you felt like you could drown in them. It felt as if Minho was on a quest to find love within every line, only to inscribe your name beside it.

Putting down the last book, you were left with a huge void, akin to a black hole eating away at your heart. So, you laid on the floor, one arm underneath your head, knees held tightly to your chest- as if trying to create borders for your sadness, to stop it from spilling out of your body, drowning the house in even more sorrow. Those four walls have had enough, more than they could contain. And so did you.

You suddenly longed for the very beginning of your life, when time was but a tranquil stream, when you were unaware of the hurtful years it would carve into your existence. Back to when your spine was still curled around itself; for it was never meant to be straightened. Your spine was never strong enough to bear your pain.

You wanted to talk to someone, but you didn’t know who you could turn to. You didn’t know how to articulate these emotions into words, tangible enough for someone to understand them. And you couldn’t talk to Minho about it, not when he was hurting on his own.

Because he smiled down at his cats, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. His laughter echoed around the room when he talked to his friends on the phone. And sometimes, he even hummed under his breath while making you breakfast. But this happiness never reached his eyes, behind his pupils the sadness seared itself into his veins, casting a gloomy shadow that followed him everywhere he went. It was a palpable ache, one that filled the very atmosphere with the metallic taste of grief. Making it almost impossible for you to breathe in. Even more so when you remember it was all your fault.

These are the thoughts that haunted you all day, as they have been doing for the past week. Minho must have noticed that you were feeling gloomier than usual, a silent storm raging by his side, since he put up a romcom for you. “It made you laugh a lot when you watched it months ago.”

“How do you remember all of these things about me?” you ponder, scratching the fragile skin near your nails, easily torn, just like you.

“Does it make you uncomfortable? Should I stop?” he asks quietly, deflecting your question.

“No,” you say the truth. “It'd be weird if you were an actual stranger, but… you knew me. And I knew you. and I still feel safe around you.”

He nods silently, but something in his gaze compels you to keep talking.

“I mean, I never felt uncomfortable around you these days, which surprised me too. I just… I suppose that even if my mind doesn’t remember, my heart does, in a way?”

“My heart will always remember you,” he whispers, gaze adrift in a faraway memory.

A gear shifts in your mind, a sudden light flooding your vision. You find yourself within a grand canopy bed, its pure white curtains swaying to the rhythm of a whimsical breeze, their delicate fabric brushing lightly against your cheek. It’s slightly cold from the wide-open windows, but then it’s warm, as a gentle hand finds its place on your thigh, kindling an ember deep within, setting your very soul ablaze.

The curtains sway with the wind, obscuring your view, but you can still discern the sound of your laughter, echoing like distant chimes. And a tenderness, so delicate it seemed almost otherworldly, trailing along your skin, as warmth caresses your cheek and gently traverses the curve of your collarbones, peppering it with the softest kisses. You can't quite behold it, but it is unmistakably there, an ineffable presence that threatens to burst your heart at the seams—a memory of your love for Minho.

It is a blurry sight, like peering into a worn-out photograph, its details softened by the sands of time. But you clutch to it- to your fading laughter and hushed conversation, and then your voice ringing clearly in your mind, the promise you made to Minho.

'My heart will always remember you'.

You startle back in a jolt; the light and warmth have extinguished. They are now dull, withered down, sitting next to you with their head hung low.

It takes you an inhumane effort to swallow down the lump in your throat.

Day 16.

This week has been particularly cold. Not temperature-wise, October has always harbored these same frigid temperatures and you've gotten used to them, to the relentless winds brushing against your skin. Only this time they pierced right through your soul instead.

You knew what had changed. You had felt the sadness, the frustration, the guilt- all blending into one sorrowful symphony, pulling at your heartstrings the way one does to a harp. Yet, amid these familiar emotions, a new feeling loomed large this past week- anxiety.

It arrived in sudden, icy bursts, cold beads of perspiration cascading down your spine, feet suddenly freezing no matter how fuzzy your socks were- the physical telltales, then came the emotional ones. The shadows of dread, for we fear the unseen more than that which we can touch. The growing panic gnawing at your heart, hinting that something profoundly disastrous lurked on the horizon.

Anxiety held you suspended in the air, bound by invisible ropes that compelled you to watch from above as the days drifted past you. You were a ghost haunting an empty shell, hollow and resonant with anxiety's clang, akin to an empty can's descent to the ground.

Your appetite had fled, leaving you alone to grapple with the chore of feeding yourself, mechanically ingesting food only to pacify Minho’s concerned gaze. The TV’s volume blared, since you desperately needed the voices of other people to invade your mind, to render your thoughts merciless, forcing them to put their sword-like tongues down.

And the exhaustion, not accounted to your broken ribs, for Minho had meticulously overseen their recovery. It was an emotional fatigue, a weariness that clung to your every breath, trapping them within your ribcage, far beyond their time, until they tethered on the brink of exploding in your lungs- a supernova of darkness devouring your essence. Only then did the breaths release their hold on you.

So, you patiently awaited the inevitable unraveling, because you knew this wasn’t an ordinary anxiety. Your soul whispered to you in a language your mind could no longer translate, throbbing with a message you couldn’t quite recollect, striving urgently to jog your memory of a monumental truth.

But you didn’t remember– you should have.

You should've known it was Minho’s birthday.

It is near midnight when you venture out of your room, the inflatable bed by your side unusually vacant. A dim glow draws you to the kitchen, and as you stand by its entrance, an intensified cold grips you. It chills the blood in your veins, transforming it into splintered shards that prick uncomfortably beneath your skin.

Minho is sitting by the table, a small, muted cake before him, a shoebox by his side. A solitary candle flickers in front of his face, casting elongating shadows on his chiseled features. The flame is about to fizzle out- you feel like your heart will closely follow suit.

"Minho..." you call out gently, careful not to startle him from the trance ensnaring him. He doesn't react to the sound of your voice.

"Minho, I…"

"Today was my birthday."

His tone is cold, like the darkening clouds before a stormy night. His words feel like lightning bolts piercing your core.

"It would be stupid to blow this candle out, wouldn't it? Because you and I both know my wish won't come true. Maybe it never will. And it's killing me, yn." His voice quivers as it utters your name, a slight shake taking over his lips. His cheeks are tear stained- glimmering reflections under the golden flame. You've never seen him this sad. You don't know how to comfort him in his sadness.

A rush of nausea overwhelms your being, a yearning to expel every emotion, methodically, until your heart transforms into a tranquil organ, solely pulsing life's crimson essence through your frame. Nothing more, nothing less.

"This shoe box is yours. You kept it under the bed, filled it with everything that reminded you of me. You told me..." he pauses, taking in a deep breath. "You told me that you wanted to remember everything about us, every single detail. But I... I don't care if you don't remember every date we went to. I just-" his forehead rests on his palm, as he squeezes his eyes shut. "I just want you to remember that you love me."

Hot tears are rolling across his cheeks, splattering across the table like a broken mosaic. He doesn't try to hide them or wipe them away. He's had enough.

"Minho, I’m-"

"I mean- that's not too much to ask for, right?" he finally lifts his head, locking his eyes with yours. A black abyss, a dark void. You are the one who sucked out all the light.

"You- you said you loved me. And I- I felt it, y/n, when you looked at me, when you touched me. I felt it, it wasn't- it wasn't just words, I-" he pauses, running a hand through his hair, tugging at his black locks furiously. "You loved me," his voice breaks. "Why- why can't you remember that you loved me?"

Your tongue bursts to flame in your mouth, its grey ashes choking you from within. What could you even say? How do you stop the bleeding of a heart when you carry knives for fingers?

Minho abruptly stands up, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. "We talked about marriage, a-about kids, you said- you said you'd choose me to be the father of your children, you said you wanted a big house w-with me and you-” he points at you, chest heaving, eyes rimmed red. “You said you wanted us to sit at the patio when we're eighty and you wanted us to hold hands still," he chuckles bitterly, his arms falling limp by his side incredulously. "And now you don't even remember me."

He grabs the box, rummaging through its contents furiously. "You see this?" he waves dried flowers before your eyes, their petals falling to the floor from the force of his agitation. "These are the flowers I got you for our first date. You dried them and put them here because you- you said you wanted to preserve it, to remember."

"And this, the cinema tickets from our first movie date. You were so tired you just slept on my shoulder all the time and then I- I carried you home and you kissed me." He's growing more frantic, rifling through the shoe box in a frenzy. You remain rooted by the kitchen's entrance, a sense of powerlessness holding you captive, an unbreakable vice around your being.

"This is the napkin from our favorite cat café, and look," he grabs your hand, clammy palm pressed to yours, pulling you toward the table." This is the receipt of the first time we went grocery shopping together and-" he waves it in the air, before slamming it onto the table. "And, you e-even kept this stupid rock I gave you right before I told you I love you for the first time, because you said it was the happiest day of your life, my god Yn how can you not remember?"

A broken, sob-laden chuckle escapes his lips, a sound so heart wrenchingly human, so painfully poignant that for an instant, it fills you with a bitter aversion to your own humanity- it was never meant to inflict this much pain upon someone else.

Your thoughts shatter as Minho tenderly cups your face, urging you to confront his turbulent gaze. He seeks something within your eyes, and you desperately hope he'd find it, whatever it may be, anything to stop the tremor in his hands as they anchor you in place.

"Why did you- why did you keep all of this if not to remember me.” He asks, unblinking, lip quivering. “Please, please, remember me, just- just try, okay?"

"I’m so sorry-"

"No. No. Don't- don't apologize like it's final like you could never love me again," his hands glide to your shoulders, shaking you slightly in place. "Don't you understand? I-I don't want an apology I want you to remember me."

"Minho..."

"Just look through this, it's our happiest memories y/n, okay?" he let goes of you, circling the table before shoving the box into your hands. He smiles- attempts to, it is an unnatural presence amidst his tears, so out of place it sends shivers down your spine. "Look at it, yn, please," he pleads as your hold on the box falters. "I can’t remember us alone. I’m crushing under the weight of everything we lived it’s exhausting me!"

His voice ascends pitch, the end of his words hanging into the air, searing themselves into the particles you breathe. His voice leaves a painful echo on his trail. You’re exhausting him.

You put the box down, taking three cautious step forwards.

And then you hug Minho.

He can't even hold you back, body trembling with the sobs rippling through him as soon as your chest presses to his. He sinks to the floor and you follow suit, arms enfolding his concaved shoulders tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "Im sorry, I'm so sorry Minho. I- I wish I could remember."

You want the kitchen to collapse upon itself. There is too much grief in such a small room- it stains the walls like blood droplets, absorbs his cries like a saturated sponge.

You don’t think you could ever sit at this table again.

He finally clasps your back, drawing you even nearer to him. "Can- can you pretend, just today, please? For my birthday. Pretend you still love me."

"Of course. It's okay, I’m here, honey. I'm here."

"I love you. I love you so much," he whispers, lips pressed against your neck. "And it hurts to love you, so much." He brings your hand to his heart. "It hurts so much right here."

He doesn't let go of your hand, softly caressing your knuckles. His breath hitches as his thumb hovers over your ring finger. "I... I was going to propose, you know? I even bought the ring, stored it away for when the time is right. Do you think you would have remembered if you woke up wearing it?"

He knows your answer would've been yes. You know that too, in the matching cat mugs and the book annotations and the way Minho gently held your face, even in the depths of his despair. Everywhere you look, your answer echoes back- yes, the home chants in unison, that's what you would've said. Yes, yes, yes.

Day 17.

In the cracks of concrete sidewalks, tenacious flowers manage to sprout. Just how in the depths of Minho’s pain, small joys bloomed, nestled in the vacant spaces between you and him.

You'd greet him each time he opened the door, your voice resonating through the apartment like the sweetest sonnet. And he would always pause by the doorknob, basking in the sound of your voice that hadn’t changed in the slightest. Your tone still held that same dulcet timber, a golden honey that once dripped freely upon his soul.

But today, Minho swung open the door and an eerie hush greeted him instead. He ventured in, calling after you, only to be met with utter silence. He anxiously checked the rooms, opening the doors hastily one by one. But you weren't there. You weren't home.

Minho felt the familiar tendrils of worry coiling around his heart, constricting it with each passing moment. He quickly grabbed his phone, dialing your number, only to fall into your voicemail, the robotic voice chilling him to the core.

In the past two weeks, you had made sure to text Minho each time you went outside- a precaution you took due to your fractured ribs which came with frequent fits of dizziness. It was a safety measure for one person, at least, to know where you are.

But you didn't text him today. And he had no idea where you might’ve gone to.

Minho tried to suck in a deep breath, willing the fear to relinquish its icy grip on his body so he could think properly. Maybe you had simply forgotten, he reasoned. Yet, he knew that you never back out on your promises. They were sacred for you since they were once senselessly broken.

For the second time in a mere three weeks, Minho’s deepest fears unfurl like a nightmare before him, ensnaring him in a tapestry woven with the bloody threads of everything that went wrong yesterday.

He carried his shame akin to heavy bricks on his shoulders, causing them to hunch forward- a coward, leaving the house before you even rose, and on his trail, your breakfast and a hastily written note. He couldn’t fathom eating at that kitchen table with you, not when his sobs still echoed around those sage walls, as did your quiet voice as you tried to soothe his cries, holding him between your tender arms.

Minho was scared. He was terrified you’d never come back home after everything that had happened, the words he said and the way he pleaded, nearly at your feet, consumed by a sadness grander than anything he’s ever known.

So, he storms out of the apartment in a hurry, scouring the nearby playground. But you aren’t there. The grocery store is next, the library, the flower shop, the cat café tucked in a corner that you may have stumbled on.

You were still nowhere to be found.

A dreadful sense of foreboding overcame him, akin to how he felt when his phone rang two weeks prior- the unfamiliar number of the hospital shining before his eyes. What if something happened to you, a fit of dizziness but no one was around to help? Life doesn’t grant you a second chance. No one has ever brushed against death’s shoulder twice and lived to tell the tale. What if he receives another call?

He couldn’t survive another call.

Minho stands in the midst of the road, clutching his head with a tight grip, desperately searching his memory for the places that once brought you solace during the months he spent knowing you. However, he quickly remembers that you no longer know of those places.

So where could you have gone?

An epiphany dawns upon Minho- the bridge you had pointed out to him from a distance on one of your walks, the first place you claimed as your own in the city. It towered above the ocean, suspended several meters in the air. He couldn't accompany you there that day, bound by a paralyzing fear of heights.

He prays with all his might that he's right.

He dashes towards the bridge akin to a madman, the desperate rhythm of his pounding feet mirroring the urgency in his heart. It looms tantalizingly close, a mere 15 minutes away, and Minho, in a state of disarray, knows he's not fit to drive right now. He was never fond of running, he didn't enjoy the searing ache in his lungs, robbing him of his ability to breathe. But he welcomes the pain today- it means that he's running fast enough to reach you. He hopes, he prays.

Minho spots you from a distance, a mere silhouette standing at the bridge's edge, your figure unmistakable with the red scarf tightly wound around your neck. Relief nearly brings him to his knees - you're alive.

Minho doesn't think as he sprints to you, eyes solely focused on you and not the void beneath his feet.

"Yn!" he calls out from afar, and you startle, snapping your head back to look at him. He wonders what he must look at you, disheveled hair, the wind knocking down his jean jacket. But he doesn't care.

Minho stands before you without pause, instantly pulling you into the shelter of his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling the familiar smell of your shampoo, a constant through the months of knowing you. He clings to it, to the familiarity of your scent and the way your heartbeat seems to pour from your body to his, speaking in a language only your souls can comprehend. His arms clutch at you tightly, rugged breaths escaping his body, dew tears gathering in his eyes and dropping down your shoulders.

Your arms hang limp by your side, confusion etched across your face at the urgency, the frenzy in which he pulled you to his chest, an emotion you hadn’t known in him in these past weeks.

You tentatively raise your hands, patting his back slowly. "Minho, what’s wrong?" you whisper, and he shakes his head.

"You weren't home. I- I thought something happened to you."

"No, I just went on a walk and lost track of time," you reassure him and he pulls away, warm hands cradling your cheeks.

"You're okay, right? Tell me you're okay," he pleads and you smile, nodding your head. “I'm okay, don’t worry.”

Minho drops your face, embarrassment flooding his being at his outburst. It morphs to panic as he realizes the expanse beneath—nothing but the vast ocean, the wind slamming into his body, making him lose his footing.

"Are... you okay?" you ask cautiously. "Minho, you're shaking," you point out, a frown tugging at your lips. "Are you cold?"

He stays silent, unable to place a word beyond the stutter of his lips.

"Here," you hurriedly unwrap your red scarf, enclosing it around his neck. "You're shivering, Minho," you grab his hands, rubbing his fingers, blowing warmth into them, an attempt to kindle fire into him.

"I'm not- not cold. I- I’m scared of heights," he admits through a stutter, eyes tightly closed.

"Then why are you here?" You ask, surprised.

"Because you are."

His confession comes out quietly, softened by the blow of his fear. His eyes remain closed, missing the tears gathering in your eyes, the ones you swiftly try to blink away.

"Let's go, just keep your eyes closed. Hold my hand," you entwine your fingers with his, squeezing it lightly to signal you're there, as you walk across the bridge.

You don't let go until you finally regain solid ground.

"You're safe. you can open your eyes," you say quietly.

"You're okay, right?" he inquires again, stepping closer.

"Why are you asking me this when you're the one shaking?" you chuckle, almost exasperated, nothing funny in the sound.

"I was worried about you, and I thought you left… after yesterday."

"Why would you- My god Minho why would you even come running across this bridge? Why would you do something like that when you're afraid?"

"Because I love you," his voice is resolute, soft as a whisper, as he states a simple truth. It only makes yours reach new heights.

"But why- why do you love me? Why would you still love me after everything I put you through?"

"You didn't put me through anything," he shakes his head, and you take a step back, facing away from him. He can see your body heaving up and down, the weight of unspoken words making your heartbeat race. And then you snap.

"You broke down yesterday," you pivot back, pointing at his chest. "You broke down in my arms because of me. Why would you still love me after all this Minho I don't- I don't understand."

"I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I know I probably made you uncomfortable and I shouldn't have asked something like that out of you-"

"No, no, Minho, you don't understand, you shouldn't apologize, I should. I’m the one who hurt you-"

"You didn't hurt me. It's something out of your control, you didn't choose this."

“Stop- just stop being so nice and understanding for a minute. I don’t deserve it!" you shout exasperated, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. "You can't look me in the eyes half of the time you can't even fucking breathe in your own home. It's now a- a cemetery for our memories and it'll soon become yours too because I suck the life out of you, can't you see that?"

"I'm not asking you to remember me,” he holds his hands up, in surrender, “I was wrong yesterday, you don't have to remember us."

"There is no us!” you yell, hands thrown in the air, “Not anymore, Minho, maybe never."

You suck in a deep breath, shutting your eyes, willing your voice to ebb and flow into calmness.

"I thought about it. It'll hurt less if you don't see me, time will pass and you'll get used to it, I'm not worth this."

"You are,” he interjects. “You don't get to pick for me, Yn."

"Stop- stop talking like this is normal, stop being so complacent with your pain, Minho you shouldn't love someone who hurts you!"

"Then make me stop loving you. Spare me. Tear open my heart and bleed it dry at your feet or else it won't stop beating for you. Don't you understand? If you are near or if you are far, I will still love you. The only difference is that I'd worry more about you. I'd worry if you're eating, I'd worry if you're taking your medicine, I'd worry if you're drinking out of your favorite cup or if you have a spare shampoo in your drawer because you hate running out of it. I'd worry out of my fucking mind, Yn don't leave."

It had been an encompassing sadness that made his true feelings surge yesterday, breaching the myriad of cracks in his heart. But today, it was fear that cast a revealing light upon his feelings, hidden in the recesses of his being. They surged forth in a transparency you were still not used to, the way the ocean throws on its shores the debris of sunken ships, allowing the grieving families of sailors to finally discover the terrible truth.

Still, his honesty, his soul bare at your mercy isn’t enough to make you stay.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just... I can't- I'm sorry."

You take three steps back, before turning your back to him and walking away. A numbness, like icy talons, seizes his limbs, his gaze fixated on your diminishing figure—carrying away everything he's ever loved. Paralysis envelopes his very essence, a haunting realization that the distance between you is more than a mere physical space. You're vanishing beyond the horizon of his reach, slipping through his desperate grasp. The fear of never seeing you again fractures the stillness, snapping Minho out of his trance.

"To love someone is firstly to confess, I'm prepared to be devastated by you." He shouts, making you pause in your tracks. "Isn't that your favorite quote, Yn? You told me this is what love is about. To place your heart in the palm of the person you love. And your hands are soft, Yn. I don't mind if I'm bruised by them."

"I lied then!” You yell back, tears cascading down your cheeks akin to a waterfall, “Belcourt lied and I lied when I told you this and when I promised that I'd always remember you in that canopy bed-"

"What did you just say?” Minho quickly walks to you, chest heaving. “What canopy bed?"

“It doesn't matter now,” you speak in a small voice, avoiding his eyes, seeking refuge in the ground beneath. Yet, Minho, gentle and determined, cups your face, guiding your gaze to meet his.

“It matters to me, Yn, please. What do you mean?"

“We were in that white canopy bed, when I told you that my heart would always remember you.”

“We were,” he whispers, eyes glazed over as the memory washes over him too. “Did you remember?”

“Not clearly, it was really hazy in my mind. But I remember that the windows were open, I was supposed to feel cold but… your hands on me, and they were warm. And I…” you suck in a deep breath and Minho smiles encouragingly, running his thumb in a tender caress across your cheek.

“I remember feeling that I loved you,” you finally confess. “Even though I couldn’t see you. That's why I said that I'd always remember you. Because you filled every chamber in my heart, so much that it'd still hold your name even if you left it…that's how I felt.” You pause, as Minho forcibly swallows the lump down his throat.

“But it didn't unlock any new memories and I-”

“It's okay, it’s okay. You still remembered,” he smiles and the gesture brings you to his lips, rosy, plump. Were they still as warm? Still as soft?

“I did…” you trail off. “You also kissed me, in my memory. Your lips were everywhere and… they were soft.” You add quietly, eyes fixated on his mouth, the smile that once adorned it slipping away.

A tentative warmth courses through your being, a subtle blaze that ignites your cheeks in a shade of crimson. In this moment, a need unfurls within you, a yearning that eclipses the delicate boundaries of restraint. The memory of his lips on your skin becomes a beacon, standing tall amidst the tumultuous winds of uncertainty. You want to taste the warmth again. You want to kiss Minho.

“I kissed you.” His hands, once gentle on your cheeks, now slip down with purpose, cradling your jaw in a gesture that speaks of both reassurance and longing.

“You did.”

“And my lips were soft,” he repeats, his red scarf brushing against your throat.

"They were," you respond, breathless. His mouth stands electrifyingly close, a mere hairbreadth away, as you contemplate the simple act of tilting your head, closing the tantalizing gap. All that stands between you and the echoes of the love that was is the lift of your head, a movement that could breathe life into the dormant embers of your heart.

"Yn," Minho speaks softly, his words a gentle brush against the canvas of your shared vulnerability. His minty breath tickles your nose, as you hum, a wordless acknowledgment that hangs in the air. Your eyes remain closed, your heart beating loudly in your ears, drowning out the sound of the waves nearby.

“Use me. Use me to remember.”

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dumbseee · 1 year

Text

insecurity.

f1 au/fic: in which, lando and y/n have been dating for a few months, but fans are still talking about y/n’s past relationship. making lando feel insecure and questioning y/n’s feelings for him.

lando norris x singer!reader

(fc: jess alexander)

note: english isn’t my first language so excuse me for the mistakes this might have xx ALSO it’s the first time that i’m actually writing something so i hope it’s not too bad lmao. thank you for reading my aus btw <3

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, danielricciardo and 2 799 009 others.

y/n: happy birthday to my sun, you’re such a beautiful soul, i’m so proud to call you mine. i love you to the moon and back and promise to always love you.

landonorris: i love you more baby

danielricciardo: we’re at practice and he’s crying btw

fan1: they’re so absjdkdoldel

fan2: mama y papa

fan3: he always smile so brightly when he’s looking at her :(

fan4: i’m sorry but i can’t help but think about y/n’s ex… on the same day last year she was posting pictures of him

fan5: @.fan4 don’t do that… it’s about lando, not her ex

fan6: am i tripping or she also used to call her ex, her « sun »??

fan7: @.fan6 WHAT

fan8: @.fan6 no she didn’t?

lando sighed and threw his phone on his bed. of course he saw all the tweets about you and your stupid ex, how could he ignore them when it was all over the internet. people were speculating about if he was a rebound or a toy for you. lando was hurt, he always thought that you were way out of his league anyways so he should’ve seen it coming, right? you were an amazing and worldwide known singer, with your angelic voice and heartbreaking lyrics. you sang with your heart which made anyone who was listening to you, fall in love immediately.

that’s what happened with lando. he was always a big fan of yours, singing your songs on top of his lungs at parties, and following every single news about you, he even went to your concerts. one day, he went viral for singing your song on the radio with his engineer, he also happened to have made it to p3, which he said was because you were his lucky charm. the video was published online and went viral, you saw it and immediately found it adorable. the rest was history.

when you guys hard launched your relationship to the world, the big majority was happy for you two, happy to see you smile and happy to see that lando managed to get his crush. but a small minority saw that relationship as a rebound for you, saying horrible things about how you never loved lando and how you would dump him in a few months to go back to your one true love, your ex.

lando saw it all. and he hated it.

"lando? are you okay?" you asked, when you went to check in on him. he was supposed to bring a few blankets so you guys could watch a movie together. but he was taking way too much time so you went to see if he was okay.

"do you love me y/n?" he asked you, and the sadness in his eyes almost made you cry. lando’s eyes was what you loved the most about him, with his smile of course, but his gorgeous green eyes were full of emotions, you could drown in them and feel every little thing he was feeling just by looking at him.

"what are you talking about? of course i love you lando." you say, taking his hand in yours and softly kissing his knuckles. you saw him close his eyes and sigh deeply. you pushed him on the bed and sat next to him. "what happened?"

"it’s stupid, don’t worry about it." he finally looked up at you and faked a smile but it didn’t fool you.

"lando. tell me." you were still holding his hand and with your free hand you started to caress his cheek. he closed his eyes again and melted against your touch.

"your fans are still talking about your past relationship and how i’m nothing but a rebound to you." he said it in such a low tone you almost didn’t hear him. but sadly you heard his words and you could feel your heart shatter at how your fans words affected him. "i know that you guys stayed together for a while, and i know that you wrote good songs about him, i listened to them all, but… if you still love him you can-…"

"lando norris." you said in a serious tone, which startled him. "how am i supposed to love anyone else when you stole my heart and refuse to give it back?" his eyes lit up a little by your words. "and i literally wrote 56 songs about how much i love you so you better listen to them all once again and never doubt my feelings for you ever again, boy."

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, charlottesiine and 6 808 009 others.

y/n: ‘you are in love’ is officially out ;) little gift from me to you sweet lan <3

maxfewtrell: lando listened to it and locked himself in the bathroom to cry

landonorris: @.maxfewtrell FAKE NEWS

danielricciardo: i wish someone would write 57 songs about me…

heidiberger_: @.danielricciardo excuse me? (great song btw y/n!)

liked by y/n.

fan1: ZKSKSLXPODOSOZ

fan2: y/n making haters eat their words with one song: queen behaviour

fan3: i hope haters will stop hating on lando now how can you say that y/n is using him as a rebound

fan4: CALL 911 IM ON THE VERGE OF DEATH

fan5: y/n writing a love song for lando on his birthday :(

fan6: i love them so much pls

fan7: that whole drama about her ex was so dumb, they broke up for a reason and y/n also wrote songs about how awful he was to her towards the end of their relationship, why do you guys want her to go back to that dog?

liked by y/n.

3K notes · View notes

lottiies · 2 months

Text

SHARED MY BODY AND MY MIND WITH YOU

→ Leon broke up with you because of his emotional baggage, not wanting to drag you down into his trauma-induced misery. He didn’t usually date out of his line of work anyway, he hated himself for involving himself with someone so innocent. But when he gets a voicemail at an awfully late hour and listens to it, he nearly broke driving laws to get to your place. He still loves you, that much is certain. Your body and mind are like a second nature to him

CW: MDNI, fem!reader, pwp, one sided breakup, angst, description of leon’s self guilt and sabotage, heavy mentions of marriage, centered around Leon rather than the reader, reconciliation, lovemaking–gentle sex, crying, very small religious snippet, he eats you out, unprotected p in v, implied aftercare + implication of a better future

WC: 5.3k

Note: i think…this is my favorite fic that i’ve ever written. breaking my pink blog theme with this and actually capitalizing letters um…i had to set the tone okay. i actually started working on this in january to cope with some things, but i didn’t make much progress until recently!! the title’s a lyric from the song ‘cruel world’

BOT VERSION HERE MASTERLIST

Leon has a rule: never get emotionally involved with anyone who isn’t in his line of work. The reason behind that is self-explanatory. It's too difficult to accomplish. All his baggage holds him down, and he’s always away for long periods at a time and then returns back with body aches all over and has to hibernate for a while. What does he truly have to offer?

He did it anyway.

You managed to romance him, granting him a fleeting glimpse of happiness and a chance at self-love. Lingering caresses, meaningful eye contact, soulful conversations, an audience to his jokes, the key to your heart — you gave him everything.

Breaking up with you was painful, the second it was all said and done and you were out of his sight, he broke down crying. That was what he deserved, that’s what his mind told him.

It was easy for Leon to disappear from your life, just as quick as the snap of his fingers. He was never around that much to begin with. Your efforts in reaching out to him were futile if he was halfway across the world dealing with another abrupt assignment, or if he fell back into the habit of nursing a drink in some run down bar without contacting a soul.

But no amount of alcohol could make him forget about you these days. The memories of you were too strong to be diluted.

“What about this one?” Curiosity had dripped from your question, your fingers gently feathered across the healed up scar on his left shoulder.

Leon was almost an open book when it came to you, he truly cherished honesty in any relationship, whether romantic or platonic. Guilt weighed on him for having to limit certain answers to only the surface details. It felt wrong; it felt like he was keeping secrets from you and keeping you in the dark. But it couldn’t be helped, not when you weren’t in the same line of work as him. Most of the contents of his work were confidential.

After all, at this point the two of you had only been dating for half a year. How could he burden your mind with the harsh realities of everything that wasn’t known by the general public?

The two of you were naked, tangled under the sheets. No sex or anything, simply getting familiar with each other’s bodies and exploring with gentle and cautious hands.

“1998, shot on duty.”

The memories were still fresh in his mind. People say that forgetting a traumatic event is common, people dissociate to cope and shield their brain. It was the opposite for Leon. All the screams plagued his mind like a damn mantra, no way in hell would he ever be able to forget anyone’s voice.

Either that, or his mind made up fantasies about what could’ve been between you both. Domestic bliss. Buying a house together. Shy talks about how many kids you guys wanted. The memories haunted him. He wanted it back.

He even bought a ring. A beautiful one that he was meant to display to you when he sunk onto one knee and popped the question that would hopefully bind the two of you for life. The one that he was supposed to fidget with whenever he held your hand as the two of you planned your wedding, whether it be simple, grand, or to elope.

He kept it safe even after he broke up with you, he couldn’t bear to throw it away because of the sliver of hope that maybe one day he’d still get the chance of putting it on your finger. He felt like a fool. Sometimes he opened the box up to reminisce. It tugged at his heartstrings when he saw how rough his own fingers were in comparison to the smooth metal, from his years of physical exhaustion and training. God, he wished your hands would never get all battered like his.

He thought about you so much that you were the star actress in his nightly dreams.

The worst ones were the nightmares, though. Like the one that had him turning in his sleep tonight.

It all replayed in his mind. Your facial expression when he broke up with you out of the blue — the way the smile on your face had faded into a frown, your glimmering eyes contorting into that of disheartened ones. The way you looked at him with such a concoction of emotions. The pitiful chuckle that escaped your lips along with a nervously spoken ‘what?’ Or maybe it was the prolonged silence afterwards that killed him. It felt like hours until he got a proper response from you, one that was drowned out by the drumming of his own heart and the pulse that formed in his ears.

Usually he got to the end of it, but tonight he was abruptly woken up by the sound of his phone ringing. A blessing in disguise, maybe. Regardless, he was a bit irritated, he had always been such a light sleeper.

“You’re kidding…” Leon let out a heavy sigh, trying to rub the sleep away from his eyes. He didn’t even want to answer, too tired to even think about the possibility of being called to the field. No way in hell did he want to be met with Hunnigan’s voice and some intel he didn’t feel like remembering.

He let the phone ring, and eventually, blissful silence filled the room again. If it was dire, he knew he’d get another call soon.

Instead, he heard his phone vibrate not long after. He muttered out a curse before reaching for his phone, seeing that a voicemail was left. He didn’t bother reading whose number it was. Christ, the message was 5:06 minutes long.

Whatever. He played it aloud, resting his forearm over his face as he listened in.

“Hey Leon, it’s me…”

Fuck.

He fully sat up on his bed, so quickly it could’ve given him whiplash.

“I miss you. Still think about you every day. I don’t know what I did wrong…you probably aren’t even listening to this. I just…I don’t know.” a sigh. “The clock hit 12 and um, well today’s the anniversary of the day you asked me out. Maybe you don’t remember. I think you do though, you were always good with dates.”

Leon knew the voice of a broken person when he heard it.

No. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to let you go and then you’d see how much life had to offer, how any other person could give you a better and more stable relationship.

How could you be hung up on a man like him?

It was instinctual. He shuffled out of bed, body reacting before his mind and reaching for a clean pair of clothes from his closet. He left the voicemail playing in the background, it filled his lonely house. His heart was racing so loudly he couldn’t even hear the sounds of the wind outside or the creak of the floor with every step. All he did was change and brush his teeth before he drove over to you.

Thankfully, the roads were empty and the highway was free of traffic or else surely he would’ve been pulled over.

Thinking rationally wasn’t necessary when it came to you, not when he just got punched in the gut with a load of nostalgia and gut wrenching heartbreak.

He has always been yours, even during the separation. His heart hammered within his ribcage when he pulled into your driveway, his body moving in a hurry out of his car and towards your door. No hesitation.

Knock, knock, knock.

Ten seconds felt like ten minutes, but eventually the door swung open.

Your pretty face filled the focus of his pupils, his expression softening. You looked like a deer in the headlights, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

Oh, my sweet girl. There she is.

His hands itched to reach for you, to hold you in his arms and spin you around, nuzzling his nose against yours like old times — like some romantic drama. He hadn’t watched one in a while, they reminded him too much of you. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Leon's hair was messy. It was a sight you had seen many times: his bed hair. Those emotion carrying eyes of his were contrasted with the lifeless bags under them. He came over so damn quickly he hadn’t even taken the time to make himself look composed.

“Leon? What are you…” You couldn’t even finish your thoughts. You felt nothing yet so much at the same time, perhaps from the shock of it all. You brought two fingers to the pulse on your neck to make sure you were awake, and hadn’t somehow fallen asleep after your call and voicemail to him. The thundering pace of your pulse confirmed that you weren’t off in dream land.

“I got your voicemail,” He responded, sounding remorseful. “Had to make sure you were alright. Uh…can I come in?”

You continued staring at him like if he was some sort of supernatural being. If you reached your hand out to touch him, would he disappear? Or perhaps your limb would go straight through him as if he was transparent.

You snapped out of it and nodded. “Yeah, come on in.” Hesitation clouded your tone, not out of wariness but because you had no clue what the hell was going on. You hadn’t seen him in over a year, at least not in person, only through photos and videos you still had saved on your phone from when the two of you were dating (going through them was part of your nightly routine.)

“To be honest…I wasn’t expecting you to even hear my message.”

You stood there awkwardly as he entered, closing the door afterwards. Your apartment still smelled the same, a wave of comfort washed over him despite the circumstances, his eyes darting around at all your belongings. This was once his safe space, like his secret haven.

You sat on your couch, waving him over. Your legs felt like jelly, no way could you be standing for this. He followed, sitting on the couch cushion on the opposite side from you.

“My ringtone woke me up. I thought you were a coworker of mine at first but…I’m glad you weren’t.”

“Glad, really?”

“Yeah.” He gave no further context, at least for that minute.

Silence hung in the air, time became still. Either way, the shared glance between the two of you broke the tension, you were both thinking the same thing. Your minds were linked, seeking reconciliation, every circuit of neurons buzzing with your shared proximity.

He rested his elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit. Everything felt surreal, you couldn’t take your eyes off him, afraid he’d disappear.

“I’m…I’m sorry about the way I ended things.” There was a crack in his voice, he was so desperately clinging onto the ideology that he shouldn’t wear all his heart on his sleeve. He failed every time though, his words had wavered.

“I know.” You truly did.

“How?”

“Because I know you, Leon. It hurt, and I found myself wondering why you would just up and leave after what felt like such a meaningful time. But I didn't ever think you did it with mal intent.”

You should be demanding answers, hell, he could even take a few slaps to the face. Maybe his guilt ridden self preferred that to your sweet treatment. Did he even deserve to be met with your understanding? This self-pitying mindset he harbored is what had led to this in the first place.

“You’re right. I didn’t mean to hurt you, that’s the last thing I wanted to do.” Were his efforts in explaining himself getting across? “I thought it was better this way. I'm…broken.”

Trying to convince him that he isn’t ‘broken’ was futile, all you could do was beautify it instead. You scooted closer to him, clasping one of his hands between yours. “All you see are your faults, but I was seeing you entirely, not just for what you do in your job or the images that keep you up at night.”

His hands felt the same. Calloused in areas he couldn’t help like his knuckles and his palms, but well-kept in the nail department. He looked down at the physical contact, putting his other hand atop yours, his thumb grazing tenderly at your skin. Familiar territory.

“It’s hard not to.” He admitted, his eyes feeling glossy all of a sudden. “My job is my life, it drags into every other part of my life.”

“How did it drag into our relationship?”

He truly didn’t know how to answer that. The times he shared with you were the best experiences of his life. He finally got the chance to pull out his cardboard box full of romantic movies to watch with the lover he had been waiting for his whole life, you. Countless nights spent cooking together in your kitchen, full of laughter and playful bickering, and some harmless food fights. Grocery shopping together with laced fingers, just a sneak peek into domesticity. God, he yearned for its return.

“I don’t know. I constantly had to leave and got no vacation time either. Let’s see…I had to keep a lot of information confidential. It kinda screams ‘this’ll all make a girl run the other way.’”

How wrong he was, he ended up leaving before he could get abandoned, as if that would’ve happened, though, you never wanted him out of your life.

“That wasn’t true for me, Leon. I wanted to be with you. I just hope I wasn’t a burden on you.”

That hurt. A dull ache spread across his chest. He pulled you close, tucking you against his side.

“Don’t say that,” His instruction was soft spoken, his lips brushed against your cheek. You were never a burden, he always shut you out, thinking that his heart was full of thorns and you’d prick yourself if he let you get too close. That, perhaps his sorrow was contagious and his poison would flood your veins.

Words of comfort weren’t his strong suit, but he tried his best. He had to. “You weren’t a burden. Never were, and never will be, okay?”

It felt so good to have you against him, his gaze was set on you, searching for any indicator that you were uncomfortable. You leaned your shoulder against his shoulder though, nuzzling against him. Pensive silence followed.

Even with the somber undertones filling your apartment, your heart was bursting. He was here, back with you. Holding you like he used to do after you had a particularly stressful day at work, or when you had an argument with one of your close ones.

The long separation made familiar carnal desires spark to life, along with the itch to bring them to fruition.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You murmured to him, but your wavering voice caught his instant attention.

You were on the verge of tears, oh dear. If you started sobbing, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hold back from crying either.

Leon didn’t waste a second, pulling you onto his lap, one of his hands stroking the back of your head, his other arm wrapping around your back.

“What are you thinking about?” He needed to know. You had always been the most verbal, whereas his feelings usually showed on his face or body language.

“About how much I missed you.” You respond, running your hands up and down his arms, squeezing at his muscles. “And how unreal this feels. And…” Your eyes flicker down to his lips. “I wanna kiss you, Leon…and y’know.” Make love. “Like old times.”

Oh.

“Are you sure?” Leon hadn’t intended for the night to play out this way. He needed to make sure you were actually thinking straight with the pool of emotions you seemed to be drowning in. To be fair, he was drowning too.

It was midnight, your bodies burned for one another.

“I am.” You uttered those words with such finality, eyes set on him.

This wasn’t some impromptu longing for his physical connection, you had been craving it for as long as the two of you had been separated. To feel him in the purest and most tender way possible, nestled against one another and eliciting feelings no one else could.

The pads of his thumbs rub circles against the fat of your hips. He's looking up at you, his eyes are unable to hide a flicker of yearning and affection. Expressive, his pupils dilated and his eyebrows slightly raised. He blinked slowly, like a cat showing utmost trust to its owner.

He looks at you like he worships you (he does.) Get him on his hands and knees, he’ll mumble your name like you’re his god and he’s praying to you, all his sins out in the open and his scarred body for you to look over and judge. He’ll be vulnerable with you if that means you’ll forgive his wrongdoings and give him a second chance. You must be a merciful god, no doubt about it.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You murmured, cupping his face. His gaze was hypnotic, sending a wave of security down your body. It almost felt as if you traveled to the time before he shattered your heart into pieces of glass.

“Like what?” He couldn’t help it. Not like he had a mirror, anyway. His face was usually tense, brows permanently furrowed and eyes narrowed from being attentive all the fucking time, his lips a straight line, jaw anything but relaxed.

Not right now, though. Never with you. Everything in his body softened and loosened up around you. Well, with the exception of his dick but that was another matter.

“You know what I mean. Like…like you still love me.”

Leon didn’t know what to say. The words died in his throat while every fiber of his being wanted to say ‘I do.’ The same words he could’ve voiced out standing across the altar from you. His brain short-circuited.

His pause came across as ambiguous to you, to mask the pain, you kissed him. Like a chocolate on a hot summer day, he melted in an instant, turning to mush, holding one side of your jaw and matching your pace.

The two of you mingled like two puzzle pieces. Your chest was flush against his, one of your hands finding his hair and pulling on it, earning a drawn out groan from him. It went slow for the first five minutes, some occasional pull backs for breath, shy smiles in betweens, before going back in like the act of kissing was needed for your pulses to continue, your hearts beating as one.

“Mmph.” Your whimper made him shudder, oh how he had missed that noise. His other hand got a bit more confident, resting on the small of your back, moving up towards your ribs then back down, almost resting on your ass.

He felt a surge of heat settle in his groin, aching to give you all the pleasure you deserved, to make you feel cherished and known. To knock any misery out of your head and replace it with euphoric sparks and reassurance. To be one with you again, if you’d have him.

He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes fluttering open. “Bedroom?”

A nod from you was all it took. He didn’t let you get up, instead holding your ass as he stood up, his lips back on yours as he carried you to your bedroom like he owned the place. His mind still had the spatial layout, it worked out and he eventually placed you onto the middle of the bed oh so delicately.

You knew what was coming, already taking your clothes off in a haste as you heard his belt come undone, the sound of his taking his shirt off, and his boots being kicked off.

It wasn’t long until he was on you again.

Leon took his time to look at your body. He was all too familiar with it, knowing exactly where certain beauty marks were, or the places that were sensitive to even the slightest fan of his breath. His fingertips ghosted over your sides, sucking in a sharp inhale as his eyes roamed all over, studying you as if you were his muse and he was about to draw you. “So beautiful…”

His lips had traveled all across you once upon a time. Leon had a great memory, perhaps one of his best features, though also his downfall. At times like these, it comes in handy. It almost seemed like a hazy flashback to the nights he had you splayed on the bed, pressing his lips against your forehead and making it all the way to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

He wanted to mimic the memory. “Need to taste you. Can I?”

“God, yes.” You agreed in a heartbeat, body already feeling all tingly at the anticipation.

He littered open mouthed kisses from the middle of your chest, all the way down to your end of your stomach, making your body ignite with flames and mind flood with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. What day was it? Month? Year? You couldn’t remember, just desperately hoping this wasn’t some realistic feeling dream. You’ve had those too often, and if you woke up without him by your side, you felt like you would die from heartbreak.

He hooked his arms underneath your thighs to pull you close. His fingers dug into your thighs as he took another look at his favorite pretty cunt. He missed this. Missed you. Missed having you grind yourself against his face until he couldn’t breathe. Missed having his heart race from the angelic noises you blessed his ears with.

His nose pressed against your clit, applying light pressure as his tongue lapped at your slit, gathering the dew there. Geez, he really got right into it. Your eyes rolled back, your stomach tensing and your back arching. You could die right now by your (ex) lover’s tongue, what a way to go.

On the occasion that he opened his eyes, he’d look up at you through his light lashes — he swore you looked like an angel from his perspective.

“What is this? Your last meal on death row?” You were joking, but god…he really was making your mind go blank, he knew just all the right buttons to press.

“Oh, so you think I’m a criminal?”

Like always, you reached for his hair, pushing it back and hearing him growl out of contentment. He gave your clit gentle sucks before flattening his tongue against it and flicking it, his head moving side to side, repeating the process again and again.

One thing about Leon? He always found a way to turn you on by being vocal. His noises were muffled and sloppy but you could feel the vibration of all his whimpers and growls against you as he took his time eating you out. He was getting off to pleasuring you, and that fact alone made it so much hotter.

Your thighs were trembling, threatening to close in and squeeze his head. Leon placed one of his hands over your lower abdomen, applying light pressure with his palm and coaxing you into your orgasm.

It didn’t take you long to get there, you hadn’t felt a tongue on you in ages, he was your last.

“Leon, I’m—“

He already knew.

“That’s it, make a mess all over my face.” It sounded like a demand but instead it came across as a pitiful and desperate plea.

How many times had he been in this position? Lying on his stomach, your taste on his tongue, chin dripping with his drool and your wetness, feeling your body trembling…he couldn’t even count how many. But it was enough for him to know your body like no other.

He kept going even after your thighs started squeezing in on him, even with the way you unintentionally tugged at his hair enough to have him rutting against your sheets. He made sure to make your orgasm feel good, lapping at you all throughout until he heard a whine leave your lips and he felt you weakly push his head away — he didn’t want to overstimulate you and hurt you.

He finally took a breath, one that filled his lungs with satisfaction as he propped himself up on his elbows before sitting up. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling his blood pump south with the way you were still composing yourself, your legs twitching all cutely and your torso rising and sinking with each deep breath you attempted to take.

“Do you wanna…” Your eyes flitted down to the prominent tent in his pants, feeling a stirring in your stomach already.

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I mean…only if you want to.”

With his belt already in some corner of the room and his fly down, all that was left was discarding his pants and boxers down. He fished his wallet out and pulled a packet from it before doing so.

You were too distracted eyeing his now exposed dick, gulping. It had been a while. But a certain wrapper noise caught your attention. A condom. You had always been careful with him in the past, but you wanted him inside him without any barriers. To feel him entirely, his skin against your insides.

“Don’t, please?”

“But–“

“I need to feel you, Leon.”

“Already being a bad influence on me? What am I gonna do with you?” His jest was met with your roll of eyes, but the corners of your eyes crinkled, happy he was already comfortable enough to bicker a bit.

He pet your head, gazing fondly at you as he awaited your response.

“I just want to feel you as close as possible. I don't know how to explain it. You can pull out at the end…I dunno.”

You didn’t need to explain further, because he felt the same. He kissed your forehead, whispering “okay.”

Getting in between you and in position for missionary, he continued peppering kisses all over your face. He couldn’t hold back, he had so much to make up for, he owed you at least a thousand more. He pushed into you, a breathy moan leaving his lips, it felt like he had just entered the pearly gates. And the way your jaw hung open in a silent gasp told him you felt the same.

“You alright?”

“Mhm, keep going.”

“God, I missed you…” His thrusts made the bed creak, adding to the assortment of sounds of two bodies joined as one: skin against skin, high pitched gasps and occasional throaty groans, nails scratching against Leon’s back and leaving red marks in their wake, a subtle noise, but there nonetheless.

“Yeah? How much?”

“Too much. Could never get you outta my mind.” He admitted, burying his head against your neck to leave open-mouthed kisses all over, smiling when he felt you squirming. “Dreamt about you every night. Every…every morning I woke up, I thought you’d still be by my side.”

His response knocked the breath out of you, God if you could have him closer than physically possible, you would. This was the closest you’d be though, his tip hitting your g-spot, his body flush against yours, it was just the two of you in this never ending universe.

“Leon…Leon…fuck.” You called for him like you needed him to prevent you from crumbling.

He pinned one of your hands to the side of your head and laced his fingers between yours, his head remaining against your other side, raspy grunts and incoherent praises rumbling against your ear. He gently bit your earlobe, tugging at it and sending a shiver down your spine.

Despite all his self doubts, Leon knew how to love, how to send another person to cloud nine and make their head fuzzy with sheer euphoria. He wasn’t fucking you, he was loving you, there’s a clear difference.

His lips trailed to your jawline, eventually reaching your lips and initiating an uncoordinated make out session, the sound of dazed out whimpers and quiet growls mixing together perfectly.

He was getting there, his pace more erratic than before, his hand squeezing yours tightly. “You’re so pretty.” He mumbled against your lips, speaking in between rushed pecks. “Prettiest girl in the world.”

You managed to smile at that. “Yeah? Well you’re the prettiest boy in the world.”

You could’ve said handsome. Or hot. Or cute. But Leon was pretty, that was always the first thing that came to your mind. He was like a model, surely some agency would have tried to recruit him if he were actually in broad daylight more.

“Mm.” He liked the compliment. No more words were exchanged after that, he was focused on feeling you. Feeling the way you took all of him like it was nothing, clearly the two of you were physically made for one another.

There was no going back from this, Leon couldn’t bear the thought of getting a taste of happiness yet again and then falling back into a hopeless pit. He wouldn’t push you away again.

You were already sensitive from the way he had made you cum on his face earlier. You pulled away from his kisses, your head thrashing side to side against the pillow instead, your hips desperately bucking to meet his.

“Leon…”

“Just let go for me, you can do it.”

Moans ripped from your throat, your nails leaving crescent indents on his skin as your body writhed underneath him. Leon couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you came, his own stomach feeling tighter and tighter until he followed suit.

“I love you.” He let it slip at the very end, his mind too dazed and his emotions for you running at full blast. You would’ve replied if not for the way you were in awe, watching the way his eyebrows furrowed, his head tilted back, his mouth let out the raspiest grunts as he pulled out and came. Fuck, he couldn’t be real.

It was only then that Leon’s head cleared. He felt his heart sink to his stomach, had he said something wrong? The moment died down, he felt uncertain about how you’d react. Regardless, Leon took a moment to admire you in your flushed state before leaning down to kiss your head, then lying down beside you and pulling you to his side.

You were all dazed with his confession lingering in your head.

He still loved you. Maybe it was obvious, but hearing it aloud was a completely different feeling.

All the suppressed emotions between the two of you were being put on the spotlight. Your eyes brimmed with unshed tears, you tried to blink them away, but you failed.

Leon wished your eyes hadn’t gotten glossy and that your lips hadn’t tugged into a small frown. It made his heart physically ache. Heavy hearted, that’s what he felt like, swallowing to try to alleviate just how sore his throat felt all of a sudden. Guilt bubbled in his stomach because he knew he was the source of your tears.

He kissed away your tears, welcoming the salty taste of them.

He couldn’t tell you not to cry, he wasn’t in the position to. All he could do was reassure you instead, curling his hand into a fist before rubbing soothing circles onto your back as he watched you curl against him.

“Hey…”

“Sorry. I didn't mean to start crying. I just…you still love me? Did you mean that?”

“It’s okay. Just let it out, I'm here for you.” He had your head tucked underneath his chin. “And yeah…I never stopped.”

“I love you too.”

He wasn’t leaving this time.

Maybe that ring he held onto would find its true owner soon.

You, his sweet girl.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #leon kennedy oneshot #resident evil oneshot

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peanutpinet · 5 days

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BABE!!!! We absolutely need a second part to Little Things, we need to know how their relationship develops and see Sylus fall in lover with reader's soul. PLEASE BABE PLEASE!!!

Welcome to My World - Sylus x Fem Reader (Sequel to Little Things)

Request: Craving for a sequel to this w/ reader actually going back to her world and sylus just defying all odds shshshshs these kinds of fics are so interesting love em <3

A/N: Just a lil something for those who wanted to see what would Sylus be like if he were to actually come out of the screen and into our world (still having his evol but is not addressed). Also if anyone is a Kpop fan, I just want to say, do have a listen to Aespa’s Welcome to My World. It embodies this fic so much and am putting some of the lyrics into the story! I hope you guys enjoy!!

Disclaimer: I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest.

Also, if you haven't read Little Things, the "first part" of the story, do have a read. Will be link here. But you don't have to read it and can just read each of these fics seperately

Warnings: Fluff but mainly ANGST, Isekai Theme, Will be Going back and Forth between LADS universe and our universe, slow burn because Sylus is tryna find you :))

Funfact: I remembered the TV Show: Westworld and how the characters of the game gain conciousness when writing this fic

Songs to listen to: NCT Dream - Broken Melodies, Aespa - Welcome to My World, NCT Dream - Like We Just Met

N109 Zone - 01:48 AM

It was in the middle of the night. When all are asleep, people in the N109 zone, those in the shadows have only started to wake up and get on about their day, including Sylus. Slowly awakening from his slumber, Sylus saw the girl that was beside him, fast asleep. Her chest was rising and falling in a steady motion; indicating that she was in a deep sleep.

Smiling to himself, Sylus decided to scootch a bit closer and caressed the girl’s cheek. But as he did, the girl immediately grabbed his wrist tightly and jerked awake. “Who the fuck…w-where am I?!”

Hearing the girl’s words, Sylus knew. “You’re not her…”

Real World - 09:28 AM

You woke up with a pounding headache but slowly regained your consciousness, you noticed how the bed wasn’t as big nor was it as warm as when you were used to. Jerking up, you took in the room you were in. The bright white ceiling was the first thing you see, the smell of alcohol and blood was faint but you could smell it, and then you heard a beeping noise which made you turn and saw that your hand was hooked onto a monitor and an IV drip.

Whipping your head around, you search for your phone until you find it and immediately look at the date when you suddenly get a notification from both Instagram and Twitter mentioning the new update for Love and Deepspace.

“I’m back…” you sobbed yet your fingers glided across the screen of your phone, pressing the game that you swore you were in

As the game loads, you see the cutscenes of all of the characters and can’t help but feel emotionally overwhelmed whenever you see Sylus’ cutscenes.

Once the game loaded and you could hear that cafe jingle along with those familiar red eyes, you tried to see whether or not anything had changed in the game other than the new updates but when you clicked on his tall figure, the lines he said were nothing out of the ordinary. Even in the text message icon, you couldn’t text him like you did when you were in the game.

“Was it all just a dream?”

“Y-you’re awake!!” you heard someone talk and as your eyes looked at the doorframe, it was the nurse

You soon found out that you had been in a coma for a little over 2 weeks yet it felt like you were in the game for 2 months, maybe even more. Your best friends came to visit you every day and now that you’re awake, they were bombarding you with food, life updates, and all.

For once, you actually didn’t feel as lonely as you were when you appeared in the game.

Maybe it truly was all just a dream…

From a distance, a black crow was watching your interaction with your friends from a tree that was just outside of your window. After some time, the crow eventually fled and flew away from the tree.

N109 Zone - 04:18 AM

Sylus was beyond pissed. He took MC to where he took you in the beginning to get your evol and aether core checked but additionally, he wanted to know if you were truly not in the MC’s body. Sylus’ worker questioned as to why he brought MC again to check her evol and aether core, confusing the Onychinus’ leader.

Even when the two came home, the twins didn’t notice any difference from MC. What’s wrong with everyone? You’re not MC and it goes the other way as well. Why were the twins pestering MC who to Sylus, was not you.

“But boss, Miss Hunter and you have known each other for over 2 months now. What do you mean she’s not her?” Luke questioned, genuinely confused at his boss’ attitude

“She’s not. Have you forgotten who taught you both how to cook the simplest meal? The one that bought you those bulletproof vests?” Sylus demanded, something, anything about your sudden disappearance or at the very least, anyone other than him remembering your existence

“It’s Miss Hunter, though?” Kieran replied, making Sylus groan. “Just, leave me alone for the next few days” Sylus left the room and walked past MC who grabbed his wrist, making his brow arch in confusion.

Sighing, Sylus turned to see MC. “What is it that you want?”

“Where are you going? I went through all the trouble to get the N109 zone and I want answers regarding the aether core” MC demanded but Sylus just chuckled and used his evol to remove MC’s hand from his wrist

“You already have the aether core you’re looking for. Why don’t you go back and ask your doctor about that? I have other matters to attend to. Like why are you here instead of her” Sylus mentioned, walking away until MC talked to him

“You’re always mentioning her but you never mentioned her name. Who are you exactly talking about and what does it have to do with me?” MC questioned and this time, Sylus grabbed her by her neck and pinned her to the nearest wall

“Don’t tempt my patience. I only have so much left ever since your attitude shows up instead of something else I want. From here on out, I could care less about your little quest. You can even have that brooch you’re wearing to get in and out of the N109 zone without getting harmed. But I want you to leave. Go back to your doctor, that fish man of an artist, or fake hunter for all I care. When I come back to this place, I hope that you’re not here anymore. Or you’ll hurt even more” Sylus warned, releasing MC as he went who knows where.

Sylus went into his car, the car that you love to drive in. Though you were just a soul in MC’s body, he could immediately tell the two of you apart. What scent do you like, the small trinkets that you would buy to keep his things more organized, some small keychain plushies that he would put on his keys which is in contrast to his scary look.

You might just be a soul that just so happens to be in MC’s body, the body of a person he should’ve been interacting with, the one he should’ve been bound to. But why does his heart feel incomplete? Why does his soul long for your own.

Gripping onto the steering wheel, Sylus looked at the plushie you put in this car. It was a koala, one of your favourite plushies, because you told him that you looked like a koala when Sylus carried you around. “I swore to you that if this were to happen, I would find you. Regardless what happens, I will find a way to get back to you. Our stories’ unfinished, sweetie. Wait for me. I’ll do anything to get back to you”

Real World

It’s been several months since you woke up. You still played the game but not as often anymore. You got a job at your friend’s office as a secretary. It pays well, you and your friend are roommates, life has been going fairly well that you barely played the game that provided you comfort.

One day, however, there was a bouquet of red Carnations mixed with pink Camillas on your desk with a note attached to it. “I hope this gets to you. If this ever reaches you, it means that I’m another step closer to seeing you again. There’s this uneasy feeling I’ve been feeling since you were gone. I promise I won’t stop finding you”

Confused, you asked everyone, including the delivery man who delivered the flowers to you but no one knew where it came from. It didn’t even mention your name and only a description of you.

Brushing it off, you thought it must’ve been some kind of prank until several more flowers reached you. One after another, there were notes along with the flowers which all made your heart clench because whoever this person was, it seemed that either you left a very deep impression on them or this was some sort of stalker.

“Did the first one reach you? I’m getting closer”

“I hope that you’re eating well. Wait for me”

“It seems that you’ve forgotten about me once more. No matter, I’ll be sure to jog your memory once we meet again”

Another year has finally passed and the bouquet and notes kept on coming until you saw the flowers and notes that came in. Instead of the usual red Carnation or pink Camillas or even sometimes Forget me nots, this time it was a bouquet of black and red roses with a note of a familiar handwriting and scent.

“I’ve finally found you. You said that you were worried about me finding the real you but to me, you’re just as perfect as your soul. Your face, your body, it matches your soul perfectly. And even though you might’ve forgotten about me, I assure you that my love for you is still the same like we just met. Perhaps in the game, I would allow you to go live your life without me because it’s safer for you. But here, looking at you, I can feel myself coming alive once more. Whether you try to move on, I know that there’s a lingering feeling behind your pretty head thinking of the possibility. And you would be correct, sweetie. I’m fulfilling my promise to you. For there is no love greater than mine.

P.S: we should thank Mephisto for always managing to find you when I couldn’t

-Sylus”

You were in shock. Sure, there was a small voice, hidden behind all your to-dos, your schedules, your wants, likes, needs. A faint voice telling you of the possibility that perhaps Sylus was the one to send you all those flowers and notes but you were in your world, the real world. You would lock that faint voice and never think about it again. You were realistic. There was no way that a fictional 3D man would send you all of that.

And Mephisto? He’s a bird. A mechanical bird that is tied with Sylus. Everything seemed ridiculous. You couldn’t think straight for the rest of the day until your boss called you for a sudden meeting outside of the office and at a restaurant.

The restaurant was filled with high-class people, some were doing business with another while others were simply finding ways to spend their money. Suddenly, it reminded you of the time when you were in MC’s body and Sylus would take the two of you out to dinner.

Remembering Sylus, the flowers, and the note, you decided to excuse yourself to the restroom but in reality, you decided to log into the very game you downloaded to seek comfort. The nostalgia was coming back. They made a new update and introduced a new male character. Once your game loads, Sylus is still in the game and when you poke him, thinking that he’ll respond like how he would when a player hasn’t logged in for so long, he surprises you.

“You’re probably wondering why am I not responding to you in a way that you expect. Well, why don’t you check my messages on the message feature, sweetie?” Sylus mentioned and immediately, you went to open the message feature in the game and once again, you were shocked with what you read on the screen that you had to cover your mouth.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, kitten? I’m sad that you’ve forgotten about me but I’m genuinely happy with how you’re living your life so far”

“But if I were to tell you that I want to be apart of your life here, would you accept me?”

You were given the chance to answer him, to reply to this sudden message but your boss had already called you back and unfortunately, you had to go back to the table and sit beside your boss.

As you were about to sit down, you heard that familiar soothing voice that always calms your nerves; especially when you’re in the N109 zone. “Is this your secretary that we’ve been waiting for?”

Immediately, you looked up and met with those soft bright red eyes behind small glasses. The white hair you’ve gone through with your fingers was styled like how you first met him. The figure sitting in front of you was wearing a soft grey sweater and black jeans.

And that smile, that smile that you’re so used to seeing everyday is now showing in front of you again. “Pleased to meet you, sweetheart. Shall we begin the meeting?”

Throughout the meeting, you tried your best to pay attention and jot down all the notes you needed. You struggled for a moment and even towards the end, you stutter your thank you and goodbyes until the white-hair man called you.

“Waiting for someone, sweetie?” you heard that damn voice as you could feel all hairs on your skin stand up

Turning around, you finally got a good look at him. All of his 190cm height was towering over your figure. Your actual real-life self and not the MC you created in the game.

On one side, you wanted to talk, to question him if all of this was just another one of those visions you used to have. On the other, you wanted to jump at the man in front of you. To cry in his arms as he holds you close. But nothing. You were frozen in your spot as this Sylus look-alike smirked at you and held his index out which suddenly a black crow rest on.

“Is, is that…” you managed to utter, making the man in front of you chuckle

“Mephisto. An actual crow this time” he said, extending his hand out so the black crow was within your reach

Extending your own index out, the black crow, Mephisto went onto your index and you instinctively stroke its head. “We never stop looking for you, you know”

You look up to see those eyes that once were filled with rage now filled with sadness. Sighing, you tried to remind yourself that this is the real world, not your game.

“I'm sorry, sir. You must've gotten the wrong person. I don't think we’ve met before this meeting today. Your bird must be very friendly to have gone on another person’s hand” you mentioned, intending to return the black crow, still not believing that the man and bird in front of you are who you think they are

But instead, the man in front of you turned and took something from his pocket. “Is that so? Well then either you don’t want to remember what we’ve been through or Mephisto might’ve gotten the wrong person. Then how about we reintroduce ourselves to one another?”

“I’m Sylus, this is Mephisto. We were from a faraway land called the N109 zone. For the past year, I've been building my multimillion security tech company” Sylus mentioned, extending his hand out, revealing the brooch that you once wore as a promise to Sylus to stay by him

Shocked to see the brooch, you stutter at your words but Sylus noticed this and gently took one of your hands which you didn’t deny. “I meant what I said and I’m keeping my promise. My only regret is I couldn’t come find you sooner”

“H-how? This has got to be a joke. You’re not real. You’re not actually here. I must be dreaming again. I’m going mad” you started to lose your mind but Sylus pulled you into a hug

“Tell me this isn’t real then. Tell me that you don’t see me. Tell me that you don’t feel this warmth we both have wanted for a long time. Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll gladly walk away from you so that you can continue to live your life as is but don’t expect me not to want to be a part of your life. Don’t think that even if I walk away today, I won’t try my best to still keep an eye on you” Sylus stated, whispering into your ear, kissing right below your ear

Taking in his calming leather scent, you slowly sob in Sylus’ chest as he strokes your head, calming you. “You’re such a stubborn crow” you finally hug Sylus, indirectly accepting him back into your life

“I know. But it’s worth it. I finally get back to you. Though I can’t offer you as much as I would when we were in the N109 zone, I do promise you that I will be here this time. I’m not letting you go that easily. So, you’re willing to let me back?” Sylus asked, making you chuckle

“Welcome to the real world, my world, Sylus” you said, getting on your tiptoe to give his cheek a kiss but instead, Sylus turned his head, held your neck and leaned for an actual kiss

A/N: Ngl, I was simping over my own writing of this. Where can we find an irl Sylus T^T

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